The Rutland Bar Tour IVIt is 2 am on a Saturday night in Rutland, Vermont. Brooke is swaying from side to side on the sidewalk, dodging inappropriately planted trees. Bridges goes “Shit we should have introduced Jack (Daniels) way earlier.” Brooke attempts to turn around, hits another tree and goes, “Sarah, are you writing this down?” I arrived at Brooke’s at like 5 PM, to what appeared to be a beer coozie sweatshop. She had her mother and sister knitting around the kitchen table under the impression that they were simply “playing Scrabble.” Is was weird because Brooke was hovering around the table with a whip in her hand
The real evening started around 8 PM at a bar called Two Shea’s, a classy joint with outside seating. I picked up a Maxim at the bar to check out while sunning myself on the “patio.” So the who’s who list begins here. We have got Brooke Geery. She is actually a Rutland native. She enjoys teenage boys, crappy skateparks, and the University Mall in Burlington. Just having her at this event is drawing a crowd already. She is like the Paris Hilton of Rutland. Next we have Catherine Nieves. She has commuted from NYC for this event. She enjoys beer, scrabble tournaments, and office supplies. You’ve got me. I am an internet model, retired snowboarder, and keen observer of the abnormal. We all sit down and wait for the party to come to us, which it will inevitably do. Beer begins. We all start with Labatts, great solid beer. Within the hour Rob Z and Pat Bridges join us. Rob Z is known for being the only dude in his small Vermont town to have internet and for his killer tan. Pat Bridges is known for his charm, one liners, and ability to smoke a cigarette while landing the sickest trick ever. Bridges gives Brooke a run for her money in local celebrity status. He knows everyone from the dude bagging his groceries to the mayor. At this point, Bridges is the Paris Hilton of Rutland, and poor Brooke has to be Nicole Ritchie.
Back at Two Shea’s drinking continues. Rutland locals call out “Pat Bridges” and “Brooke Geery” respectively with a look of awe in their eyes. Our table expands with the growing fan base. I have no idea who has joined us. I got a kid named Donny, Jim Kelly via a cell phone, and some kid that “used to be hot” when Brooke was 16. The rest have ironic sayings on their T-shirts, and one kid is carrying a skateboard around as his TGI Friday’s flair for the evening. Bridges entertains the crowd with his natural charm and wit. He offers Brooke some advice of making money. He suggests telling said airline that they broke the display on her camera, which was obviously destroyed during a drunken evening in Barcelona. He suggests encouraging the next airline she travels on to pay for the display. We are all a little skeptical until he informs us that his sister received 300 bucks from the airline that broke her hymen. Drinking continues. Brooke is not that drunk and wants to go home Catherine is drunk and wants to party. Bridges and Rob are buying drinks. “Oh my god, is that Pat Bridges?”
The patio is getting cold. The girls are complaining. So we move to the next bar. At this point, all I know is we are going to a bar called the Office. It is like “2 blocks away” and is in someone’s living room. Our two-block walk is more like ten, but the walk in fairly entertaining. We go by a porn shop and its counterpart, the Stoplight bar, which serves the porn shop's clientele. Brooke yells something about porn at the bartenders standing at the window. They give us a dirty look and our journey continues. The next distraction is a window at a trophy show. There are all those basic trophies displayed: basketball, snowboarding, skiing, and “general awesomeness.” And then it is spotted, the trophy of real greatness and achievement. It is a light bulb mounted on a run-of-the-mill trophy stand. We were all speechless. But we ALL wanted one. The Office is in our line of sight. We are almost in the door. “Oh my god, is that Pat Bridges?” We are in the door. The bar is full. It’s all redneck white trash individuals in their 40s-50s. My attention is drawn to a 50 something year-old woman playing pool alone. She is wearing black boots, a skintight black skirt. Her top that is black but ripped to expose an awesome hot pink Lycra something or other underneath. This ain’t Hot Topics shit. We are talking Torrid. Someone asking me for my ID brings me back to reality. Before I know it bar regulars are suggesting we go to “Jilly’s” and some trashy woman is scampering off into the back room with Brooke and I’s IDs. She returns a few minutes later refusing to serve us because she can not see the holograms. At this point, everyone is yelling shit. I opt to intervene in the hologram scenario. It seems the most exciting of the options. My ID is like not even a year old and the holograms are easier to see than my actual birth date. Brooke’s on the other hand takes a little bit more work, but I find them and show them to this lady, who keeps insisting she had bad eyes. She OKs me, but insists that if we want to stay she is calling Brooke’s ID in to the cops to verify. People flip out again. Everyone is a little drunk and testy. The crowd is encouraged to stay and Brooke is recommended to let them call the cops. She agrees. It is all for story’s sake really. The cops verify Brooke is real. This bar and its employees are forced to welcome and serve us. So we embrace the bar and join the crowd, which quickly disperses once it becomes obvious we are staying. The rest of the Rutland fanbase enters the bar at this point, totally missing the best part of the evening thus far.
This place is kind of amazing. Bridges strikes up conversation with the bar tender. There is an awesome laminated sheet behind the bar with a list of names on it under categories “trespassing,” “barred,” and “liquor list.” Bridges commends the bartender of the cleanliness of the restrooms. She remarks that they are known for having the cleanest bathrooms in all of Rutland. Others concur and validate this amazing achievement. 1 AM rolls around. The bar tender is putting up bar stools and turning off the lights. We decide to go home. The evening has been pretty solid. Everyone is satisfied with its results. We are walking home when we hear “unnnntttta uuunnntttaaa” music coming from what apparently used to be a vintage store and is now a giant gay dance club. It is called Shuka Dukas and it has a cover. We almost bail at the 3-dollar cover when Bridges decides to pay. The door lesbian lets us all in for 10 dollars, and the night rolls on. We found a spot in a prime location in the back corner easily accessible to the bar. Some girl rolls over and gets into talking to Donny. She is inappropriately dressed for her size, but I think the alcohol is giving her that confidence she needs to go for it. She is talking to Donny and her shit is hanging out. Apparently she asks for his number. He is totally into it and gives her Jim Kelly’s number. She is psyched. You would like to think she would bail at this point, but she moves on. She’s all over dude in sight. I am personally fascinated by the amount of skin I do not want to see, yet am able to. I got a couple of great shots of her ass and Bridges. Hopefully Brooke is inserting them….um here….
People are way drunk. Bridges decides it is time for Brooke to puke. He orders her a shot of Jack to help the cause. We are almost there. Wait, “oh my god, is that Pat Bridges?” Brooke wants to go home. Catherine wants to party. Everyone else could give a shit. It is almost 2 am. We begin to walk back to the cars. Brooke is swaying down the sidewalk…. And we are out. -Sarah Morrison |
