Well for my three readers, St. Pats has come and gone and for most people in Cleve-burg they spend their one day downtown, so they can go back to leaving us the fuck alone and letting us work. It started normal, as all days do, at Roccos with coffee and my fifteen minutes of prep time for the day. Write paperwork, chat with Brendan, watch Sports Center. I had noticed a few bars displaying "open" signs as I drove by and saw the House of Blues had quite the crowd going. But, alas morning routes and coffee beckoned so I rode on by. The morning seemed rather tame, I finished up my routes, called in clear and got to stand by for a second. I knock a few short runs out and about 1045 hits and my phone starts blowing up. The worst part about this was that I specifically told everyone to not call things in around 11 am, its when the bulk of the crowds start to fill in at that point making it a nightmare. But who would listen to me, I'm only the guy out on the roads every day, thats crazy talk! I continue to dodge the crowds for another hour and WHAM, not like a sex machine I get a pick and drop out of 200 Public.
Both Sidewalks, and the streets surrounding this building are full of parade viewers, they're all shambling aimlessly west and I'm trying desperately to get around the building to find a pole to lock to. After the first sixty or so people won't make any space for me I do the only thing I think Might work, I pick up my bike, throw it over my shoulder and carry it Cyclo-cross style. This luckily works, as the drunks notice my wheel above the crowds and get the hell out of my way. On the Euclid side I lock to the pole near the entrance and try to get in. Only one door is open, and there's at least fifty people aimlessly standing there, drinking and smoking. Fucking great, well, this is why I make the big bucks so I push my way through. Inside 200 is an oasis of calm. No one but building tenants and deliveries is being let in, it's quiet, calm and a wonderful break. I pick and drop, call in and get my next order, two out of CMBA. I edge through the crowds and loop around Ontario to St Clair.
I get to CMBA and I see my envelopes, one is for Fort Knox, aka 127 public square, the other is for the House Of Blues box office. What.... the.... fuck.... Do these people know the crowd out front of that building? That place opened at 5, and when I passed it at 7 it was packed. It's now about noon and I already know this isn't going to go well. I loop back around ontario past 127 and head for the House of Blues. The street reminds me of what the zombie uprising must look like. People shuffling aimlessly, vomiting, and laying in the middle of the street. I lock to a dumpster and sort my way through the crowd. About halfway through the crowd I hit a wall, I try to move some kid, I say kid, because if he's 19, I'll be amazed. I move him to the side and hear "get your hands off my friend asshole". Fuck, this is all I need, underage drunky magee. I try to explain I'm just walking by, apologize and I'm talking to a drunk wall. A wall I might add that is about 6'2" and I'm on a good day 5'8". I see him wheel back a drunken haymaker at me and turn my head to protect myself, the punch catches me behind the ear, and its not too hard, I've been hit worse in my time. Knowing they're underage, possibly under 18 fighting back is not an option. So I plant both palms in his chest, knock him ass over tea kettle and walk over him to make my delivery.
The inside of the House of Blues looks like a Civil War hospital. Everyone is groaning and unable to speak. I make my way through the crowd to the box office and make my delivery. The girl at the box office tells me she's happy behind the glass and feels sorry for the security staff. I'm livid at the bartenders who are clearly over serving. But that's something I'll take up later in this none too burning missive.
Through the course of the day I learned what roads are safe to travel and which to avoid, making it quite tolerable. Awful, but much like watching Xanadu tolerable. A few minor run ins, a beer bottle is tossed at me at one point harmlessly bouncing off my shoulder.
On the ride home someone hit me in the face. Either this was a total accident random or a robbery attempt. Either way, I wasn't sticking around to find out, three days later I'm changing steri strips twice a day and my jawline still fucking hurts. But, all this and more for next to no money a year I guess. I get home, patch my face and get some fucking sleep finally.
My biggest beef is this with St. Pats, is that we have it during the work week. Every other major city has theirs on a weekend. So you can choose or choose not to go and partake or if you have to work you can still do your job. The over serving downtown was quite evident, I would have cut off half the crowd, at least. I think that's a situation that needs to be addressed next year. I know it won't but still it makes me feel better to bitch about it.
This link is for the new guy, He's very nearly done with his Bolton Tattoo, and soon will get his Kenny G face tattoo. Honest Abe, this is for you. Sunday morning, yo.
Well, it's off to work on my face, Gotta keep my sexy up, as Diddy used to say.
Mahallo
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