Line Dancing

"Don't stand in line!" -- Ian MacKaye, Al Jourgensen (as Pailhead)

Mav and I don't wait in lines. We like to call it "bucking the system."

I don't remember when it started but I remember a fine show of it. St Patrick's Day 2006. We walked over to an Irish bar - I say "a(n)" because there are about 564 of them in my neighborhood now. And all 564 of them had lines with about 564 people in them. So we decided to go next door and eat mexican food because the Mexican aren't Irish so NOBODY was home. I ask, are we original or unoriginal?

After margaritas sans green, we had the fuel to power through the line and so we walked up to two random guys towards the front of the line. And I say "we" because it was really Mav's doing. All I could think was, "Who is going to beat me up for "cutting"?" I was momentarily transported to 3rd grade and Huston was tugging on my braids as he always stood behind me in line (or I always cut in front of him). And then he would act like he didn't do it. And I'd be all coy about it. That might be when I first learned how to flirt with the boys. Anyways, snap back to 2006, nobody is tugging at my hair so we succeeded with the line cutting....And then, you know, with it being St. Patrick's Day, the Irish bar is allowed to have a cover charge. Mark-ups. Hate them. Well, we must have been walking high on power because we walked right by that Money Taker like we were royalty and, well, it worked. Nobody chased us down.

Then after boredom at that bar, we ventured over to another bar of a non-Irish denomination. It's A-muhr-a-kah afterall. And, well, the drunks were out because there was a line there. This time, all it took was a phone call to a friend inside who kind of "owns" the bar. (And by "own" I only mean he spends 564 days of the year there thus giving them about 564 dollars a day (and this is where I am - seriously - not exaggerating) and so he is kind of like a preferred customer and can call some shots or something like that, one of which is pulling pretty ladies out of line.)

Thus, we spent St. Patrick's Day in no lines. I'll wait while you do an Irish jig.

And so, this past weekend we worked our Line Cutting magic again as we went to Gold Cup. For those not in the know, Gold Cup is steeplechase horse races but that is peripheral to what the day actually is. It entails showing up at a bar at 9 AM. Drinking. Hopping a 45-minute bus ride to The Plains while drinking. Spending the whole day drinking. Trying not to miss bus ride home drinking. Back to the bar drinking. Rinse lather repeat. If you really feel it necessary. It's your liver.

So we bellied up to the bar, partook in some bloody marys and then filled up our jugs of beer in take-home jars. Finally, a to-go cup! And I'm not in the South! We got our cups, our jug and lo and behold. A line! Long lines of people just standing there waiting to get on the buses. About 564 people's worth. So Mav and I were having none of that. We sauntered to one of the buses with the door open and plopped our fannies there. And seriously thought, "Why is nobody doing this?" We watched out the window as people shivered in the early morning breeze, dew forming on their limbs. The bus driver eventually came on cranked up some country tunes and then - I think a little embarrased because he was probably 564 seconds away from boot-scootin' boogeying - noticed us in his rear view mirror with a chuckle.

So we sat there for another 5 minutes in the company of the bus driver and country music until they loaded the bus with the Line Waiters.

And that is how we line dance.