It was Halloween season, 1996. The time of frightening ideas and images, like four more years of Clinton and Christmas decorations at Macys with outside temperatures in the 20s (er, Celsius that is...)
I had never ever ever been to Kahunaville before, so I decided to check out the Katacombs at Kahunaville and then stop over at the Big Kahuna and get lit. Since driving a motorcycle with only one beer in ya is pretty idiotic, I took a DART bus. I later learned that this was going to cost me big time.
As bus #32 rumbled down South Madison street, I realized that I was the only person on it. Well, OK, the driver was present, but it was obvious that other Delawareans weren't as brilliant as me and found other ways to get there.
I walked over to the main entrance. It has faux-paus allegedly Polynesian looking figures looming at both sides of the entrance. This was no Easter Island, I thought as I entered.
My first impression, as I looked at the themed restaurant and entertainment complex, was that I was at some attraction at Disney World. The sounds of wild animals were everywhere. Must have been a million little rug rats running all over the place, screaming, and hollering. Cold shivers ran down my spine at the thought of spending too much time here.
I walked up to the greeter at the restaurant section, and gave her my name. I was told it'd be a 30 minute wait. She gave me a beeper. I slipped it into my pants, walked over to the bar, had a beer, and daydreamed of the time that she would slip her finger over to the console and cause my pants to vibrate.
$1.00 drafts was very enticing. I ordered one and started to chug. Now I hardly ever drink, so it doesn't take much. Of course, that's the story of drunks everywhere, but for me it is true. After one beer, even Bob Dole starts to look good to me.
But no matter how buzzed I got, I couldn't get the blasted screaming kids to shut up. I looked over and couldn't believe my eyes. There was some 10 year old changeling sitting at the bar next to his mother. Hey Kahunaville, I'm no law expert, but isn't there some sort of law about having kids sit at the bar? Can't I find peace anywhere?
Finally I got the sensation, and realized it was only the beeper telling me my seat was ready. I downed a decent tasting pizza burger. The combination of my two favorite foods. It was ever so lovely.
But enough of eating. It was getting late. I went to the ticket window and bought a ticket to go through the famed Katacombs. What? $10.00? Ouch. For that price, I better have a free coronary thrown in too.
But no, for $10.00 you get to sit in queue for 30 minutes. And if that's not enough, they insult your intelligence by forcing you to sign a waiver form before allowing you to go through. It requires name, address, age, and phone number. I put down the name of Snedley Grassbuckets.
Finally, a group of us entered the famed Katacombs. It was midly amusing. Much better if you are not of right mind of course. The high ticket price probably is due to all of the minimum wage "actors" who stand in the dark and jump out at you. There must have been about 20 of them in different places. The sheer quantity of them puts to rest forever in my mind that raising minimum wage will cause job opportunities to dry up for the unskilled. Half the city's youths found job opportunities here at Kahunaville acting like morons!
But before you knew it, it was over. Time to slip over to the Big Kahuna. I got in there three minutes past eight o'clock. For the sake of three minutes, I got stuck paying the five dollar cover charge. What a bitch. I was in queue for 30 minutes at the stupid Katacombs, so it's really their fault that I missed getting in during happy hour. Those bastards.
I grabbed a beer from the bimbo bending over a barrel of beer bearing bits of bodacious boobs and headed towards the front to see what was going on. Hey, they were getting ready to do a "dating game" thing with some babe trying to pick from 40-50 drunk fools on stage. I'm in!
OK, nevermind that she was so young that she wasn't around back when I had to wait over an hour in line to buy $5.00 of gas. By this time, I had no sense. But what I didn't realize was the impending humiliation that would cause me to be scarred for the rest of my life was just minutes away.
The first round of the game was to eliminate as many losers as possible. The emcee would give her three different choices and she would pick one that turned her off the most. Any guys meeting that choice would be instantly disqualified.
The first question: Method of transportation. Car, Motorcycle, or DART BUS.
NOOOOOOOOOOO....... don't do it, don't do it, don't say it.... Arrgghhh.
Of course, she picked DART BUS. I was OUTTA there. Later. See ya....
What a bitch. But whatever, justice was still served. I grabbed another beer, and watched the rest of the circus. The guys slowly got weeded out until there was only two left. Of course, I was rooting for the John Candy lookalike. Yes, he won! Boy, did she look surprised. I had visions of her now trying to avoid the guy all night long. I'm so evil at times!
By this time, I was well frosted. It was time to hit the loo. Oh no, where the hell is the loo? I had to GO. I looked all over. I finally asked someone and they pointed to a big neon sign hanging on the wall at the far side of the joint. It said "2P" on it. Oh, real funny. A bar full of drunken idiots having to relieve themselves and they need to be cute. I had the urge....
So I run over as quickly as possible without looking like a complete dork. I get to the doors. Oh great, a friggin intelligence test. Two symbols. The traditional loo symbols of a male and female stick figure. One had a skirt of course. OK, so far so good. But each symbol had a red circle with a slash through it, meaning NO. Damn, I'm drunk, I gotta go real bad, and they expect me to figure this one out all by myself? I felt like using one of the fake palm trees, but luckily some other guy walked into the door with the skirt on it. Ah, I get it now. No chicks, just dicks. Cool!
After enriching the Wilmington water system, I grabbed another brewski. It was almost time for me to turn into a real loser. So I went for broke. They had some heavy rock tune playing (you expect me to remember what it was?) with some Black dude with fake dreadlocks, playing a fake guitar on the stage. I went up there, and made a total fool of myself. Was rocking to the jam, with both hands extended and shaking forward to the beat of the music. What I didn't realize was that I was slowly flicking my Miller all over the place. No wonder the floor was getting a bit slick.
Arrgh, no, what's this. I looked at my watch. I was almost 10:15. When everyone else was just getting started, it was time for me to catch the last DART bus out of town.
Disclaimer: This story was based on actual events. However, since the
writer had a distorted memory of the events that transpired, who knows
what really happened!