It was about 7:30 p.m. on Tuesday when my friend Robert (also known as Spackles or Spax for short*) and I decided to take the BART from Berkeley to San Francisco. Spax's new girlfriend Brie was along for the ride and we were to meet up with his friend Mark to snag some tickets for a play up in the city. We didn't really know what this play was about, but seeing as Spax had kicked my ass in Mario Kart and had treated me to some amazing pizza at Zachary's, I figured I would follow his lead on this one.
When we got to SF, Spax informed me that the play was at the Mosser Hotel--a pretty fancy establishment that is nearly 100 years old. However, when we entered the Mosser, things got a little strange.
A British man in his twenties approached us and asked us if we were here to see the performance. Following our reply, he then handed us each a black cloth and instructed us to put it on and leave it on for the duration of the show. The cloths had the eye and mouth holes cut into them.
I looked at Spax and gave him the "What kind of shit did you get us into?" look. We were then escorted by the Briton upstairs and into a pretty nice hotel room. As I walked with this terrorist-looking mask on my face through the hotel with the other theater-goers I overheard one hotel guest call the front desk and ask if he "should be worried." If I could have, I probably would have told the guy, "No, you don't have anything to worry about, but I think I do."
Soon enough we were all placed into a hotel room and the door was shut behind us. Then, the phone call. Spax picked up the room phone and said:
"Hey they want to know if anyone is epileptic or has heart problems."
One guy raised his hand.
Spax on the phone to the production guys: "Yeah there's one guy."
Spax on the phone to us: "They say help yourself to the drinks in the room and feel free to use the bathroom."
...and then this older guy and a young woman walked in and Blasted began. Here's what I can tell you about the play. We were all in this hotel room for two hours watching this show with our terrorist masks on. The play is about a tabloid hack and his epileptic girlfriend (well, sort-of girlfriend) as they hide out in an apartment during a war. I don't know which war, but it felt like WWIII. Half-way through, things get pretty crazy. Shit blows up. There are raids and, yes, a scene involving the devouring of a dead baby.
I have to say, despite the craziness of the play, it was a fun experience and this one British guy who played a crazy soldier was pretty damn good. Aside from that, though, there are some things that we have decided to never talk about...
As such, after the play was over, we needed beer. So we looked around town for an open bar and we found one...that was on fire. Yes, four foot flames were attacking The Chieftain's alleyway. Luckily, a bartender worked his magic (I dunno what he did, but that fire got its ass kicked) and we were in business.
It was a lot like that story in the Bible were God gives Moses a sign by setting a bush on fire...except this time, it was like God was saying, "Drink here, Nicholas."
(I always imagine that if there is a God, he would be very proper, but he would also like Guinness.)
As we entered the bar, a mostly drunk man complimented the bartender for his fire skills and then hollered at a group of young women and informed them that they caused the fire because "they are so hot."
As we sat down for a beer, the British chaps from the play entered the bar and joined us. They were pretty funny. One guy said that at a previous performance, when he was wearing his soldier/terrorist gear for the play, he somewhat conveniently ran into Prince Edward, who for some reason was staying in the adjacent room. Edward pulled this actor aside and had him checked out. He then told the young thespian in not so many words, "You're lucky. If you had gone downstairs like that without being cleared, the body guards would have shot you on site." Also, the guy said they put the show together in two weeks. That's kind of amazing.
*The story of Spackles: When Robert was a freshman in high school he made it through the auditions to join the school's awesome improv troupe, Sanguine Humours, which I later joined in 2003 and stayed in until I graduated. At one of hist first meetings with his new team members, our mutual friend, Danny, welcomed Robert and talked to him for a good amount of time, until suddenly he realized:
"Hey, you don't remember my name, do you, Robert?"
Robert wasn't sure what to tell Danny. At which point, Danny said, "From now on, your name is Spackles and that is what we'll call you." Much like the name, it stuck, and somehow everyone at school began calling him this. I know, not the most amazing story, but, hey, I gave you the background and now Robert can send me hate mail. Sorry, dude!
1 comment:
I like how you linked to the BART site.
And you eat babies for breakfast! Sick.
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