Openly Housed

Last Thursday afternoon, a few people informed me and Forrest that Cameron Village would be celebrating its 60th anniversary later that evening. We thought this seemed like an appropriate reason to get blackout. That was until I saw the advertisement below.

An Open House? There’s nothing more OTB than an Open House. Open Houses don’t even exist inside the beltline. ITB houses are ruthlessly snatched up before they can be put on the market, sometimes even before the previous owner has been pronounced dead. So why are we inviting commoners to Cameron Village for this anniversary? Why would we allow people who don’t normally shop for (completely unnecessary) specialty products to come get in the way of those who have spent countless hours and dollars supporting these fine establishments?

I became more and more infuriated as I read over the advertisement.
“Look at this shit, Forrest. ‘Seeing is Believing’? Well if we don’t remember seeing any of this, we can believe that it never happened. Just like when we dropped the atomic bomb,” I said.
“The what?” Forrest asked.
“Exactly,” I replied.

As if clowns (pedophiles) and jugglers (high school dropouts) weren’t enough, they threw in a $25 coupon to promote this atrocity. The coupon is for $25 off of a purchase of at least $100. I was impressed with this bait and switch technique, knowing that it would draw commoners into the stores like canned food night at the State Fair. Once inside, they would realize they couldn’t afford any of the overpriced merchandise. I hoped that this would make them feel terrible about themselves to the point that they would be too embarrassed to ever set foot in Cameron Village again. Fortunately, the coupon was only valid for three hours. The last thing we need is a bunch of commoners lining up outside of Charlotte’s waiting for the Black Friday deals. Cameron Village doesn’t have Black Friday because it doesn’t need to have Black Friday. Sure, some of the establishments may be barely staying afloat, hardly able to handle massive amounts of debt, but they don’t need to stoop so low as to provide coupons or “deals” to the ITB consumers. You don’t see Felson’s handing out coupons.

Forrest and I joined up with some other people who sent me this great idea through Twitter.

@Reddcorn CV bar crawl tonight beer and bombs all night starts at moes makes the loop around until we end up blackout at felsons @LewisWeavil @WNFIV

I can’t believe I had never thought of a Cameron Village Bar Crawl before. The bar crawl began at Moe’s because the employees always stop what they’re doing and welcome me when I walk in. I don’t know why all restaurants don’t do this, at least to me. After dinner and a few drinks, we got in my SUV to drive (I don’t walk) to our next destination, the Flying Biscuit. However, my plan to drive was thwarted by the immense crowds of commoners wandering around the parking lot wondering why there wasn’t a Wal-Mart within sight. Since I refuse to walk anywhere, I tried to make Forrest carry me (no homo) to the next bar, but he was already slurring his words and I didn’t want to risk getting dropped. The obvious solution was to make Forrest get a shopping cart from Harris Teeter for me to ride in. Once on board, we began to pass some of the “entertainment” as we made our way to the next stop.

A magician was performing for a small crowd and tried to stop us so we could be part of his act.
“Hello, Gentleman. Care to pick a card?” he said.
I wasn’t going to let one of these assholes make me look stupid again. It took three years of therapy to get over what happened with the commoner magician at Forrest’s 11th birthday party, and I wasn’t going to let it happen again.
“Care to pick a career? A real one, that doesn’t involve wearing a tuxedo you got from the Bargain Box and carrying all of your possessions in a trunk. I would respect you more if you worked at Kroger,” I replied as his face turned red from embarrassment.

Seeing these heathens so close to Village Deli made me want to throw up my Joey Bag of Donuts right there on the sidewalk. We crossed the street and passed by Victoria’s Secret. I couldn’t believe they weren’t doing anything for the Open House. I would have assumed scantily clad women with low self esteem would have been showing off and begging for attention. I guess Felson’s has that market cornered.

We continued down the hill, passing Ten Thousand Villages, which is also commonly known as “what is that Ten Thousand Villages store and why is it in Cameron Village?”.
Almost on cue, Forrest asked, “What is that Ten Thousand Villages store?”
“They sell a bunch of foreign shit, made by a bunch of 3rd worlders, to rich people inside the beltline. It just makes ITB women feel like they’re giving back to third world countries without actually having to go there or do anything about it. They can proudly display some colorful tribal quilt from New Guinea in their living room and naively believe that the money they spent is going to help some poor village people. Plus they don’t have to be around all the AIDS and other diseases. It’s sort of like the Bargain Box.” I explained.
“Wait, what’s the Bargain Box?” Forrest asked.
“It’s like this shit hole, except all the stuff is donated by wealthy people. I think it’s run by the Junior League or some shit. My Mom’s required to donate something like $500 worth of clothes every year. She says it’s basically “last year’s designer clothing,” I explained.
“Wait you have to donate your clothes? That’s retarded,” he replied.
“Well, yes, all charity is retarded. However, you can write off the original price of all the shit you donate, not just the $15 that an OTB person has to spend when they buy it. It’s actually the way wealthy people make money back when cleaning out their closet. That’s why mom Mom makes me clean out my closet every six months,” I said.
Forrest couldn’t grasp this concept, he was never really good at math, so we continued to The Flying Biscuit.

There was a wait for being seated at a table (I don’t wait), so we sat at the bar and ordered drinks. This is where I learned that The Flying Biscuit has the worst goddamned service in Cameron Village. They’ve got fifteen hipster douchebags walking around in there like they don’t have shit to do. Now I know why there was a wait for a table, none of these assholes were doing their jobs. I couldn’t take it any longer, so we left after one drink and went next door to Cameron Bar and Grill.

Upon entering Cameron Bar and Grill, we were greeted by a very bangable hostess (call me) and led to our table. The place began to get a little too crowded so we left for the Draft House after a few shots.

We settled into a booth at the Draft House. Despite the fact that everything on the menu tastes like a damp hamburger , this place served its purpose. We took some jager bombs while the losers wearing Hurricanes jerseys watched the Canes win some “incredible” game because it went into overtime or some shit. I only go to playoff hockey games because that’s the best time to jump on the bandwagon and pretend that I know shit about hockey. Almost blackout at this point, we left for Felson’s. Fortunately, the Open House was over at this point and we avoided running into any more commoners and any of the other “entertainment” acts. We arrived at Felson’s and basked in the glow of underage normalcy. If you’ve read this blog before, you know what happened next.

Related posts:

• The Passion of the Convention Center
• I've had it with Greg Fischel
• Southern Belles
• ITB Moment of the Week: Future Late Night President asks Gingrich to Newt-er Obama