Athens: The After Show

My heart raced as I gripped the steering wheel. Every few seconds my arms would jerk to correct the van’s path when the rain and wind pushed it off course. Blurred taillights only came into focus moments before we passed them. If I had veered off the road and driven into a lake, I wouldn’t have noticed the difference. But there was whiskey on the line. And though Ben generously offered to buy me a shot if I got him to the bar before midnight, he didn’t go into details as to what happens if I didn’t. I thought about the knife in his pocket, and decided to take my chances with a rollover. And just like it came, the rain vanished. It was as if we emerged from a giant cube of jello. The dark liquid wall disappeared in my rearview. I took the van up to speed and hauled ass for Atlanta.

We pulled up to the hotel around 11:40pm. Corman hopped out the van before it had stopped. I met him at the bar. “I don’t want to get wasted tonight,” he said. “I just need something to take the edge off.” Then he shoved 4 ounces of whiskey in my face. We clinked glasses and swigged it down. I didn’t even bother trying to be manly and hide the grimace as the coarse alcohol scraped down my throat. I washed it down with beer. My eyes watered from the comforting warmth and I ordered another round.

Corman looked up at me through similarly glazed eyes. “I said I’d buy you a shot for getting me here before midnight.”

“Yeah, and I appreciate it. But whiskey is a gift that is meant to be reciprocated.”

“Fair enough,” Corman turned to the bar, “line ‘em up.”

By the time Jeff and Tucker strolled in off the bus, the liquor had stripped away the day’s stress. We went to meet them in the lobby. Tucker had a small group of girls that were going to meet him up in his hotel room. Jeff wasn’t so lucky. He had a bunch of paperwork and filing waiting for him upstairs.

Tucker gestured a thumb towards the bus outside. “Griffin, get out there and drink all those light beers.” There was a hint of slurring in his voice. Understandable since he’d been drinking through the pre-show, post-show and likely the whole bus trip back to Atlanta.

“Yeah, I’ve been working on them. They’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

“Good. And make sure you buy more beer. And this time don’t do it when we’re about to start the show, dipshit.”

“Yeah, yeah, that was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Tucker stepped closer. “That’s the problem. You’re never thinking.”

“Hey, come on, give me some credit.” I smirked knowing there was no credit coming.

“You want credit? Stop acting like a fucking retard first. You might be the dumbest person I know.”

“You know some pretty dumb people. I’m not that bad.”

“You’re worse.” Tucker pointed a finger up at me and smiled. “I can’t wait until you quit.”

“Nah, I’m not quitting. I may do dumb shit, but nothing is going to make me quit. I’ve been through far worse than this.”

Tucker leaned back and laughed. “You’re so going to quit. You wont make it through. You know it.”

I shook my head and said, “We’ll see.” I thought about Fight Club (movie or book, your choice) when Tyler Durden would berate the new comers on his front porch for three days – hit them, throw their bags in the gutter, tell them they’re worthless, “You’re too old, fat man. Your tits are too big. Get the fuck off my porch.” There was a nice parallel developing here except I didn’t have tits and instead of three days I figured I was looking at about 6 weeks.

Jeff motioned down at my shoes, “You need to do something about those. They’re freaking me out. What are those loafers?”

“What you don’t like my style?” I said lifting my foot.

Tucker’s brow furrowed. “You’re wearing those with shorts? Why don’t you just wear clogs? You’re so fucking retarded that you constantly surprise me with your stupidity.”

“You’re the one that made the no flip flops rule.”

Tucker paused for a second, running his palm down his face, “it’s wasn’t a rule. I was telling you that it’s not a good idea to wear flip flops. I didn’t mean put on fucking dress shoes. Wear running shoes.”

“I don’t have running shoes.”

“You’re kidding me, you didn’t bring any sneakers?”

“No, I mean I don’t even own sneakers. I’m too poor to buy them because I started my own business and all that.” I was rambling. “I have nice basketball shoes from a few years ago. I suppose I could have brought those, but I didn’t really want to pack them…”

“Fuck. Take this.” Tucker cut me off and shoved sixty dollars into my hand.

“No, you don’t have to do that. I’ll buy some…”

“Fucking take it and buy some respectable shoes.”

“Seriously man, you don’t have to give me money.  I’ve still got my per diem. I’ll use that to get some tomorrow.”

Tucker waved me off, “I’m going to fuck.”

Take a note people, the self proclaimed “Asshole” in a moment of unbridled compassion gave me money from the kindness of his heart. Some may argue it was pity, but deep down maybe this Tucker Max character is a sensitive, caring individual after all.

When Tucker had wandered out of view, Jeff turned to me, “I can take that money off your hands if you really don’t want it.”

