Adventures in Indiana Part II - The Shiny Shoes Strike Back

So, remember this post, where I recounted my old story from being in Indianapolis way back in the day?

Well, here's the story that spurred my recollection of that story:

I was heading out to Bloomington, Indiana to meet with a prospective manufacturing partner and to tour their facility.  Nothing glamourous - just your run-of-the-mill project management activity.

It was just a one-night trip, so I grabbed my garment bag, some business cards and off I went.  While I was on the plane ride over, I looked at my shoes and noticed that they were looking a little the worse for wear: a few nights out at the bar had left them scuffed up, and dotted with dried gin drinks.  Fortunately, airports remain the last refuge of the shoe shine guy, so when I landed in Indiana, I got my shoes shined.  And the shoe shine guy did a bang-up job:

I even tweeted about it:

Shoes shined and ready to go, I got my rental car and drove down to Bloomington.  My meeting was the next day, so I had a little bit of time to kill.  After doing some work in my hotel room I started to get a little stir-crazy.  I figured that as Bloomington is a college town, and as it was a Monday night, that there ought to be a good place to watch Monday Night Football somewhere.

After meandering around downtown Bloomington a little bit, I found myself at Scotty's Brewhouse.  It seemed like as good a place as any: They had the game on, plenty of beers on tap, and a bartender who looked like she'd stepped right out of a John Cougar Mellancamp video.  I grabbed a stool, ordered up a pint of Bell's Oberon and a "Mo'Fo Cluck Sandwich" and sat down to the strains of "Born in a Small Town" going through my head on repeat.

Two stools down from me on my right was another obvious business traveler, replying to emails on her blackberry while picking at her salad.  We struck up a bit of conversation to kill the time and to look a little less like the outsiders we were.  All in all, it was shaping up like a pretty enjoyable evening, until I heard something to my left.

You see, I'm Canadian, and as a Canadian living in the US, you get attuned to picking up references to Canada in your environment - it's like a sensitivity to Joni Mitchell wavelengths in your immediate environment.  Anyway, all of a sudden I picked up on a conversation to my left that involved hunting in Canada.  And the story involved a Canadian game warden pulling a gun on the teller of said story.  The level of ridiculousness in that telling was off the charts (nobody gets a gun drawn on them by a game warden unless they're an idiot), so I made ready to break into the conversation and call shenanigans on the whole affair.

But when I turned to my left, I only saw one person: a crazy-eyed, broken-looking townie telling his story to... well, The Universe, really...

Alarm bells

I did not want to get pulled in to this conversation and needed an out.  I turned to my right to get a lifeline from my fellow business traveler, but all I received was a sympathetic look that signaled "I'm very sorry, but I'm a woman travelling alone, and society dictates that you're gonna have be a gentleman and take this for the team."  I cursed under my breath and, in an effort to avoid eye contact, looked down at my shoes.

My shiny, shiny shoes...

Goddammit!!!! It's the shoes again!!! Why in the goddamned hell did I have to get my goddamn shoes shined!!!???  In Indiana?!?!

At that point I knew that I was well and truly !@#$ed

Sure enough, the next thing I heard from my left was "So how are you doing this evening, sir?"

"I'm good, thanks.  How are you?"  Why I didn't reply in a more please-don't-talk-to-me manner is beyond me.  I think I just don't have it in me to be brusque or rude like that... (you know... Canadian)

He sighed.  "Wellll.... I've been better..."  At least I knew enough not to take that bait.

I let the silence hang in the air, figuring he would fill it himself - which he did

"So, as you heard, I spent some time in Canada and had some stuff happen to me there.  I've actually traveled a lot.  I've been in jail in Mexico twice."

And away we went, with CrazedTownie giving me his official biography, which basically went something like this:

- CrazedTownie is born and raised in a small town
- CrazedTownie moves to California to be a surf-bum (shoulda had himself a ball in a small town...)
- CrazedTownie does a lot of drugs (I can't remember if he actually told me that - I may have just inferred it)
- CrazedTownie goes to Mexico
- CrazedTownie goes to Mexican jail (twice - because going to Mexican jail once apparently doesn't carry the deterrent value that you think it would)
- CrazedTownie apparently got along very well with the Warden while he was in Mexican jail (read into that what you will...)
- CrazedTownie returns from Mexico and then wanders Canada for a while, pissing off at least one game warden along the way
- Bloomington's Prodigal Son returns home to a small town

(I feel like someone should put this guy in touch with the Coen brothers - there's gotta be a movie idea in there somewhere, right?)

