The Captain Morgan Gig
An excerpt from the upcoming novel "The Escapist"
So here I was in the late spring of 2000, now a city dweller, reverse-commuting not to an office cubicle but to an improv tour as Captain Morgan in Rockford, Illinois. Playing Captain Morgan was a sort of initiation rite for new talent at the agency, the kind of job that didn’t open the agency to much risk if you failed. You get into a costume and a marketing coordinator drives you around town to visit bars with two models in tight shirts and short shorts. All I had to do was show some personality and be a little bombastic. Although I wasn’t totally comfortable with improv, I felt less pressure knowing my audience would be mostly drunk and that if I failed to entertain them, they could fall back on ESPN, pool tables, juke boxes, and thirsty girls for entertainment.
I chased the setting sun as I drove from Chicago to Rockford in my 1995 Toyota Camry, listening to Smashing Pumpkin’s latest album Machina. I was feeling a little high. I’d like to think that feeling was a side effect of the sunset, the music, and the warm air pouring through the cabin, but the Serzone probably had something to do with it. I rolled up the windows and called Michelle. I got her voicemail. “Who wouldn’t be the one you loved! Who wouldn’t stand inside your love!” I sang a couple bars of Stand Inside Your Love and hung up. Then I rolled all the windows back down to feel the full force of the wind.
I arrived at The Best Western in Rockford at about 8:00 PM. I met Ethan, Seagram’s marketing coordinator – a big, overweight skinhead with an earring, and two models in Hooters-like outfits. We were scheduled to hit four bars that night. But first, I needed to change. I was already wearing my black jeans. I put on a large red coat, boots, a dark curly wig that made me look like Gene Simmons from Kiss, a pirate hat, and a sheath for my plastic sword.
The first stop on our tour was a sports bar on the outer fringes of Rockford near the Wisconsin border. I was full of nervous adrenalin as we approached the sturdy oak doors of the tavern, hearing nothing but the crunch of gravel under our feet and the muffled country music from within the bar. Ethan walked in front of us, followed by me cradling a wooden treasure chest, flanked by a busty blonde on my left and a toned black beauty on my right. When we burst through the door, I instantly sized up the audience – a little on the back-woods side. All my recoiled nervous energy sprang to life as I addressed the crowd.
“Ayyeeee Maties! Don’t be alarmed. I’m not here to pillage or plunder. I’m here for the same reasons you are – the wine, the women, and the song. And as a gesture of my goodwill, I’ve brought you gifts from afar. I’m going to share with you my treasure, but only if you get the lucky key.”
I strutted and worked the crowd. Some women flirted. Some followed for free samples. The most obnoxious was the middle-aged biker guy in leather with grey short-cropped hair and a neatly groomed beard. He kept trying to steal my sword and eventually succeeded when I was distracted by a drunk woman complaining that her key didn’t work in the chest.
“Hey Captain!” I turned around. It was the middle-aged biker. He dropped his leather pants just low enough to show everybody his ass. Just then, Ethan appeared and lunged for my sword, which was nestled under the biker’s belt. The biker instinctively reached for the sword to thwart Ethan’s attempts, and when he did, his pants dropped all the way to the floor with a loud clunk (he was wearing one of those heavy Harley-Davidson belt buckles and who knows what else).
I stepped in to help Ethan wrestle my sword away from the biker. Suddenly, SNAP! The top half of the sword was now hanging limply over the bottom half. We all relaxed our hold. The biker suddenly pulled his pants up and quietly walked away. I’m not sure whether he felt bad he caused it to break or whether he no longer had an interest in a broken plastic sword. In any case, Ethan and I agreed it was time to go.
The next bar had a dance floor and a live band. I made the same entrance as before. Within seconds, I was accosted by a well-endowed, sultry, trashy-looking barfly by the name of Donna. We did some lewd dancing together. It was a character choice. I figured it was something a pirate wouldn’t have qualms about and would probably enjoy.
“Captain, I’m finished with my shot glass,” she said. I couldn’t miss it sitting there nice and snug between her breasts.
“Oh, there it is! How silly of me. How could I have overlooked that?”
“Well? Aren’t you going to take it back?”
“I’d love to dear, but I have a feeling that the man holding up the far wall would not take kindly to such a gesture.”
Some giant tough-looking thug was looking at us with a jealous intensity.
“Pfff! Don’t worry about him,” she said.
“And who would that rogue be, my dear?”
And then there were three. Two buddies looking as dumb and big as he suddenly joined him with fresh beer mugs.
“Oh, he’s nobody.” She put her arms around me. “Come and dance with me Captain!”
The band was playing a rock song with a good dance beat. We moved to the music like a scene out of Dirty Dancing.Then she really started getting into it, grinding away. I looked for my lifeline. When I spotted them, they were all laughing.
“Go Captain!” Ethan said, raising a shot glass in my direction before quickly downing it.
The barfly pressed up closer as her hands slid down to my zipper. I was amused but also embarrassed and anxious as I kept my eye on the gathering storm - the three giant yahoos on the other side of the floor.
“I don't think it's the proper time or place for this particular kind of pleasure you now seek my lady.” I guided her hands to a less intimate location of my body.
“Oh, come on Captain!” she whined coquettishly. “Pirates aren’t supposed to be timid! Don’t be such a phony!”
“No really, my lady. It wouldn’t be the proper thing to do with a woman of your…your…stature.”
Suddenly, she pulled my head down into her breasts. By the time I came up for air I had a shot glass in my mouth. I immediately put it in my pocket.
“Well, that was lovely. I think we have all the shot glasses now.”
The drunk ape and his friends were now suddenly interested in me, and by the looks on their faces and the pace at which they approached, I could tell they were not interested in the autograph of a future star.
“It’s time we set sail, you see?” I said, pulling myself away from her octopus-like grasp. The apes were half-way done bulldozing their way across the dance floor. “While I normally would not care about such matters of public decency, I am trying to promote my, my...legitimate trade with the owners of this establishment.”
“Shut up and kiss me Captain!” She plastered her face to mine in a vulgar kiss. The timing couldn't have been worse.
I was suddenly wheeled around to the blur of beige knuckles. It was a weak and sloppy punch. My fall was a result of pulling away and slipping on the floor more than anything else. I quickly recovered, adrenalin acting as a springboard.
“Ethan, hoist the sails!” I shouted.
Ethan, now suddenly sober, shoved the treasure chest and car keys into the arms of the wenches as he pushed them out the door.
“Pull the jeep around! Go!” he told them.
Just then a beer bottle flew towards my head. I quickly evaded and it crashed into the liquor bottles on a shelf above the bar, raining down fragments of glass. One of the thugs charged at me. I side-stepped just in time to help his head find the hardest edge of the bar. He fell to the floor, as did I, slipping on someone’s spilled drink. I braced my fall with an open hand, feeling a sharp sting as I hit the floor. I pulled myself up, then removed the source of the pain; it was a shard of glass. By this time, the remaining thugs had cornered me against the bar. I pulled out my duct-taped sword and shoved it towards them in a threatening manner. The top half wilted to one side. They paused for a few seconds, looked at each other, I looked at them, still wary, then suddenly they started laughing. Then I started laughing. It was infectious. The whole bar started laughing. It was the first time the entire night that the whole bar was sharing the same moment. As the laughter and tension subsided, I took the opportunity to speak.
“Gentlemen, I mean you no offense. I apologize for the distress, while unintentional, that I may have caused by my failure to withdraw myself from the gratuitous hospitality of this generous young lady,” I said, motioning to the barfly. “You've all been most kind and I will always fondly remember you. But now we must take leave. There are new shores, new bars, new worlds to discover, worlds that have yet to discover the sweet taste of Captain Morgan's spiced rum.”
Now everybody was laughing, except me. I was too busy breathing, enjoying the relief of knowing I wouldn't have to scratch and claw my way toward the EXIT sign and the friendly Jeep Cherokee idling outside.
