All I manage to do Saturday is eat Nini’s and pass out. But this lack of any real activity means I’m ready when the evening comes around. This time I head up to start out with Topher where he, Foster and Morty are. We get in some Wii bowling and baseball before heading out around 11 to the bar. This is where we almost kill Topher. As we’re walking down the hill from his place on Vallejo, we find an office chair that someone has put out on the sidewalk to be thrown away. We believe that there is no better purpose for this chair than to put Topher on it and push him down the hill. I’ve often wondered, while watching any movie or show with jackass-like stunts, why they would do something like that. I now know that after a few drinks, when you find a chair on a hill in the city, there’s several things that normally wouldn’t seem like a good idea that you’ll probably go for.
As Topher gets on the chair, the wheels don’t seem to move too fast, so Morty grabs the back of the chair and gives Topher a running push start down the hill. The chair starts to fly. As it picks up speed, he attempts to steer/slow it down by putting his feet out, but it’s almost going too fast at this point for that to work. He hits a flat part of the sidewalk before it dips again, this time almost spinning the chair around so he’s heading down the hill backwards. He manages to avoid this, but I’m still quite concerned that he’s not going to be able to stop the chair before he flies off the sidewalk at the bottom of the hill.
Foster’s close to running after him, when a brief lull in the speed helps him get his feet under him and stop the chair. As he stands up, the wheels and legs separate from the main portion of the chair, further confirming that had the chair gone to pieces mid ride, Topher definitely could have spent the better part of his Saturday evening in a hospital. On the rest of our trek, we stop outside Matrix to pick up FSU and her contingent of friends, apparently not thrilled with the older yuppie crowd there. We head to City.
At the bar, Chris is tending and Morty pays for the first round before cutting out. Apparently his nerves are still a bit shot from watching Topher careen down the hill. I step outside to smoke, and get about 2 minutes into that before Chris sticks his head out the window and yells at me to move down the block. When I come back in, he explains how my preferred spot actually blows back a considerable amount of the kind smell back into the bar, and while he likes Reggae music, he doesn’t want the back bar at City smelling like an Amsterdam coffee shop. He yells at me for having told me this numerous times before, but I guess he doesn’t feel too badly about it as he buys me my next round.
As FSU and I follow Topher and Foster across the bar, we hear a group of girls expressing disappointment…apparently they thought the two were on the way over to talk to them, and really they were just picking a new bar position. The remarks from the girls are both let down and sarcastic, and I can’t tell which is getting the better of them. By the end of the night, Foster has moved on, and FSU, Topher, myself and the twins pass on the ridiculous line at Orgasmica and head back to bowl some more.
After bowling, as we’re walking back across town, I need something to eat and decide either Shell or Chevron will have something. We encounter a girl standing outside the Shell station, and she tells us that the guy at the Chevron station was ignoring her while he was on the phone. We approach the booth at the Shell station, and in an almost unbelievable moment, the attendant tells us that he can sell us cigarettes but no food or drinks, basically informing the three of us that killing ourselves with cancer sticks is totally fine, but he can’t help us sop up any of the alcohol in our stomach or prevent us from starving. We decide to go back across to the Chevron station where the attendant, still on the phone, lets us know he can sell us food. This girl is hilarious as her eyes light up. She thinks it’s Christmas as she gets some Mrs. Fields cookies and leaves contentedly. What she was doing out in the Marina, around 3:30 am, by herself, buying Mrs. Field’s cookies from a gas station is beyond me.
I have to settle for a knock off cupcake that is nothing like a Hostess.
Next up...Immortal Technique.
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