Inside My Head

the literary rantings of Angie Frissore

Trouble at the ‘Dise

I stood just to the right of the stage, with The Coworker by my side, unable to keep from noticing the small crowd of guys now gathered around us, looking at me.  Every time I looked up to see if I could still see Samantha, it was as if a line of men stood, smiling – ready and waiting to greet my gaze.  I leaned my head on The Coworker’s shoulder, sending the message that I was well accounted for as he kept his arm wrapped securely around my waist.

“Where’s Dougie?” The Coworker asked, eying the backstage area just to make sure his younger brother was keeping out of trouble.  I was nervous that Doug had come along for the ride, given his rambunctious and unlawful nature, and knowing full well that he would be completely out of his element.

“I didn’t realize it was my turn to baby-sit,” I joked, scanning the crowd.  “At least he’s not trying to stage dive again.”

“Yet,” The Coworker said nervously.  I couldn’t help but smile at his concern.  It was clear that he was nervous that his brother’s drunken antics would dampen the evening (this was certainly not an unfounded fear, given Doug’s personality),  but I found it sweet considering he knew how long I’d been looking forward to the show.  It was the first time I’d witnessed Damon be that concerned over something I’d cared a lot about.

“Baby, I’m gonna go grab us some more drinks,” Damon yelled into my ear.  I stared at him quizzically, pointing to the large speaker sitting directly next to us.  He pointed once to his beer, and again to the bar, before heading off into the crowd.

I looked towards the bar, checking to see if Samantha was still physically attached to the blonde Ken-doll-type she had been flirting with.  I wondered why I continued to bother bringing her to shows with us.

As I returned my attention to the stage, Doug suddenly appeared out of the corner of my eye…next to the stage ramp.  A sinking feeling instantly developed in my stomach as he meandered about, trying to look natural amidst the stage hands and club staff.  I secretly crossed my fingers and hoped for the best, until Doug made two failed attempts to get onstage before being pushed aside by the staff.

“Can you believe this idiot?” A random guy said to me, rolling his eyes.  “I’d hate to be here with that guy.”  I felt like cowering in a corner somewhere until the whole ordeal was over with.

“Oh shit,” The Coworker mumbled, alarmed, as he returned with drinks.  “Has he done anything stupid yet?”

“Yet?” I asked with a smirk.  “Or at this moment?”

As Doug continued to linger by the stage ramp, I started to grow more and more annoyed by his childish antics.  This was not one of his booze-filled ghetto rap parties, no – if there was ever an environment that was non-conducive to Doug’s immature and tasteless attempts at humor, the Dear Leader show at the Paradise was it.  I clenched my teeth, trying to stave off my growing anger.

“I swear to god if he fucks this up…” I trailed off, not taking my eyes off of Doug for a second.

“I’ll go corral him.”  The Coworker marched over to Doug, grabbing him by the arm and almost dragging him back to where we were standing.

“What the fuck dude?” Doug protested.  “What was that for?”

“Just shut up and stand there,” The Coworker instructed. “Otherwise, I’m leaving you here.”

“Can I at least go grab a beer?”

Doug ran off to the bar as The Coworker and I tried to enjoy what was left of the show.  As I stood in front of him, with his arms wrapped around my waist, I was grateful that for all of our differences…all of our misunderstandings, The Coworker was quite open to one thing I held dear: music.  Although his primary residence was in hip-hop land, he had an inquisitive mind and was surprisingly accepting of the lesser-known indie bands I continually forced upon him.

Jeff suddenly appeared next to me (or had been there all along, but I was a tad preoccupied) and elbowed me.

“Uh oh,” he muttered, looking over to the side of the stage.  “This can’t be good.”

I looked over and once again saw Doug, who had managed to make his way back into the restricted area next to the stage ramp.  I nudged The Coworker, giving him a pleading look, as he headed over to Doug.  He grabbed Doug‘s arm and started to say something to him, but I could tell that the conversation was not one which involved any scolding.  Suddenly it seemed as though The Coworker was encouraging Doug…almost egging him on, until he turned to walk back to me.

“I don’t know about that kid,” he laughed.   No sooner had The Coworker turned his back when Doug attempted to run up the ramp and onto the stage.  Two beefy club security guards immediately jumped to action, taking Doug down in one swift movement.  As they began to escort him towards the door, he yelled over to his brother.