I listened to his tale as politely as I could, hoping I could gracefully exit the conversation at the end of the story, but no:

"So, as I said before..."

aww crap

"I'm not having a very good night."

here we go

"I just got out of the hospital.  I'm dealing with some broken ribs, my nose is broken and I have a fractured vertebra in my back"

wait - what?  And finally, my curiousity got the better of me, and against all better judgement, I decided to pick at the proverial scab... "How exactly did that happen?"

"These IU fratboys roughed me up last night.  I wasn't even doing anything to 'em.  They're actually here tonight.  I'm thinking I should go over there and talk things out with them."

Congratulations Indiana - Your consistency in putting me in possible bar brawl situations is unrivaled in the lower 48...

At this point, I feel like I am in the freakin' Twilight Zone.  Or maybe it's more like a Die Hard sequel: "How can the same $#!^ happen to the same guy twice?!?" 

Oh.  That's right.  It's the shoes... gotta be the shoes...

I take a second to diagnose the situation.  My new buddy here just got out of the hospital, has multiple broken bones, is hopped up on a combination of painkillers, and what looks to be vodka and cranberry juice, and wants to get back into it with the same bunch of random IU frat dudes who busted him up in the first place - presumably with me "Having his back."  Fortunately, having been through this once before, the please-don't-start-a-fight-and-get-my-@$$-kicked speech comes to me pretty naturally, and (thank goodness) it seems to work.

And finally, finally, relief arrives in the form of our wonderful, John-Mellancamp-video bartender who comes over to ask how our friend is doing, to which he replies:

"Can you do me a favor and kick me out after I have one more of these?"

"I'm gonna do you a favor and kick you out after this one.  I think it's time for you to go."

I could have kissed her in that moment.

CrazedTownie was civil about leaving the joint - it obviously wasn't the first time he'd been thrown out of there. 

The bartender apologized to me out of politeness.  I shrugged it off:

"Hey, no worries.  At least I have a story to tell when I get home, right?"

I left the bar and walked out onto the rainy streets of a small town, hoping for the drizzle to take some of the shine off of my too-shiny-for-Indiana shoes...

Adventures in Indiana Part I - Flashback

So, there I am, on a work trip to Indiana. I've been to the past two Indy 500s on recreational travel, but this is my first time back in Indiana for professional reasons since 2003, and being back here again has me reminiscing on a particular story from back then.


Back in '03, I was in Indianapolis working on a computer systems validation project with my friend & co-worker Tim. Our routine was to spend between 10 and 12 hours in a windowless room that doubled as the building's tornado shelter, grinding through line after line of code that was meant to be implemented in the biopharmaceutical plant at which we worked in New Hampshire. Each day, after emerging from our tornado shelter with bloodshot eyes and less will to live than when we entered, we would go drink - a lot.


Tim and I found that an area called Broad Ripple, near Butler University, was a lively neighbourhood with an excellent selection of bars. We drank in college bars, NASCAR bars, basketball bars, townie bars... but one night, Tim decided that he wanted to go to some place a little more clubby. There was a few places in and around Broad Ripple that seemed like they would fit the bill, so we decided to try one of those that night.

Tim was taking his sweet time getting ready, so I killed some time in the lobby, leafing through a copy of that day's USA Today (love those infographics!). The elevator opens, and Tim walks out wearing a blazer, slacks, and really, REALLY shiny shoes.

Now bear in mind, I'm in jeans and a T-shirt here, rocking the same pair of hiking boots that I have worn every day and night the entire time we've been in Indy. I didn't even pack anything remotely close to as snazzy as what he had on, and with good reason - The midwest, for all the protest this comment might garner, is not snazzy.

I can't allow this to pass without some commentary:

"We're not about to go out in downtown Boston, man. Don't you think you're a little overdressed?"

Tim shrugs, "I dunno, I just want to be dressed appropriately if we wind up somewhere nice."

Of all the options at my disposal, I decide to lock in on the shoes (they are just so damn shiny).


"Dude, look at those shoes - Those shoes are way too shiny for Indianapolis."

In my head, I am picturing a small, Asian guy and a way-overdressed New Englander walking into some bar full of corn-fed Indianapolis townies. Every scenario ends with me getting thrown through a piece of plate glass and kicked in the head (which has actually happened before, but that's another story).

"Meh, it'll be fine."

It's clear to me that nothing I say can dissuade Tim from this course of action, so away we go.

We wind up at a place called Eden. I have a very specific memory of the building exterior. I remember it as actually being a nice-looking building architecturally-speaking, aside from the cheesy, neon-lit sign saying EDEN in big, lurid letters. Flashes of strobe and club lights from the upper-level windows and low-frequency thumps of bass suggested the clubby vibe that we were after that night.