“Thanks for the offer,” I said tucking the cash deep into my pocket. “I’ll buy some shoes tomorrow.”

“Alright, let me know if you change your mind. I’m going to find Jaimee and head upstairs to do some paperwork.”

Ben followed him. “I’ll head up with you. I have to upload the photos.”

“I’ll buy beer from the gas station up the street. You want anything in particular?” I called behind him.

Corman spun back around and handed me a ten dollar bill. “Get whatever. It doesn’t matter.” People were handing me money all over the place. I should have started striking up conversations with random hotel guests.

I walked outside and down the street to the Shell station. Buying booze at a convenience store is a privilege we don’t have in Canada. We don’t even have beer in our Walmarts. It’s a travesty to capitalistic integrity – are you listening Stephen Harper! [Canadian reference]

Since they had maybe six brands to choose from, I purchased a case of Miller Lite and a case of Bud. On my way back, I called home for the first time on the trip. I was talking on the phone, wallowing in my trials and tribulations – the Yuengling fiasco, the dress shoes, the berating, the constant driving, only eating one meal a day, the few hours of sleep, the heat, the heavy lifting – when a homeless guy approached me. Ben had mentioned how a homeless guy had approached him in a threatening manner the night before. This put me a little on edge. Nevertheless, I feel extremely comfortable during the midnight hours downtown. Back home my office is located right in the center of downtown. I would often stay until one or two in the morning working on various projects. I came to enjoy walking to the train station at these times because I never knew who or what I would run into. I even made a few homeless friends during my walks home, and have developed a deep appreciation for the stories they tell when you get to know them. If you’ve ever got an hour to kill, go buy a homeless guy a pitcher of beer. Guaranteed you’ll get a story a thousand times better than anything you’ll read here.

When the homeless guy got close he said “Hey buddy, can you give me one of those beers?”

Normally I would oblige a person in this situation, but I was holding a case in each hand with my phone propped awkwardly against my shoulder, and being charged a ridiculous rate to call Canada. “Not today, my man.”

I tried to get back to my conversation but the bum was persistent. “Aw come on. I’ll buy one off you,” he said running up beside me with a palm full of coins.

“No man, I’m in a rush. And this isn’t all my beer.” My annoyance level increased in direct proportion to the bum’s aggravation.

“I said I’ll fucking buy one off you.”

“No thanks. Have a good night.” I walked on while he stood still and fumed.

“Fucking asshole,” the bum grumbled.

“Yeah, fuck off pal,” I said before lowering my mouth back to the phone. “Sorry about that. Bum was harassing me.” Just then I heard a clinking sound and looked to the ground to see a bunch of pennies rolling at my feet. Now, I have what amounts to quite possibility the longest fuse in the world. It takes A LOT to piss me off. But when I do snap, it’s something akin to the incredible Hulk. I lose my mind and become this concentrated personification of rage. The pennies alone wouldn’t normally be enough to set me off, but as a final exclamation point on a long day coupled with the lack of sleep, and of course, whiskey, it was the straw that broke the Canadian’s back.

“DID YOU JUST THROW FUCKING PENNIES AT ME?” I slammed the cases down, and stuffed the still open cell phone in my pocket. I walked towards him, furious with two clenched fists.

“FUCK YOU!” The bum said, turning and standing his ground.

“WHO THE FUCK THROWS PENNIES AT PEOPLE YOU STUPID FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM? I’M GLAD I DIDN’T GIVE YOU A FUCKING BEER.” I was foaming at the mouth. “FUCK” I punched a tree while walking toward him. I was intent on clocking this guy in the face.

A few steps away, the bum’s body language changed. He turned sideways, slouching down. “I don’t need this shit,” he said shuffling away but not wanting to turn his back. At that moment, reality flooded back into me. I was standing in Atlanta, at midnight, about to throw down with a pot-bellied, middle-aged, bearded homeless man. As soon as the ridiculousness of the situation hit me, my anger subsided back into the volcano in my stomach to stew until the next eruption.

“You fucking chump,” I laughed. “You couldn’t even throw the nickels or dimes.”

“Fuck you, you piece of shit” he said scurrying back off to the gutter he crawled out of.

I pulled the phone out of my pocket and picked the bark out of my bleeding knuckles. “Hello.”

“What happened?”

“Ah, nothing. Some hobo threw a bunch of pennies at me.”

Back at the hotel, I tried relaying my story to Jeff and Corman but I gave up half way through figuring it was too ridiculous to communicate. I handed out some beers while I trailed off before changing the subject. Corman said Bill had texted him from a bar a few miles away. Apparently he was having a good time and wanted us to come down. “You wanna go check it out?” Corman asked.

“Sure. We can split a cab.”

