I posted an ad for a room for rent in my house. My friend Jason sent a reply to my ad, disguised as someone named Tad.
Hi. I’m Tad (Pronounced like how someone with a Boston accent would say Todd).
I’m quite, really, completely interesting in your posting about the room rental. Who am I, you may ask? Or “ASL?” as the kids say. Well, let me tell you.
19yrs old, Blonde hair, Blue eyes (but look somewhat green in most lighting), 5’11”, and pretty ripped. I do P90x regularly.
I drink a lot, even though I’m underage. So I’m hoping that you both would be okay with buying me some beer? I’m good for the cash. But I only like the good stuff, like Rainier. Or any other beer that is made without peanuts. HA! Just kidding again. Beer isn’t made with peanuts.
Well I hope that give you a small glimpse into the life of Tad. It’s pretty awesome.
Same Jason friend and I ended up at a place called Keys on Main last night on Lower Queen Anne. It’s one of those dueling piano bars, and was formerly known as Chopstix. There also used to be a Chopstix in Tacoma. I think I went to that one three times, and every time someone puked in the middle of the main room. Every time.
But last night was insane. I had been to this place a few years ago when it was still Chopstix for a memorial gathering/fundraiser for a couple that had gotten engaged there, but were murdered down in Puerto Rico. The guy was my ex’s co-worker, and it was a pretty sad event. At the time, the place seemed nice: lots of tables, booths, it was well-lit, had a decent bar and very busy.
Last night we are like, no way is this place open. But it was. The lighting was set to low. To the left is the stage, with two raggedy pianos and two guys playing that are in no way real people. They had to have been holograms or something. There are maybe 6-8 tables near the stage, and there are mostly just girls there. After all, it is “Ladies Night”. From there, a wide-open space separates the tables from the bar. The bar is short in length. There isn’t really room for sitting at the bar. There’s one bartender working, and I’m pretty sure he’s the only employee. We sit at the counter-height tables near the door. People pay the piano men to play songs. Girls get pulled on stage. These “married” piano men grind on the ladies. This older couple gets up and dances. Lady is wearing half a shirt. LOL! This self-proclaimed 40-year-old dude in a hoodie, jeans and flip-flops (hello Zuckerberg) hits on these chicks at the bar who are taking shot after shot while dancing to Baby Got Back.
BUT THERE IS NO WAY ANY OF THOSE PEOPLE WERE REAL. And there is no way that place is real. All the nice decor: gone. The bar set up can’t possibly be a bar set up that an actual bar would be proud of. There were like 15 people there. Four dudes on a “ladies night”. None of it made sense. It was mega loud, obviously to drown out the noise of the real business that had to be going on in the backroom. I don’t know what kind of business it really is, there’s just no way that its an actual bar. Jason started to yell out words, just to see if people would notice or look at us. But no one did because it wasn’t a real place where real sounds can exist!
Insane. How do these places stay open?
This is supposedly a real wedding picture from Krystal Mountain.
But there is no way that’s real. Cool fake snow pile in front of a green screen. Crystal Mountain might just be one mega green screen.