imperial
Friday night i went somewhere i wouldn’t normally go with the friends up from home, the imperial room off first ave on the corner of fourth street, and found myself fascinated. you can learn a lot about yourself while surrounded by the slight and vain. not that I’m typically introspective while out on the town. at the time i was more concerned with the low caliber of the disc jockey and the overall decibel level. in addition to the DJ who made the unfortunate mistake of cutting the music mid-word often and deliberately and his curious selection of tunes, the sound system was roughly comparable to factory-sent Dell speakers.
I guess i should expect no less of a soundtrack to the congregation. i use that word purposefully because i have no other way of describing the crowd than that of one in misguided worship. i have certain expectations of a bar on first avenue. i also make assumptions of the people that go there upon these expectations. i judge a book by its cover because some nights i don’t really give a shit about reading. if that makes me a bad person i hope someones sizing me up for the hand basket.
it’s the worst form of mating ritual i can imagine. how can you spark interest in another while worshiping yourself? it was like they were trying to make something so easy as hard as possible. even the ones who already showed signs of commitment were being distant and uninterested. i fail to understand why they would go somewhere just to show everyone in attendance how bored they were with being there.
I’ll start with the fairer sex because my sexual preference forced more study of them. there were girls whom appeared to have spent at least four hours on their look and yet failed to refine beyond trailer park chic. there were girls whom took just as much time to look as if they made a quick outfit change after work. there were girls whom continually checked themselves from eye to toe to make sure everything was looking spectacular. there were girls whose eyes never left the table they were seated at or the group they were standing in. there were girls whose eyes darted around desperately searching for approval in a return glance. there were girls whom were stone cold sober and girls whom were two drinks from ruining a long-term platonic friendship. but there was one universal among all of them: they were trying to show as little interest in the men as they possibly could.
As for the douchebags it was a mixed turnout. there were guys dressed expensively casual. there were guys dressed economically casual. there were guys whom were one collar pop away from high society and others whom were a change of shoes away from dropping a frontside boardslide. there were guys whose hair would withstand tornado-force winds. there were guys desperate for attention while trying their hardest to remain stoic. there were guys paying more attention to themselves than any woman ever could. there was one universal among all of them: they were trying to show as little interest in the women as they possibly could.
I realized while i was watching this that i have very little chance of fitting in. I could entertain myself there, but i could never make it a fixture in my schedule. I lack the callowness to get along with the people there. I see no need to spend six dollars for a drink to exude disinterest. i can be disinterested on my couch with a primo for a fractional cost. the girls there beyond their expensively well-maintained bodies have little to offer. the guys there are not the type i would typically acquaint with.
I’m not saying I’m better than them because I’m not better than a strong majority. I’m also speaking in generalities so a person there could be the next love of my life or life-long friend. I just don’t have it in me to put on such an act just for some ass. Maybe with age because you’re almost dead at thirty my desperation will grow and I’ll find value in such an establishment. Until then at least it’s a fun place for an internal laugh.
It comes down to this: I can be shallow and arrogant and conceited and judgemental and desperate and sleazy, but at least I’m not the worst out there.
Ben Miller Says: