EVENT: SKYLAR
TIME: Wednesday, Jan. 5, 8pm
PLACE: Tommy Nevin’s Pub, 1450 Sherman Ave [Evanston]
This was my second trip to Nevin’s, & I had a good impression so far; it was already clearly a more authentic irish pub than The Shamrock. On top of that, I was skillfully working an angle with a fantastic waitress. As I dug into rare tuna & a Boddingtons half&half, I noticed a typical scene at the bar. A row of men appearing to be regular patrons took up two-thirds of the length, & toward the door was a more “styled” man, a beautiful blonde, & another, shaggier, usual suspect.
This guy, with a silver mop & scrubby beard, seemed to be talking to the blonde next to him, though it was loud enough that I didn’t hear him. Then he stood up & walked to the guy nearest the door, & started speaking in the highest-pitched buddy-drunk voice i can ever recall. Then he casually roamed the length of the bar, stopping to kiss another drinking buddy on the cheek. From just a few feet away, I was happily entertained. Another guy, just under six foot, black, clean-cut, strolled in, & while standing at the end of the bar, Squeaky brought him into the conversation. Since I had not been invited, the food & drink once again overwhelmed my attention.
After perhaps ten minutes, there was a flare-up in that direction. The only person noticibly changed was the new guy, who seemed to be shouting at Squeaky, but the sharp words were being deflected by drunken indifference. It only took a minute before we all gathered enough to understand. As a couple of guys from the opposite end did the last thing they would ever enjoy & got up from their stools, the black guy leaned over the bar, explaining to the blonde that Squeaky just asked him, “Are you hitting on my bitch?” & he was clearly offended. If this guy had decided to call Squeaky out just once, & then drop it, there probably would have been no more excitement. But there was.
As the guy, standing near the front, continued to attack & provoke the middle-aged drunk, mostly with “I will fucking kill you!”, Squeaky apparently discovered his liquid courage before his agility, & began struggling with slight success against his friendly captives. They may have come close enough to catch a taste of eachother’s breath, but I somehow doubt it. Nevertheless, the better looking of the two continuously spouted fighting words for more than 5 minutes. Eventually, just before resigning to going outside, he held up his left hand & called accross the bar to Squeaky, who apparently was named John, “Hey John, do you see this? Its a wedding ring John, & I’m going home to my wife & kids. My wife & kids! Can you see what an idiot you are?”
John – no, lets keep calling him Squeaky – waited until his adversary was a closed-door away before suddenly crying out, “You fucking nigger!” The entire building silenced so quickly, you might have expected to hear someone’s tongue trip over itself. As a very few voices grumbled in the corners of the room, I suddenly heard my own tongue burst out, “Don’t FUCKING go there.” By the time my words registered on his numbed ears, I had already taken a moment to think about what I had just said, take in the last swill of beer, & slam down my glass while standing up. I walked up to Squeaky, who looked more like he was hanging from his friends’ arms than standing. As well as I can remember, this is what I had to say:
“John [Squeaky], I think you are about to go from having one problem to several. Thats not just a threat, but a powerful observation. You were about to get your ass handed to you anyway, because he is in control of himself [OK, maybe he wasn’t entirely] & you clearly are not. I do not care what your beliefs are; any person who drops to attacking someone for their race has failed to come up with a valid fight. Now I do not wish to engage you; you look like a regular customer, while this is only my second time here, & I’d hate for either of us to be ejected. More importantly, I’ve never hit anyone, & I want to think that this isn’t worth starting. Please sit down, & don’t ever act so pitifully again.”
His glazed eyes & the drool clinging to his lips gave me the impression that he wasn’t entirely aware of his surroundings, & I had more or less just relieved his friends, the bartender & all of the other staff of what they all noticed wasnt being said. When I didn’t get a reaction from anyone, I regained conscious control of myself & walked back to my table to wait for my bill. Sometimes I wonder if my body visibly convulses when my heart pounds like that.