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Mike Allred, �Madman Adventures�

Started August 14 � Finished August 14, 2006; 128 pages). Posted 17 October 2006

First of all, yes, as some of you have heard, there was an earthquake early Sunday morning registering a 6.6 on the Richter scale. Despite getting home earlier than usual and being super tired, I couldn�t get to sleep and was sleepily watching season 2 of The Sopranos courtesy of Netflix when the house started shaking.

Now, coming from California, I like earthquakes. One of my most fun moments happened when I was sitting on the very top of a five foot ladder in my friend�s room in our old Victorian house when the earth shook and I got to ride that ladder like a bucking bronco. I was in that same house when the big Loma Prieta earthquake happened in 1989, the one where a double-decker portion of a highway collapsed and part of the Bay Bridge fell down. When that one started my roommates and I continued playing Sega Genesis for the first few seconds until the four-foot high beer can pyramid we built into the recess of the wall collapsed. We got up and hit the doorways, whereupon I could see through the big bay windows the two-story house next door, which was literally rotating on its base.

It was then I realized you never see pictures of collapsed houses after earthquakes that still have the doorframes remaining, complete with some guy standing with his thumb up and a big smile. No, they tell us to go to the doorframes so those rescue teams will know where to look for bodies.

In any case, I�ve been in enough earthquakes that it barely even registers anymore. The ground started a low rumble, the earth started shaking, I hit pause on The Sopranos and enjoyed the ride, and when it was over, I rewound the part I had missed. It only took about two minutes for an aftershock to hit and almost immediately after it stopped, the power went out.

Well, good I thought. Now maybe I can go to sleep, because it�s obvious I�m too interested in the show to let myself slip into unconsciousness.

Of course, other people in the area weren�t as aloof as myself. Half asleep, I could hear my housemate talking excitedly on the phone with friends and relatives, who were obviously researching Web sites and fortunately for me, he has a habit of repeating out loud whatever he was told.

�The power is out all over the island?� he said.

I got up.

Disasters have a way of kicking reporters into overdrive because it�s something different, and it�s easy. Check the obvious places like liquor stores and supermarkets because they�ll have the best photos both in terms of damage from things falling off the shelves, and of people in a panic to hoard food and bottled water. Put somebody on a driving mission to find a gas station that�s still operating, because it will soon be backed up for miles. For Hawaii, get a shot of some tourists that are stuck either in the airport, or at the lobby of their hotels.

And sure, I�ve been a reporter for long enough to have these instincts serving as second nature. Problem is, I haven�t done any city reporting so I don�t have access to important people, meaning I couldn�t really write anything of substance. But I figured I should find something of use and wondered where I could find an angle different enough to stand out from the usual spots.

I say wondered, but really the idea came immediately. I knew that despite reports of every place having to close their doors when they were plunged into darkness, my favorite dive bar would be up and running, and most likely at full capacity. That was my angle. Old drunks calmly drinking beer while the rest of the city regressed into chaos.

And sure, seeing that I�m old and like beer, there was an added perk.

When the power came back on 13 hours later, I e-mailed the editors for the paper to tell them what I had and asked if they were interested. The response came shortly after, saying simply, �Oh, we totally want it.�

---

I�ve been meaning to write this entry for a long time after that last post which I know sounded really frustrated � almost to the point of the entire entry being a poor pity party. I mean, it was accurate to say I was frustrated, and I even spent a couple of days looking stressed and mopey, which isn�t easy on the facial muscles.

The same night I wrote that last entry, however, after I went to sleep I had a particularly intense dream involving The Ex-girlfriend. I don�t remember the specifics, but I know she said something that I blew out of proportion and responded with something biting and mean-spirited. When I saw her face it was obvious that I had hurt her feelings and tried to apologize, to which she gave me a severe dressing-down for making a big deal out of something that I knew wasn�t how she meant whatever the hell she said.

I�ve had some amazing, vivid dreams involving, of all things, a clown hammer, Bob Barker and Tom Waits. I�ve also read enough Jungian theory to know that the meaning of the dream was rarely about the subjects involved. I woke up, and never felt bad about the threat of possible unemployment again.

Why? Because I knew that I didn�t really need to make a big deal out about the possibility of losing my job at the nightclub. Sure, it sucked, especially seeing how I was making a comfortable living and for the first time in a long time, could envision finally catching up with my previously insurmountable debt. Yeah, I was scared that I might have a hard row finding full-time employment at any one place, forcing myself into a repeat of last year, working four jobs and running myself ragged.