An excerpt from the upcoming novel "The Escapist"
So here I was in the late spring of 2000, now a city dweller, reverse-commuting not to an office cubicle but to an improv tour as Captain Morgan in Rockford, Illinois. Playing Captain Morgan was a sort of initiation rite for new talent at the agency, the kind of job that didn’t open the agency to much risk if you failed. You get into a costume and a marketing coordinator drives you around town to visit bars with two models in tight shirts and short shorts. All I had to do was show some personality and be a little bombastic. Although I wasn’t totally comfortable with improv, I felt less pressure knowing my audience would be mostly drunk and that if I failed to entertain them, they could fall back on ESPN, pool tables, juke boxes, and thirsty girls for entertainment.
I chased the setting sun as I drove from Chicago to Rockford in my 1995 Toyota Camry, listening to Smashing Pumpkin’s latest album Machina. I was feeling a little high. I’d like to think that feeling was a side effect of the sunset, the music, and the warm air pouring through the cabin, but the Serzone probably had something to do with it. I rolled up the windows and called Michelle. I got her voicemail. “Who wouldn’t be the one you loved! Who wouldn’t stand inside your love!” I sang a couple bars of Stand Inside Your Love and hung up. Then I rolled all the windows back down to feel the full force of the wind.
I arrived at The Best Western in Rockford at about 8:00 PM. I met Ethan, Seagram’s marketing coordinator – a big, overweight skinhead with an earring, and two models in Hooters-like outfits. We were scheduled to hit four bars that night. But first, I needed to change. I was already wearing my black jeans. I put on a large red coat, boots, a dark curly wig that made me look like Gene Simmons from Kiss, a pirate hat, and a sheath for my plastic sword.
The first stop on our tour was a sports bar on the outer fringes of Rockford near the Wisconsin border. I was full of nervous adrenalin as we approached the sturdy oak doors of the tavern, hearing nothing but the crunch of gravel under our feet and the muffled country music from within the bar. Ethan walked in front of us, followed by me cradling a wooden treasure chest, flanked by a busty blonde on my left and a toned black beauty on my right. When we burst through the door, I instantly sized up the audience – a little on the back-woods side. All my recoiled nervous energy sprang to life as I addressed the crowd.
“Ayyeeee Maties! Don’t be alarmed. I’m not here to pillage or plunder. I’m here for the same reasons you are – the wine, the women, and the song. And as a gesture of my goodwill, I’ve brought you gifts from afar. I’m going to share with you my treasure, but only if you get the lucky key.”
I strutted and worked the crowd. Some women flirted. Some followed for free samples. The most obnoxious was the middle-aged biker guy in leather with grey short-cropped hair and a neatly groomed beard. He kept trying to steal my sword and eventually succeeded when I was distracted by a drunk woman complaining that her key didn’t work in the chest.
“Hey Captain!” I turned around. It was the middle-aged biker. He dropped his leather pants just low enough to show everybody his ass. Just then, Ethan appeared and lunged for my sword, which was nestled under the biker’s belt. The biker instinctively reached for the sword to thwart Ethan’s attempts, and when he did, his pants dropped all the way to the floor with a loud clunk (he was wearing one of those heavy Harley-Davidson belt buckles and who knows what else).
I stepped in to help Ethan wrestle my sword away from the biker. Suddenly, SNAP! The top half of the sword was now hanging limply over the bottom half. We all relaxed our hold. The biker suddenly pulled his pants up and quietly walked away. I’m not sure whether he felt bad he caused it to break or whether he no longer had an interest in a broken plastic sword. In any case, Ethan and I agreed it was time to go.
The next bar had a dance floor and a live band. I made the same entrance as before. Within seconds, I was accosted by a well-endowed, sultry, trashy-looking barfly by the name of Donna. We did some lewd dancing together. It was a character choice. I figured it was something a pirate wouldn’t have qualms about and would probably enjoy.
“Captain, I’m finished with my shot glass,” she said. I couldn’t miss it sitting there nice and snug between her breasts.