Jaimee was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a crescent of receipts and paperwork laid out in front of her. She looked up at us with puppy-dog eyes. “Awwww, I want to come.”

Jeff glanced up from his laptop. “Then go.”

“Why don’t you come out too?” I said to Jeff. We had learned earlier that the Knoxville show, our next stop on the tour, had been canceled due to logistical reasons. This was a blessing because would have more time to work out the kinks and pick up any supplies in Atlanta before heading to Florida. It also meant that we didn’t have to wake up early the next morning.

“No, you guys go ahead. I’ve got work to do.”

Jaimee got up to her feet, “Come on, Jeff. It’ll be fun. We can do this tomorrow.”

“You can. I can’t. I’ve got a whole mess of other stuff to do tomorrow. You guys have been busting your ass. Go ahead. I’ll be fine. ”

We pleaded a bit more, but once Jeff has made up his mind, he’s not going to change it. I went over to my room to wash up. Jaimee, Ben and I met down in the lobby ten minutes later. Ben was asking the front Desk to call us a cab.

“I feel bad about Jeff,” Jaime shrugged with genuine concern.

“Yeah, it sucks he can’t make it out. Maybe we should have stayed and helped him. He’s not pissed is he?”

“No, he seemed fine. But he could be hiding it.” She turned to say something to Ben as he came over from the front desk. Before she could, Jeff came around the corner from the elevators.

“Hey, you changed your mind,” I said.

Jeff, expressionless, shook his head. “Ben come here,” he curled his finger. They disappeared around the corner.

“Aw fuck, maybe he is pissed,” Jaimee said. A moment later, Ben appeared without Jeff. “Is he mad? Does he not want us to go?” Jaimee asked.

“No,” Corman smiled, “he gave me a bunch of cash to spend on booze.”

Ten minutes later we were all lined up at the Peach Tree tavern doing shots with Bill Dawes and one of his female friends. The bar was busy but not packed. A local rock band played on stage while a handful of people danced to the music. I considered blowing the place up with a some masterful groin thrusting, but held off for the time being because I didn’t want to be fending off girls for the next hour and a half.

Corman and Jaimee parked themselves at one end of the beer pong table. Since I had never taken a single throw at beer pong in my life, I sat in a nearby chair and let them take care of business. Beer pong is a simple game to grasp save for the minor rule variations from region to region. Without knowing the details it was clear from the cheering crowd gathered that Ben was winning. All in all Corman is a modest guy, but I would be lying if I said he didn’t do the double arms raised in the air, open palmed strut around the bar after nailing a few shots. It may have been his whiskey fueled charisma but strangers were buying him drinks and shots left, right and center.

While appreciating my court side seat to the Ben Corman show, a red-headed girl with round cheeks leaned over from the next table. “So are you guys, like, wearing those shirts because you’re doing some promotion?”

I rested my forearm on my knee and sat forward in her direction. “We’re not doing a promotion at this bar or anything, but we all just came from a premier in Athens for Tucker Max’s new movie based on his book. We did a showing in Atlanta yesterday.”

“Oh cool, I love his book. Do you know Tucker?”

“We’re on tour with him, so yeah.” I said, raising my voice to be heard over Corman’s latest standing ovation.

The girl ran a finger through her hair. “That must be crazy being on tour with him.”

“Yeah, it is. We’ve only done a handful of shows, so I’m sure it’s only begun. But so far compared to everyday life, it’s been kind of surreal.”

The girl nodded and smiled. We talked a bit longer before a worried, goofy looking guy lumbered up and sat beside her. I evaluated my body language to make sure I wasn’t giving off a flirtatious vibe to the girl since that wasn’t my intention, and in case that guy was her boyfriend. Though, on initial glance his apparent jealousy didn’t strike me as the possessive boyfriend type. After a minute the girl leaned back over. “This is my friend Jim,” she said with a special emphasis on friend.

I simultaneously felt bad for the guy and understood the situation – poor Jimbo had been relegated to the “Friend” zone. I shook his hand but we couldn’t have a conversation because we were too far apart to hear. For the next few minutes, I divided my attention between watching beer pong and making small talk. Every once in a while, I would notice Jim making an awkward attempt at hitting on the girl, but it was never reciprocated. Before things got too painful, I stood up and joined Jaimee and Ben at their table. I did some trash talking despite not playing, but all in all it was a good atmosphere.

Eventually I had to take a leak. I walked to the bathroom and on my way back Jimbo was waiting for me. He took a few steps forward, “hey.”

“Hey Jim, what’s happening.”

He cocked his oblong head, “I’ll give you forty bucks for that shirt you’re wearing.” The southern accent has a lot of wonderful qualities. Girls sound sweet as pie, even police offers sound trustworthy. One downside, however, is that it makes marginally stupid people sound borderline brain dead.