But I knew I could do it if I had to and that it would work itself out. I started my first real job at a restaurant, knowing nothing about food, and became their head chef. When I started college I didn�t have a computer, and became the supervisor of their computer lab. I didn�t have any bartending experience when I got to Hawaii, and if the place hadn�t sold, I was supposed to be the bar manager. And the bookstore...

Well, I guess the bookstore doesn�t count, because I already knew all about books.

Basically, I have a crazy work-ethic which has served me well over the years, and all this time with all these jobs I�ve been able to keep my personality, succeeding on my own terms. Plus there are a lot of things going for me. I�m an intelligent, witty, endearing, honest, personable, smoking hot person whom only the jealous and the feeble-minded don�t like.

Oh, I almost forgot modest. Holy fuckfire, am I modest. I�m so modest, modest people fall to their knees and weep at the sheer sign of my modesity.

I woke up the next day, completely over it. I�d find a job, and eventually it would be something I liked. So I plotted. I�d use the time while the owners finished up their paperwork for the club to bulk up on articles for the paper. I might even use the free time to actually go to the bartender academy just to improve my skills. I got my father to agree to help me out in case I did come up short on rent and bills, and while trying to find a job, I�d finally take the unpaid internship for the paper, which would ultimately lead to more stories, all of which I would be paid for.

Yes, it might be hard, or stressful, or hunger-inducing, but it was all doable. I turned in three articles for the paper for their special Bar and Club issue with two profiles on bartenders (third and fourth people featured), and a piece on how to drink for cheap. Jen, the bartender from The Hideaway that I covered saw me on Friday when I was feeling frustrated, and told me about a new pub opening that she knew needed staff.

It took three visits before I was finally able to meet with the owner, who in one of those weird matters of synchronicity, turns out to be the founder of The Hideaway, way back in 1977. He sold the place and planned on retiring, but boredom set in and he decided to start over, mostly just to see if he could do it, I suspect.

Of course, I didn�t know this when I first set foot in his new place. I introduced myself, told him about how Jen recommended that I come down, and brought up that I had been a bartender at the nightclub for the past year. He pointed to the second half of the room, which was still barren as his bar accoutrements such as dartboards and jukebox hadn�t arrived yet.

�Well,� he said, �obviously we�re not really ready to go yet. But eventually we�re going to be up and running, and that�s a fifty-foot bar that we have here. When it starts picking up, we�re going to need two people in that bar and as of right now, all the people I have are women, so I need to get some men in here, because I want everybody to have something to look at.�

He gave me a look, checking to see if I comprehended. I did. And like I said, I�m smoking hot. And modest.

�I�ll be ready in two weeks, I would hope,� he continued. �But in the meantime, what I�m really interested in is getting some publicity. You have any experience in promotions?�

�Well, how do you mean?� I asked.

�Well, really what I want to do is get something in the paper.�

�Really...� I said, in that tone of voice that just oozes with because I know something that you might be interested in. �As it happens, I write on the Honolulu bar scene for the Weekly.�

�Really...� he said, in the exact same tone I just used.

Now before you start screaming about journalistic accountability and whatnot, I just want to say that the very next thing out of my mouth was that ethically speaking, I would not be able to be under any sort of employ by him until the article came out. I also said that since I had already been to his place twice before and had spent money there, I already knew I was going to write about it. �But,� I said to him, �after the article comes out, which would probably be two or three weeks from now, there isn�t any conflict of interest.�

�Two or three weeks from now is when I�m going to need additional help,� he said.

---

Going back to the day after I wrote the last entry, and more important, after having the dream telling me to snap out of my funk, I got ready for work. My boss told me that the new owners were going to be there, so I dug through my clothes to see what I wanted to wear. I wanted whatever I wore to still show my unique personality, but I also thought it wouldn�t be a good idea to wear a shirt that said, say, �Repent! You Fucking Savages! Repent!�

Yes, I do have a shirt that says that. It�s one of my favorites.

Of course, all I really have are obscure band shirts for the most part, but that didn�t really seem to fulfill any kind of statement about me. Then I pulled out the winner � my Mystery Science Theater 3000 shirt that my friend Alan, the person who gave me the idea of doing this site in the first place, gave to me.

