The Shotgun Blog
Monday, June 28, 2004
Busted flat in Baton Rouge...
Got nailed trying to bring a drink into the media room. Some guy dressed like a Shriner—only wearing a Stetson instead of a tassled Turkish coffee can—pushed me back into the main hall with a “No no no.” And so I was stuck by the doorway, holding two drinks while all these women—where did all these good-looking women come from? Were they waiting for the music cues?—started filing in as the band started playing, “Get your kicks duh duh duh on route duh sixty six.”
So I’m standing by the door holding these two drinks when the guy standing beside me turns around and says, “You drink scotch?”
“Uh, yeah, but now I’m drinking rye,” says I.
No matter, the guy says, and pours about 2 ounces of straight scotch into my half empty glass. “Now dump some of the full one in there,” he instructs. The women with him start laughing. One of them says, “But he’s already double fisted!” No matter. He fills up the other one with a pile of scotch.
Mustafa, who works the phone room at the Western Standard, comes by and I send him into the media room to tell Cyril to get out here, otherwise I’m toast if I have to quaff this.
Then the big bus pulls through the big bay door and the rock ‘n roll starts. Harper is in the building. This place was built for events like this. The could’ve sailed the QEII through that door. I left Cyril with his (surprisingly strong) drink and told him to listen and write about the speeches.
Posted by Kevin Steel on June 28, 2004 | Permalink
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