Ask Father Time to reach over and spin the arms of the nearest clock to 1am. Once he gives you the nod, hop into your car and sputter to the nearest dive bar that doesn’t play rap or house music on a regular basis.
If you're lucky, you will witness the simple yet amazing act of barroom shenanigans. The bartenders have said goodbye to their last unknown patron, wiped down the spot that’s now open and have begun acting only as they do when their friends are around. These friends… have been there for hours. Sitting in the stools they always sit in, drinking their ninth round, the first of which was ready for them the moment they set foot inside the building. The true regulars.
Unshaven and dirty, these regulars don't care enough to change out of their work clothes before they arrive. Why would they try to impress people that know them so well? The only thing they care about is enjoying the company of individuals they have come to trust like family over the many, many nights of slurred rambling and epic battles of bar dice. The barkeeps feel the same way. They feel a certain level of comfort the second they recognize those familiar faces, the same sensation one might feel if they grab the TV remote and find an old movie they know verbatim.
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| Please, don't judge me. |
The group, the crew, the family… they’re called many things. Just don't call them "The Wolfpack", they won’t stand for it. Drink after drink, smoke after smoke, they tell jokes and stories, they poke fun at one another, they make each other feel comfortable. So comfortable, they have no problem letting mischievous ideas become a reality. A pint glass is pulled from the dust covered shelf, filled half way and slid down the bar just like you would see in the old spaghetti westerns. It hits an ash tray and topples over, spilling beer down the rest of the newly designated “race track”. Sober? Clean that up. Drunk and mischievous? That freshly spilled nectar of the gods is now lubricant for the next try.
“Oh, I planned that… the glass didn’t go fast enough.” He says. “Round two.” He overestimates how slippery beer can be, the glass shoots by its destination like a city bus driver asleep at the wheel, and plummets to the already beer soaked floor. Round three… and four… five… eight. Turns out those old movies used trick-photography. That HAS to be the reason why. Stubbornness and pride would not allow any other explanation.
There’s a lull in the conversations. What next? One or two people have already stood up from their stools, ready to mobilize in some way. Why not take advantage of that?
A race.
Perfect! The “brainstorming” has begun. Tidal waves of ideas are spit shot out at the same time. And right now, they're all pure genius. The hard liquor causes all logic to be tossed aside… logic like: the drunker a person is, the fewer guidelines there should be. So every idea is somehow utilized, including the unwritten rule of any drinking sport is that chugging must take place, usually at the end.
“Take two shots, run outside into the parking lot, around the building, back inside, throw two darts… the second one has to be a twenty. Then run back to your chair… spin THREE times, then chug a full beer! The first one to do it between 2:00 and 2:30 gets a free drink!!!”
Everyone cheers.
The following thirty minutes are nothing short of a chaotic symphony.
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| Oh yeah. You can bet your sweet ass it's like this. |
The shots don't get poured, outside someone sprints right into a parked car. No one can find the fucking darts.
“How many times do I have to spin? Does it have to be my chair or can it be John’s? John’s chair doesn’t wobble.”
“It wasn’t my turn to go?! Since WHEN were we taking turns???”
“Who took my watch??? Oh, there it is. You’ll have to go again, I didn’t time you.”
For one reason or another, the participants get distracted from the task at hand, forfeiting any chance of the great victorious ending they were so hoping to achieve.
Last call. It’s time to stagger home and sleep it off. The credit card receipts are signed, the final five dollar bill is set next to an empty bottle. One by one, everyone puts their coat on, grabs everything they have lying on the bar and shove it all into one pocket. Going down the line, handshakes are given out. Occasionally, a personalized version takes place that was rehearsed the night before, around 1 am.
What just happened should not be taken lightly my friends. It may not seem like much to these people who are now getting a ride home or stumbling through strangers’ yards looking for their house, but they displayed a state of mind that fades away with age. If taken at face value, one might consider this to be a simple case of drunken idiots encouraging drunken idiots. I beg to differ. This is a revisiting of a time in life when things were simpler. Back when they were kids and the largest worry of the day was making it home in time for dinner. That booze took away all of their worries and inhibitions, leaving nothing but a group of kids looking to have some fun. But instead of bikes and Nerf guns, they had bar stools and darts. The next step is to have this innocent fun while stone-cold sober.
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| Well, sober-ish. |
I see no reason why this town doesn’t take that next step, in the form of a flash mob. For those of you that don't know what a flash mob is, its best described as a group of people that quickly come together in a public place, perform an odd or funny act, and quickly disperse. In its true form, a flash mob is meant as a harmless and fun way to surprise and then entertain the people who witness it, not to mention the people involved. A couple examples that have been done before are a silent disco in London, zombie walks, SantaCon, or International Pillow Fight Day.
What is stopping us from doing just that? Take a second to copy and paste this into our neck of the woods. It seems to fit nicely, doesn’t it? The reason why it does is that we’re used to creating and witnessing weird fun. It doesn’t matter if the sun is up or down. If you look in the right places, weird fun is all over. Milwaukee is filled with smart, creative and great people, who are always willing to trade a little bit of maturity for a bit of insanity, coupled with an hour-long smile.
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| Gingivitis optional. |
Ladies and gentlemen, I believe this city is the perfect setting for such an act, and I propose that flash mobs should become yet another great aspect of Milwaukee.
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