“Oh, there it is! How silly of me. How could I have overlooked that?”
“Well? Aren’t you going to take it back?”
“I’d love to dear, but I have a feeling that the man holding up the far wall would not take kindly to such a gesture.”
Some giant tough-looking thug was looking at us with a jealous intensity.
“Pfff! Don’t worry about him,” she said.
“And who would that rogue be, my dear?”
And then there were three. Two buddies looking as dumb and big as he suddenly joined him with fresh beer mugs.
“Oh, he’s nobody.” She put her arms around me. “Come and dance with me Captain!”
The band was playing a rock song with a good dance beat. We moved to the music like a scene out of Dirty Dancing.Then she really started getting into it, grinding away. I looked for my lifeline. When I spotted them, they were all laughing.
“Go Captain!” Ethan said, raising a shot glass in my direction before quickly downing it.
The barfly pressed up closer as her hands slid down to my zipper. I was amused but also embarrassed and anxious as I kept my eye on the gathering storm - the three giant yahoos on the other side of the floor.
“I don't think it's the proper time or place for this particular kind of pleasure you now seek my lady.” I guided her hands to a less intimate location of my body.
“Oh, come on Captain!” she whined coquettishly. “Pirates aren’t supposed to be timid! Don’t be such a phony!”
“No really, my lady. It wouldn’t be the proper thing to do with a woman of your…your…stature.”
Suddenly, she pulled my head down into her breasts. By the time I came up for air I had a shot glass in my mouth. I immediately put it in my pocket.
“Well, that was lovely. I think we have all the shot glasses now.”
The drunk ape and his friends were now suddenly interested in me, and by the looks on their faces and the pace at which they approached, I could tell they were not interested in the autograph of a future star.
“It’s time we set sail, you see?” I said, pulling myself away from her octopus-like grasp. The apes were half-way done bulldozing their way across the dance floor. “While I normally would not care about such matters of public decency, I am trying to promote my, my...legitimate trade with the owners of this establishment.”
“Shut up and kiss me Captain!” She plastered her face to mine in a vulgar kiss. The timing couldn't have been worse.
I was suddenly wheeled around to the blur of beige knuckles. It was a weak and sloppy punch. My fall was a result of pulling away and slipping on the floor more than anything else. I quickly recovered, adrenalin acting as a springboard.
“Ethan, hoist the sails!” I shouted.
Ethan, now suddenly sober, shoved the treasure chest and car keys into the arms of the wenches as he pushed them out the door.
“Pull the jeep around! Go!” he told them.
Just then a beer bottle flew towards my head. I quickly evaded and it crashed into the liquor bottles on a shelf above the bar, raining down fragments of glass. One of the thugs charged at me. I side-stepped just in time to help his head find the hardest edge of the bar. He fell to the floor, as did I, slipping on someone’s spilled drink. I braced my fall with an open hand, feeling a sharp sting as I hit the floor. I pulled myself up, then removed the source of the pain; it was a shard of glass. By this time, the remaining thugs had cornered me against the bar. I pulled out my duct-taped sword and shoved it towards them in a threatening manner. The top half wilted to one side. They paused for a few seconds, looked at each other, I looked at them, still wary, then suddenly they started laughing. Then I started laughing. It was infectious. The whole bar started laughing. It was the first time the entire night that the whole bar was sharing the same moment. As the laughter and tension subsided, I took the opportunity to speak.
“Gentlemen, I mean you no offense. I apologize for the distress, while unintentional, that I may have caused by my failure to withdraw myself from the gratuitous hospitality of this generous young lady,” I said, motioning to the barfly. “You've all been most kind and I will always fondly remember you. But now we must take leave. There are new shores, new bars, new worlds to discover, worlds that have yet to discover the sweet taste of Captain Morgan's spiced rum.”
Now everybody was laughing, except me. I was too busy breathing, enjoying the relief of knowing I wouldn't have to scratch and claw my way toward the EXIT sign and the friendly Jeep Cherokee idling outside.