Streets of Philadelphia

Beers at the South Philly Tap Room…yum

Mike has off Sunday. I have work at night, but at least we can hang out during the day. We go to the beach (have to time it for an hour or he gets cranky). He has off tomorrow, too, so he can sleep in. “Lindsay. Do you want to get drunk with me tonight when you get home from work?” Huh? With who? “Just you and me.” Oh. Yea, sure.

Mike has started a little bourbon kick. He likes to drink it on the rocks, so he already knows he wants to drink that tonight. Of course, we don’t have any, so after the beach we drive over to Bevmo in Santa Monica – the only discount liquor store we know. He goes with Woodford Reserve. I obviously stock up on some wine. They have this insane deal right now: buy one bottle of wine, get a second of the same bottle for 15 cents. It’s only from a certain selection, so I have to put back a few bottles that I really wanted so I can cash in on the deal. Since we’re here, we might as well pick up a decent 6-pack. Neither of us drink beer that much, but there’s a good selection here, so why not.

We have complete different tastes in beer – Mike’s an IPA or pale ale drinker, I’m more a hefeweizen or seasonal beer drinker. I try to think of something we’d both like, and have my eye on Bear Republic Red Rocket Ale. Red ales are hoppy. Not my style, but I’ve drank this beer a bunch of times and it’s grown on me. Mike will probably like it more than me.

Stephen used to have a keg of this at his house. If I went over there, that’s all that was offered, so I drank it. We even had Tap Room staff meetings there, so I’d get a little Red Rocket buzz before my shift. These were the days when I always drank beer, because the beers at the Tap Room were so incredibly delicious. My brother helped turn me into a beer snob.

Monmouth Homecoming with Stephen forcing down cheap beer 2007

I don’t think my brother started to see me as an actual person until we were at the age when we could both drink together. Then we could somewhat hang out…sometimes. In 2009, we actually went to a football game together. I met him in Philly – at the Tap Room. We had lunch and drank some delicious beers before heading over to the stadium to watch the Giants play the Eagles (he’s an Eagles fan because he hates my family). We had amazing seats right behind the Giants bench. It was a crazy time, because the Phillies were playing in the World Series. There was a game that night, so I was a little conflicted on what to wear. I went with a light blue Phillies T-shirt with the maroon writing, and my light blue Giants hat. I matched, but I didn’t, if you know what I mean.

Mike and his Dad and friends were at the game, too, but not anywhere near us. After the game, we met them in the parking lot. On the way to their spot, I had people staring at me. One guy looked me up and down and finally just yelled, “Fuck you!” I couldn’t win with fans on either side with what I was wearing.

Stephen, Mike and I left together and continued drinking at some bar – we were going to watch the Phils’ game later and stay at Steve’s place. As we were walking to a bar, and I was feeling pretty drunk, we passed a car parked on a median right in the middle of the street, flashers on. The guy in the driver’s seat was passed out. What an idiot. We kept walking.

On our way to another bar, we pass this guy again. It’s dark now, and he’s still sitting there passed out. How has a cop not found him yet?

I decide to walk up to the car. My brother thinks I’m crazy. “Lindsay, what are you doing?” What? I’m just going to check it out. I’m on the passenger side, peering into the car. Driver is still passed out. I notice a wad of cash on the passenger seat. There’s money on the seat! Stephen and Mike are not amused. They both look nervous. This guy is definitely a drug dealer.

I slowly open the passenger side door. It’s at this point that my brother and my boyfriend start to walk away from me. Basically, I’m on my own. The driver doesn’t stir. I slowly reach in and grab the money, then put it in the back pocket of my jeans. I make a decision right then and shake the guy. Excuse me? Hello? He wakes up surprised and shocked. Hey, you’re parked on a median, you might want to move before a cop comes by. “Oh yea, yea. Thanks.” You’re welcome! I smile big, close the door and walk off, high with adrenaline for getting away with it. I quickly catch up with Stephen and Mike. Mike thinks I’m crazy, and Stephen looks at me like I’m a total idiot. “Lindsay. You could have been shot. He could have very easily pulled out a gun and shot you.” What? No way. Whatever. Once we’re a safe few blocks away, I pull the money out of my back pocket. It’s just a 5 on top, but when I open it there’s another three 20’s. Ohhhh yeaaaaa 65 bucks! I got the next round guys! Now Mike is amused. Stephen just shakes his head. I think I’m brilliant.

It’s not until I wake up the next morning and can’t stop thinking that I could have died last night. My brother was right. That drug dealer could have had a gun and shot me. I was stupid and lucky. It was definitely not worth 65 dollars. But hey, it’s a great story.

*Bruce Springsteen

6 thoughts on “Streets of Philadelphia

  1. Lindsay! You just gave the tabloids future stories. In 5 years we’re going to see a headline in US Weekly about how you stole $65 from a disabled war veteran who used to park on a median and sleep in his car because he was homeless.

    P.S. What Barking Dog did you work at? I’m at the one all the time on York Ave!

      1. ah one of my favorite stories…and we call coopers little thing that shoots out of his penis “red rocket” so this was hard to read about you getting a buzz from red rocket : )

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