Day 1 in Iowa starts with me sleeping until about 12 and waking up in time for a Canteen. Now for anyone that hasn’t had the pleasure of visiting Ottumwa, Iowa, they’re known for very few things, one of which includes the Canteen in the alley. Located under a parking structure that they built around it, Canteen is about 15 by 25 feet with a horseshoe counter. In the middle of the horseshoe is a big stainless steel meat trough where they cut up and grill ground beef. Sporadically, someone yells, “Grease out!” and a woman, who looks like either a high school lunch lady or a troll from under a bridge, comes out from the back and brings a ladle to the trough. She scoops the grease out into a bowl, yells, “hot grease!” and then takes it to the back before they put more ground beef into the trough. I can only imagine how fast this food place would empty out in California the minute people saw this type of thing. I eat three.
After lunch it’s nap time, and when I wake up it’s dinner time at the KC. Also a Midwest tradition, the KC Fish Fry (Knights of Columbus) is a Friday night deal where the drinks are 2.50 a piece and you can order steak or catfish. Truly fun for the whole family. After the KC, Mom and K go to see Forgetting Sarah Marshall while Sean and I see Iron Man, which is sick. I won’t give any of the movie away other than to say that you should stay until the end of the credits.
After the movie, Mom and P drop us off at the local bar so we can start our evening. I’ve decided that on a Friday night in Iowa, there isn’t much to do but go hard, and I have to commence said hard going by introducing the bartender and the rest of the bar to Rodkas. I swear they don’t know this drink in Iowa. He asks…”red bull, AND vodka?:” But by the end of the evening, people are drinking them.
About midway through, I decide I should head down the street to the ATM for some cash, should we need it for cab rides or drinks. Now, it’s important to note here…my Mom asked me specifically not to bring any pot on the plane. I obliged, kinda. I didn’t bring anything smokable, but I do bring a few edibles for K and I to consume. But she can’t drink and eat, so we stow the cookie. For those out there that know how I get under the influence of alcohol, you know that this is about the time that I want to smoke.
As I’m walking back from the ATM, I see a group of about five guys and two girls in the parking lot next to the Canteen. I can smell the bud from the street. I walk up to them slowly, and ask in my most pleasant voice, “hey, you know anywhere I can score some pot?” They tell me no, so I turn away and start walking. One of them tells me to hold up, so thinking they had a change of heart, I turn back. He’s walking up to me, and asks me where I’m from. No sooner can I get “California” out of my mouth before he hits me.
Yes, he hits me. Right in the jaw.
Now, I’m faded, I’m in the middle of Iowa, and all I asked for was if they knew where to buy. So after he nails me square in the jaw, it takes me two seconds to realize, “wait, I just got hit.” What’s weird is I don’t feel it, or even truly take stock in it, before I realize, “wait, he’s going to hit me again.”
Most people know me as a non-confrontational person. If they didn’t, this story wouldn’t sound likely and I would be invariably asked, “What did you really say to the guy to make him hit you?” But people do know me and realize that this is exactly what happened. I got socked in the jaw for saying I was from California. As I’m acknowledging the fact that he’s gearing up to hit me again, I decide that it’s time to run. I turn around and bolt out of the parking garage. It only takes me five seconds to realize that this dumbass isn’t going to be able to keep up with me, and we come into the street with him yelling, “that’s right you stupid bitch, run, what the fuck n----a?” Yes, a white trash guy that should have been cast in Gummo is chasing me down the street calling me the N word. As I’m getting ready to turn the corner, I hear, “Who you callin’ a N---a?” I turn around to see a black guy down the street that has taken none too kindly to this white boy chasing me and calling me something he has no right to say, and I certainly am not.
I yell, “ya, beat that white boy’s ass!” before turning the corner and heading back into the bar. Once inside, the story is revered as gold, and K tells me that if anyone else told her this story, she wouldn’t believe it. We finish our drinks and decide it’s time to move locations, so we head from the Irish pub to the “Salty Frog” where people are playing flip cup and listening to 2Pac and Michael Jackson songs. This is really Iowa.
We leave the Salty Frog and head across the street to Scooter’s. Now, before all of us were of age, we went to Scooter’s, and it’s one of the shadiest bar scenes you can imagine. When K and Em (in her younger, non-Mormon days) went there with fake IDs, they ended up leaving and driving around the lower portion of Iowa with a 30 year old bartender. They arrived home way past curfew and are two of the only examples I know of kids getting grounded for something they did on vacation.
The place is small and consistently filled with cigarette smoke. The dj is constantly trying to encourage nudity, despite the fact that the dancefloor and atmosphere provide the least amount of reason for any sort of nudity. Here, we see a great scene, captured below, of a groom to be taking a blow job shot from some random chick.
At around 1:30, K decides it’s time to go home and calls a cab. It arrives, takes us back to the old folks home, but it’s too early for me yet and I was told about an after hours place that I felt I needed to try given the circumstances. It’s called the Elbow Room, and, right next to Scooter’s, provides the perfect opportunity for people to file out and head right next door. Except there’s one thing that makes this place different from most places I’ve had the chance to see……it’s BYOB. Now, BYOB is cool, and after hours is cool, but an after hours place that allows you to bring your own booze?! Priceless. The dj is spinning and the entire experience, continuing to drink past two while dancing to music, is unprecedented other than in Vegas. They have a backlit curtain for people dancing upstairs, and the entire crowd is pretty rowdy because it’s Ottumwa, they have nothing to do, and it’s after hours.
When I decide to leave around 3 am, I’m toast and the walk home, while about 3-4 miles and close to an hour, seems short with the ipod and a few phone conversations about me getting sucker punched (thanks Chaz and Glass!). Photos: Canteen, canteen burger (only 3 bucks for that baby!), Grease Out!, the meat trough, the Canteen counter, me with my new nephew Brennan, the bar at the Salty Frog, Scooter's, the scene at the Elbow Room afterparty, and the "sheet dancing" they had there.
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