The owners never showed up, but the shirt was a hit with the majority of the patrons. One guy even came up and slapped down a dollar on the counter. �I don�t want anything. I just wanted to give you this because that�s the coolest shirt I�ve seen.�

Another guy at the middle of the bar joined the conversation. �I was just gonna say that. Gotta ask though � Joel or Mike?�

I�m used to this question. �Mike,� I said without hesitation.

�What? You�re crazy. Nobody picks Mike.�

�I know, I know, but see, I own probably about 75 percent of all the episodes ever made. When I moved here, I got a DVD burner just so I could scale down the size of my collection. I�ve done the research, and yeah, Joel is simply instantly likeable with his whole sleepy-eyed goofball schtick, but Mike is actually the funnier guy.� He told me that was a good point, and that he never really gave Mike a fair chance. I told him how Mike�s actually carrying on the show in a way through rifftrax.com, except now you could actually watch some movies that were a little more tolerable.

You know, it occurs to me that there are some people right about now who have no fucking idea what I�m talking about. Thank Christ for that. It wouldn�t be good if everybody were as cool as myself. Or as modest.

In any case, the owners didn�t show up that night, which was disappointing because it meant that my indeterminate of my tenure was being prolonged. Yeah, I wasn�t as upset as the night before, but I didn�t want to be a masochist about it.

Four days later my boss called, telling me to write down a name and address. �You have an interview with them on Friday at four.�

I walked into the place at 3:40, got a beer and opened my book. Just after four o�clock I felt a tap on my shoulder and looked up into the face of the bar manager, his hand outstretched.

�You must be Rick,� I said.

It was the guy who I spent all that time talking with about MST3K. Never underestimate the power of bonding over cult television shows.

Rick explained that there was still one part of the business transfer that could derail the entire sale, but told me they were interested in keeping me on if all went smoothly. �I watched you work, that night. People seem to like you, you know the customer�s names, and you work well in a crowded environment. That�s just what we�re want.� He then started to go through the details of the company that was buying the club, some of which include:

As we wrapped up the interview, he reminded me that there was still a slight possibility that the sale could fall through. �I�ll give you a call on Sunday and let you know how everything went,� he said.

Of course, on Sunday the earthquake happened and the island was plunged into darkness and chaos. And I went to drink beer with old men.

---

Today I went to have my interview with the pub owner for the newspaper article. He�s a really cool guy who loves the bar business, and it�s obvious that he�s adored by everybody because whenever I brought him up, nobody had anything but great things to say about him. When I finished with the interview portion I said I wanted to get a couple of photos of him in front of his place.

�Hold on a second,� he said. �I need to have a woman with me.� I thought he was joking, but he literally spent five minutes prowling around the hotel lobby to find a girl to pose with him. I know that might sound creepy to some, but he did it in this charming manner that most people wouldn�t be able to pull off, stating that since the picture was going to be in the newspaper he wanted there to be somebody who was pleasant to look at. When we finished with the picture taking we sat down again at his booth. He pointed at my recorder. �Is that thing off?� he asked.

I said that it was.

�Ok. When this is all finished. I want you to come back and work with me.� Notice the wording on that. Not �for me,� but �with me.� That�s the kind of guy he struck me as.

I went back to The Hideaway for a celebratory drink. My boss from the nightclub eventually called, asking me to come by and help inventory the remaining liquor. When I arrived I found Rick the bar manager helping with the inventory. The sale had gone through. I was hired onto their staff. He even wants me to continue the punk night for five more weeks, even though I told him I didn�t really think it was worth it because of low turnout.

�Ah, it�s better to stay open and make something,� he said. �The rent�s going to be the same either way. What does he pay you to DJ?�

�Really, I just play for beer,� I answered.

�We�ll get you more than that.�

After that was finished, I went back again for another celebratory drink at The Hideaway. Friends showed up, and they were excited to hear that I had secured two jobs. They wanted me to stay longer, but I was simply too frazzled from the chaos of the day before and the excitement of this day. I got home, checked my e-mail and noticed a message from my editor on the paper.

�Hi Dean,� it began.

�I just want to let you know�before we post the position publicly�that our calendar editor is leaving in December and we need a replacement. [...] So, if you're interested, we�d love to have you. You�re our first choice, so we�ll wait until we hear from you to advertise the position�

This is the day I�m having.


Rating: Worth working in a used bookstore and getting for cheap.

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