“Dude – get my coat!” he yelled, beaming from ear to ear.  He was obviously quite proud of what he had accomplished.  I, however, held my face in my hand, sufficiently embarrassed by Doug’s puerile behavior, as the crowd of guys standing around me laughed as he was taken out.  The Coworker sighed heavily and looked at me.

“Well, I guess that’s my cue.”

“Remind me,” I said, trying to laugh off the night, “not to go to any more shows with your brother.”  The Coworker walked away to find his deliquent brother as I worked my way to the bar to attempt to find Samantha.  Within a few minutes, I found her still hanging all over the Ken doll, barely able to stand up straight.

“Hey drunkie,” I said to Samantha.  “We’re going.  Doug got kicked out.”

“Who’s Doug?” she asked, giggling.

“Nevermind, just say goodbye to your new friend.  Jeff won’t wait all night.”


“Is she alive back there?” Jeff asked, trying to catch a glimpse of Samantha through the rear view mirror.  I looked in the back seat to see a motionless, snoring Samantha sprawled out across the bench seat.

“She’s passed out,” I said, moderately annoyed with the evening’s total breakdown into chaos.  “We should take her keys.”

We pulled into the driveway and I tucked Samantha’s keys into my glove compartment.  I was thankful to have Jeff there, as he never minded doing the sober driving as long as my car was the night’s chosen transportation.  It always seemed like a pretty good trade off to me.

I opened the back door to the car and quietly leaned in closer to Samantha.

“Wake up, peaches!” I yelled, snapping her out of a sound sleep and causing Jeff to dissolve into giggles.  After a couple of minutes of establishing her whereabouts, we went inside, and Samantha hurried to the bathroom.

“She cannot drive home,” Jeff said, concerned.

“Nah, she’ll probably just want to pass out on the couch anyway,” I hoped.  Ten minutes passed, without so much as a sound coming from the bathroom.  I knocked on the door, asking if she was okay.

I knocked again, louder.  Suddenly, a flush.  I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that she wasn’t passed out in there.

Samantha emerged from the bathroom, stumbling into the kitchen and demanding her keys.  I turned to shut off the bathroom light, and noticed that Samantha had vomited on almost every surface in my bathroom except inside the toilet.

“Um, Sam?” I asked.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?” she asked nonchalantly.

“Dude, you puked all over the bathroom.”

“No, I didn’t.  I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.  Jeff stared wide-eyed, taking in the scene.  “There’s puke everywhere! Come look at this!”

Samantha ignored my request and approached Jeff.

“Where are my keys? I’m goin’ home,” Samantha slurred.

“I don’t have them,” Jeff insisted, looking at me.

“Don’t look at me,” I yelled at her.  “I’m too busy cleaning up the contents of your stomach!”

Things quickly turned ugly as Samantha drunkenly began pawing through every drawer in the kitchen, desperately looking for her keys.  Without warning, she grabbed my car keys and ran outside.

“Is she stealing my car?” I asked, running after her.  When I got outside, Samantha was looking through the glove compartment for her keys.  I grabbed her by the arm and led her back inside as Jeff retrieved her car keys.

“You are in NO position to drive home, and considering you won’t even acknowledge that you puked everywhere, I’m the LAST person you should be messing with right now!” I yelled, having reached my pain threshold with her.

When she saw that Jeff had her keys, she sweetly asked him for them.  He declined, instead offering to call her a cab, stating that we’d deliver her car in the morning.

“I swear if you don’t give them to me, I will not hesitate to kick your ass,” Samantha stated flatly, getting in Jeff’s face.  He looked at me, and exasperated, I gave up.
“Let her kill herself if she wants to,” I said, knowing she’d never make it down the driveway walking, let alone driving.

Jeff threw her the keys and Samantha stormed out of the house, furious.  We watched in the window as she stumbled down the driveway.  As she turned onto the sidewalk, she suddenly disappeared.

“Shit,” Jeff muttered.

Just as suddenly as she disappeared, Samantha appeared again, popping up from the street where she had apparently taken quite the digger.  As she struggled to even put her key in the door of her car, Jeff went outside and finally convinced her to accept the cab offer.


November 3, 2008 - Posted by | No Messages - Excerpts from the Draft | , ,

1 Comment »

  1. So is Doug a “special” boy, or man, if he’s buying beer?

    I really like this one.

    Comment by Mike | November 7, 2008 | Reply

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