I slapped him on the shoulder. “Hell no, I’m not walking around without a shirt.”

“You can wear mine. I’m a big fan of Tucker Max, and I want that there shirt of yours.”

I examined the yellowish tint on his shirt that was probably once white. “Uhhh dude, that’s cool. I’d give you one for free if I had an extra one on me, but trading shirts with a random guy in a bar isn’t my thing. Maybe if I was shitfaced, but right now I think I’m going to hang onto this one. You can buy one for a lot cheaper on the internet.”

“I want that one.” He stared with vacant eyes. His brain seemed to be skipping like a scratched CD.

“Nah man, you don’t want this one. I’ve been sweating in it all day. Buy yourself a new one. And buy one for that nice girl of yours.” I said, already moving away so as not to tax his brain with continuing the conversation.

Back at the beer pong table, Corman was still winning and Jaimee was still buying drinks. More shots and beer later, I found myself on the patio with Dawes and his girl. Bill is hands down one of the funniest guys on the planet. Plus all his jokes revolve around inappropriate offensive humor so I spend most of the time around him laughing like an idiot. At some point, a couple of attractive girls came over and asked me about my shirt having seen a few of us wearing them around the bar. They were fans of Tucker Max but hadn’t heard about the movies.

“I’ve got good news for you,” I said pausing to take a sip of beer. “The movie will be in theaters on September 25^th.”

The eyes lit up on the girl who hadn’t spoken yet. “Auughhh reeeeeallly, dats cool.” It sounded like a frog choking on a bag of marbles. I swallowed my beer hard to avoid spitting it all over her. Problem number two with the southern accent: mixing it with other accents can be very dangerous.

“Pardon me,” I wiped my mouth to hide the smile, “what accent is that?”

“Eees German but eyy mooooved ere many yeeears ahh-go.”

“Wow.” I couldn’t have been more turned off if her tongue was a penis. “Have you girls met Bill Dawes yet?” I pointed to him leaning over the balcony. “He’s a big Hollywood celebrity in the comedy circuit. Seriously, he opens for Jaime Kennedy and has been in movies and TV.”

The normal sounding girl looked at me through uncertain eyes. “Are you sure? I’ve never heard of him.”

“Oh yeah. Go talk to him. Tell you what, if he doesn’t make you laugh in the first two minutes, I’ll buy you both drinks.” I guided them towards him and watched Bill’s face to see his reaction from the German-Georgian opening her mouth. Like clockwork he double backed in laughter before releasing a barrage of German jokes and impressions that left no doubt I wouldn’t be buying the two girls drinks.

When last call came around, the bar staff herded us outside. As I walked through the bar I noticed a couple locked in a terribly awkward humping/making out position against the wall. If it wasn’t old Jimbo and the red head. “Right on Jimbo,” I called out, and the girl shot me a pissed-off glance. Whaaaat? I’m not the one necking with Jimbo.

Soon we were in Dawes’ hotel room playing an electronic word-guessing version of hot potato. Bill and I were partnered up, and we went undefeated for hours, even though I didn’t guess some of the America-specific references in the game. Once all the beer was done, Corman and I stumbled back to our rooms.

“Just a bit of whiskey to take the edge off, right?” I called to Ben as he walked through his door. His manic laughter trailed into the dark room.

I fumbled with my key card for a few minutes. The card finally stopped being an idiot and the door opened. I tried carefully not to wake anyone as I plowed into furniture, swore aloud and aimed for the couch.

“Dude, holy shit, what happened? Was that you?” Charlie came running out of the bedroom panicked and white as a ghost.

“You’re still up?”

“I was sleeping, but… didn’t you hear that?” Charlie flailed his wrists around. “It was a huge BOOM of smashing glass. It sounded like it was right inside the room. I jumped on the bed in karate stance and then twittered about how I jumped on my bed in karate stance. I think it came from the hallway. Was there broken glass out there?”

“I didn’t notice any.” I walked back to the door and opened it. A few glass beads glistened in the carpet outside Tucker’s room door but no shards were present.

“Damn,” Charlie peaked out, “I bet it was smashed inside the room. Then afterward there was like ten minutes of some girl losing her mind while screaming in the hallway.”

“I’m disappointed I missed the fireworks.” I closed the door behind us. “Well Charlie, I’m here now; you’re safe with me. I’ll guard the door.”

“I thought I was going to die. They should put Tucker’s room on a different floor from now on.”

“True that. But don’t you worry about a thing Charlie.” I stretched out on the couch.“If anyone comes through the door, I’ll make sure to…”

and I passed the fuck out.

[If you guys want to read Tucker’s version of the night’s events be sure to check out the end of the Athens Recap]