On Thursday, September 2 at 1:14 pm, I received a communiqué via text from Sir Coonie, Lord of the Knights of the Long Table at City Grocery. He informed me that The Balcony would be closed until further notice due to structural issues. You tell me: what other bar has thoughtfulness and leadership like that? We Balcoñeros regularly marvel at our good fortune.
As is often the case, there’s a story behind the story. You see, on September 1 The Balcony was perfectly stable—until the secret shindig, that is.
Business was slow that night, so Sir Sonny the Lady Killer, one of the Knights of the Long Table, decided to close early. I’m not saying that Sir Sonny was an accomplice or complicit, but he did let me know two weeks in advance that he was going to close early.
At 11:59 pm on September 1, Sir Sonny stepped onto the back porch at City Grocery, took three drags from a hand-rolled cigarette, tossed it in a puddle of water on the alleyway, stepped down, and walked away. He conveniently forgot to lock the back door to City Grocery. Ten seconds later a hoard of Balcoñeros streamed out of the nearby recycling dumpster and slinked stealthily through that same back door and up to The Balcony.
Always the prepared ones, we swiftly draped the outer borders of The Balcony with sound proof cloth panels, thanks to the Brooklyn Dodger, painted to mimic the façade of The Balcony. Shawty stood on The Sheik’s shoulders in her 16-inch black spiked heels and hung a lighted disco ball from the ceiling. My good friend, Leon, an inciteful man, set up a boom box and started playing the Bee Gee’s soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever. The Amazon Woman and Dickie P., Two Blondes on The Balcony, set up a Grove-worthy bar and the lubrication began to flow.
So, what happens when you mix Balcoñeros, alcohol, and disco music? It ain’t pretty, that’s for certain, but it sure is fun! Libations, gyrations, gesticulations…We rocked The Balcony until 3 am. That’s when things got a little crazy.
Mr. Thoreau, (Mr. Velvet Bitch), had brought a keyboard and was playing Queen’s We Will Rock You. Everybody joined in at maximum volume and we stomped with all our might, “We will, we will rock you! (STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!) We will, we will rock you! (STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!)”
Newcomers Otisimus and The Deer Slayer were all in from the start. Otisimus ripped off her full-length flowing skirt to reveal a skintight sequined red mini, and The Deer Slayer tore off his Waikiki Woody Aloha shirt. They danced the tangiest Tango ever seen on the face of this earth, while the rest of us stood slackjawed at the wonder of the moment. The Brooklyn Dodger was so excited he let out a Bronx cheer.
Leon’s main squeeze, No-Account Addie, sat in the southeast corner of The Balcony, keeping tabs on whatever she keeps tabs on. In the end it did not compute and No-Account Addie threw her ticker tape into the wind.
Czar Lazy-Fair drank Mik Ultras and waxed eloquently on Nietzsche, Derrida, Lacan, and Larry the Cable Guy, while Barefoot Jarhead, The Balcony Spook, took notes for her next missive on how to make grits more gritty.
Out of the blue we all felt a mighty sway under our feet. The Balcony was undulating more than Gypsy Rose Lee behind those oversized feather fans. Sir Z.Z. Bullfrog, a pythy man and a new Knight of the Long Table, was hiding inside the bar to keep a watch on things. A good friend will do that. He threw on his Super Statistician Man cape and pulled us all in just before The Balcony was about to collapse.
We lay on the floor, catching our breath and laughing our asses off. I started singing and the Balcoñeros joined in.
Show me the way to go home.
I’m tired and I wanna go to bed.
I had a little drink about an hour ago
And it’s gone straight to my head.
Wherever I may roam,
On land or sea or foam,
You can always hear me singin’ this song:
Show me the way to go home.*
The only thing was, we were already home.
So, my friends, that’s the real reason The Balcony needed “structural repairs.” Truth is still stranger than fiction.
…and that’s the View from The Balcony.
Randy Weeks is a Licensed Professional Counselor, a Certified Shamanic Life Coach, an ordained minister, and a singer-songwriter. He may be reached at randallsweeks@gmail.com
- Songwriters: Hal Swain Aka Reginald Connelly / Irving King Aka James Campbell
Show Me the Way to Go Home lyrics © Campbell Connelly and Co. Ltd.
