I went out to a comedy club tonight to see my friend do his stand up act. What he failed to tell me is that he had to leave right when it was over to go to work. So that left me on the other side of town with nothing to do. I called my friend Marc who doesn't live far from there. We ended up going to a record store where I purchased The Streets- a grand don't come for free.
While at Zia, Jordan called and said he would meet us back at Marc's place. Jordan is a friend of mine from high school who I have not seen for a long time. The whole time I've been back in Tucson he's been "too busy" to hang out. So he finally comes over in his big-ass diesel truck. This is a secondary vehicle. Second to what? Another big-ass pickup truck. Keep that in mind, then throw in a little Jewish and a whole lot of computer nerd and that is the nature of Jordan.
We're all hanging out a bit, taking about whatever and looking at America: The Book, when we hear another loud car pull up. Marc says, "That sounds like Carlos." Jordan says nothing. I immediately demand to know if Jordan did, in fact, call Carlos. He giggles. What the fuck?
Carlos is a dirty, trouble making, slacker, pain in the ass. He is a petty thief and he'll have sex with anything that moves. And then he'll tell everyone about it, proud of what a stereo type he is. The last time I hung out with Carlos, he claimed to have me wrapped around his little finger. Right. Haven't talked to him much since then. I can say that as long as Carlos is around, you can be sure something crazy is going to happen.
As soon as Carlos got there Jordan started asking us to go to The Meet Rack. We headed over there in Jordan's truck (of all 4 cars in the driveway this one got the worse mileage and needed the most expensive gas, but what else could you drive to the Meet Rack?). The Meet Rack does not look like anything from the front, just a run down shack with shitty fences and a lot of old paint. The main door is on the side, where I was carded and given a stamp of the owner's name: GOD. Yep, he legally changed it. God is a weird bald guy. Looking at him one gets the impression that he must have every STD known to man, plus bad breath. He also curls up part of his beard like Dali's mustache. I like Dali, so I let the bad breath thing go.
As I walked in I heard Carlos mention how packed it was. It wasn't super full, but there were a ton of college boys and their under-dressed female companions. The place was very dark, making it hard to see all the newspaper clippings of God's run for mayor. Twice. The place is covered in pictures, road signs, string lights and dead animals. A dive bar like this would never happen in New York City. There are some nasty dive bars in NYC, but nothing like this place. The Meet Rack takes true redneck style.
When we sat down at the bar, Jordan and Marc ordered a pitcher of margarita, mentioning to the bar tender that they have "The Brand." This allowed them a small discount on all drinks. "The Brand" is a circular thing of sorts (I'm told it's God's face), on their calves. They had showed it to me earlier but refused to explain it. Yes, it's literally a brand. Burning, hot metal. And they paid $5 to get it. Jordan told me that when Marc allowed God to brand him, he yelled out "Pork chop sandwiches" instead of anything normal. And these are my friends. I love them. No, I don't need a brand, but thanks guys.
Jordan suddenly yelled "The Tour!" and told me I had to come on with him. God was giving a tour of the bar, which also happens to be is home. His bedroom is literally right off the bar. So is his Sex Room, which is filled with all kinds of weird kinky toys, including a wheel on the wall designed to strap a person to, a sex swing, a doctor's chair with stirrups, stocks, blow up dolls in cages, and "cum strainers," still not clear on what those were. The only rule in the sex room: No kissing a woman above the waist unless she's standing on her head.
The Meet Rack is full of all kinds of seedy crap. Next to the entrance is a wall of little round things: AA chips. Bring one in and you get a free drink. If a woman buys a condom from the vending machine in the bathroom, alarms, spotlights, whistles, whatever, start going off in celebration. There are bras hanging from all over the ceiling. I asked Jordan what these were for, but he didn't know and wasn't willing to find out for me. This was the extent of my exploration because the place was packed and I wasn't really willing to wander off alone, lest I stumble upon another hidden sex room and end up with my bra on the ceiling. Hey! That was an expensive bra!
I believe my words upon entering the bar were, "Jordan, if you guys leave me alone here, I'll kill you."