I can't remember whether or not we paid a cover (God, I hope we didn't pay a cover...) but either way, we managed to gain entry and walked into what can best be described as a sort-of-but-not-quite rave club, complete with glow sticks, bad dancing, and 22 year olds pretending to be tripping on E. Tim remarks that the place reminds him of what would have been a cool club in 1995. In other words, it was exactly what we were looking for.



It was however, kind of dead. We'd gotten there a little too early. No big deal there - fewer people in the bar = shorter lines at the bar. So we sidled up to the bar, got our drink on, chatted with the bartender and watched the bad dancing from afar. As the evening wore on, the place picked up and the fun factor rose accordingly.

Enter Random Guy - This dude rolls up to the bar, orders a drink and starts talking to us. I don't remember this first conversation. What I do remember is my first impression: Random Guy = Very Weird. Afterwards he took his drink and wandered back into the crowd, and was immediately forgotten (or so he would have been if not for what came later).

After another drink or two, I'm feeling sufficiently liquored-up to consider making my own contribution to the bad dancing goings on at Eden, when suddenly Random Guy returns to our location at the bar to begin the process of taking our evening into Ridiculousland.

He looks at Tim and I with obvious agitation - "Hey - see those guys over there? They just tried to pick a fight with me. Can you believe that?!?"

Waitaminute, I think to myself... does this guy think that we're his friends?

He continues, and I notice much to my chagrin, that Random Guy has that glint of Crazy in his eyes... "I think I want to start something, but I need you guys to back me up."

Oh, for the love of God - in his weird, Random Guy worldview, we are his friends, and he wants to start a brawl with Tim and I as his supporting cast. I need to try to talk him off the ledge as gently as possible.

"I don't think that's a very good idea, man. Nobody needs to fight anybody tonight"

But our new friend is still righteously indignant. "No no - it's OK, see? Because if he's got my back, and you've got his back, and I've got your back, we're all good, right?"

At this point I am legitimately concerned that the night is going to end with my ass getting kicked by a bunch of Butler frat dudes over some perceived slight that took Random Guy into Ben-Stiller-Angry-Mode. His assumptions about our erstwhile Coalition Of The Willing need to be blown up, and quickly - "Look, nobody has anybody's back here. There's no need to start anything. Just relax, and enjoy the evening."

Miraculously, that gets through to him. He almost visibly deflates, and makes an almost pitiful figure as he wanders back into the crowd.

I am now drunk, and on a just-dodged-a-bullet adrenaline rush. Time to dance!

Tim decides to remain by the bar, so I hit the floor for some bad dancing. The crowd on the dance floor is delightfully un-ironic, and I wind up chatting a little bit with some short-haired brunette who I remember (probably incorrectly) as resembling a Hackers-era Angelina Jolie.

After dancing off the adrenaline, I return to the bar, feeling like the fun-quotient of the evening has been restored. Tim however, looks a little perturbed.

"What's up, man?"

"Brian, don't leave me alone again..."

"What happened?"

Well, suffice to say that Tim should have participated in some bad dancing instead of remaining at the bar. Shortly after I went off to dance, Random Guy returned, and perhaps seeing Tim as having been more sympathetic to his earlier plight, decided to make another inappropriate jump in friendship level.

Random Guy to Tim: "So, what are you guys doing after this?"

Tim: "Nothing really. Probably just going back to our hotel."

RG: "Yeah? Want to share a cab?"

Tim: "Uh... no... that's ok... we're good on our own."

RG: "Come on... I'll suck your dick."

As you can imagine, my jaw hit the floor at this point in Tim's recounting of the tale. You'd think it couldn't get any weirder, but our bizarre new friend had one more bullet in the clip:

Tim: "Oh... uh... no thanks. Actually... I'm married."

RG: "That's OK - So am I!"

At that point, I lose it. Poor Tim is looking totally shellshocked here, and in truth, probably needed and deserved a better friend than me in that moment, but all I can do is laugh, and when I am finally able to speak again, it is only to take the piss out of him:

"It was the shoes!!! I told you those shoes were too shiny for Indianapolis!!! Bwahahahahahaha!!!" (I know - I am a baaaaaad person...)

Once my laughter subsides, I start to feel a touch bad for Tim, whose expectations for this particular evening had been so spectacularly dashed. I also figure that we probably need to get out of there before our friend comes back yet again.

"Come on," I say to my crestfallen companion, "let's go get some burritos as big as our heads..."