Alienated

What's wrong with this picture?  Well, other than everything.  I'll tell you.  Moments after this picture was taken, the three of us--Mike, Jen, and yours truly--traipse into the local watering hole in Lake Villa, IL.  Correction: before we even reach the entrance, we see through the window that entire tables are turning around to look at us.  They are literally doing double-takes--and I don't throw around "literally" like a lot of people do.  They were literally doing double-takes, meaning they turned around to see us once, turned back to their company, and then turned around again to make sure they didn't just see aliens.  Or did they?  From the looks we were getting, one might think we were aliens.  Or dressed like them.  Upon closer inspection of the photo, however, I can see where the mistake might have been made.  

What do aliens wear?  Evidently, they wear fanny packs, bright blue v-necks, skinny jeans, plaid button downs, and faux hawks (possibly frosted).  Evidently, they pose when they're photographed and have a generally cheery disposition (when they are not being photographed.)  Guilty as charged.

We make it through the entrance and walk up to the bar.  I wouldn't be kidding if I said an old phonograph was playing and the second we sat down at the bar, it screeched and the music ceased.  (Notice how I didn't use "literally" that time.)  

We sit down, order a round, and observe the middle-aged local with a beer gut that Lou Pinella would be jealous of.  He's squirming.  He don't like no aliens up in these parts.  Just to toy with the room, I start talking a little alieny...and with a lisp:

"Jesus christ, who do you have to squeeze around here to get some fierce tunes up in this shizzle!"

We notice that the double-taking party has upped and left.  Off to pastures with less aliens.  

I take a sip from my alien cocktail (a.k.a. Murphy's Irish Red) and unzip my fanny pack to get the three bouncy balls I purchased from what I thought was a gumball machine at the Lake Villa fair.  They are of all different rainbow-like--I mean, alien-like--colors.  Everyone is very nervous for me.  The bartender sees me roll them on the table.  Lou Pinella pretends not to notice, but he is noticing harder than everyone else.  Even Mike and Jen are on edge.  

I roll them back and forth between my fingers, like an alien might.  I have alien powers.  You can hear a pin drop...or a bouncy ball.  I reach for my Murphy's.  Mmmm...tasty alien drink.  I take one of the balls and hold it above the bar between my alien fingers.

"What would happen if I just let 'er rip through the bar, in turn, smashing every piece of glass up in this joint?"

It's a rhetorical question.  We'd get kicked out, confirming everything these people think they know about aliens.  That we're here to scare the piss out of them.

I put the ball away.  We delicately sip the remainder of our alien beverages.  Then we scoot.  Lou Pinella pretends he doesn't notice that we're leaving.  But he's pretending harder than everyone else.  I stand up and do him a solid; I drop one of the rainbow-splashed bouncy balls at the foot of my barstool.  Kazaam.  The bar will never be the same.  It be alienated.

-- JEFF