My Clam Chowder And Basketball Phenomenon

January 31st 2014

Story originally written and experienced: January 21st 2014

There’s something about clam chowder you probably didn’t know.

 And the story goes like this:

 “Hey. I bought us 2 tickets to unlimited clam chowder and beer. It’s next Tuesday and you’re coming with me. Bring. it. on.” Charlie relayed to me via e-mail on the Thursday night before.

 “Always assume I will say yes to these things.” Replied Olive.

 “I always do.”

 The event was this:

Screen Shot 2014-01-30 at 11.39.27 AM

Soul officially sold.

And when this curious Tuesday finally came about, the temperatures had consequently

dropped

To a chill 9 degrees

Inviting a treacherous windshield, a brutal breeze and a slippery tundra to accompany the commute.

Man down.

All for you, clam chowder.

Ensuring that only the survival of the fittest would be eligible and deserving of the steaming bowls of soup that were awaiting just a mere avalanche away.

Challenge accepted.

Challenge accepted.

 

The winds were relentless. But we were as well. And 8 frozen tears, 2 broken umbrellas and 7 episodes of my life flashing before my eyes later.

 We had arrived.

 We had finally.

Arrived.

The party has arrived.

In case you needed an accurate visual.

 

We were the very first in line – defrosting and far from defeated. Eagerly waiting to eat a classy portion of this highly acclaimed snack.

We ate 8 bowls.

So maybe we got a little out of clam.

True life: I have no self control

 

Between the 2 of us.

 Only stopping when the modern day soup nazis suggested we…slow the fuck down…and stop…and enough is very much…enough…and just in general:

No-soup-for-you

Deja vu…

 

So we made a hard switch to booze.

As did others...

As did others…

 

And contemplated where to go next.

 “So like…where do you want to go next, Olive?”

 “I don’t know…maybe somewhere new? We’re drunk on a Tuesday and I’m feeling adventurous…”

 “Yeah same here.”

 “Well there’s the Whiskey Brooklyn down the street but…we’ve already been there.”

 “Totally totally. Definitely not there.”

 “Definitely not.”

“Wanna just go to the Whiskey Brooklyn?”

 “No doubt.”

   And alas we meandered >>> into the Whiskey Brooklyn just down the way few blocks away.

whiskeybrooklyn_v5_460x285

We meet again.

And in our 2nd arctic commute.

 I started to feel different.

 I started to feel really…different.

 Something about that clam chowder…

 Made me feel…invincible.

titanic

Ditto Leo.

And I would soon find out how.

We approached >>>  the bouncer 2 feet into the entrance way.

 “IDs please.”

 We handed him our IDs as I asked him “So are there a lot of people in the bar?”

 “Just 6.”

 To which we were like

MY KIND OF PARTY.

MY KIND OF PARTY.

 

And fRoLiCkEd down the

s

  t

       a

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                      r

                                  s

 passed the sketchy claw machine and eventually caused an absolute scene as we approached the bar.

“TWO BOTTLES OF YOUR FINEST CHAMPAGNE PLEASE” said Charlie as her voice

r

          i

                    c

                             o

                                         c

                                                      h

                                        e

                            t

              e

d

Off the walls of the vacant establishment.

Alerting the other 6 attendees that we were indeed celebrating something grand. “Olive got a new job,” she continued “And we’d like to have a toast. Potentially post-gamed by the claw machine. Everyone’s welcome!”

 A round of applause ensued.

theatermove

Mostly pioneered by a barely conscious man named Frank in the corner who eerily resembled Ceelo Green

Much appreciated, Frank.

Much appreciated, Frank.

I drunkenly blushed and gave a bar-wide thank you, also announcing Charlie’s recent promotion that was needed to be celebrated as well.

  The bartender had heard quite enough.

 “Ladies, this evening is entirely too epic to not whip out my finest bottle of champagne. Just for you.”

 He rummaged through his cabinets and alas emerged with this:

A vintage 2014.

A vintage 2014.

 

The champagne was divine. And also non-existent approximately 10 seconds post the offer. And happy off of chowder, booze and bubbly, Charlie and I suddenly noticed two gentlemen

To our right

John and Patrick.

Been there since 7.

Drinking straight Jameson.

Nice.

We struck up a relatively friendly conversation.

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And eventually ended up challenging them to complete array of vacant games   s  p  r  i  n  k  l  e  d    throughout the bar. And the games were as follows:

 1. Shuffle board

 2. Ski Ball

3. Hoops Fever Basketball

And thus the triathlon of bar games

Began.

Shuffle board was sheer domination.

 Charlie and I were fueled off of clam chowder and ready to take on the whole world. Ceelo Green impersonator included.

You're next.

You’re next, Frank.

John and Patrick relayed their sincere congratulations. Told us we did a great job and that they were genuinely impressed with our skills.

 To which we were like:

200_s

The next event was ski ball.

My nemesis.

My nemesis.

John and Olive up first. Charlie and Patrick up second. Both races were extremely close.

 But not for long.

 Eventually the 6th bowl of clam chowder was making its power play and suddenly we were not only (theoretically) man-handling John and Patrick’s balls in friendly competition…but also making mini bowling balls fly with incredible force down the champion’s ramp.

 …and 8 well-spent dollars later.

 We had won. We had . We had really, really won.

 John and Patrick once again gave us their sweetest regards and kudos. To which we said

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Champagne was a bad choice…

And carried on our way to the 3rd event “Hoop Fever”

Name = hoop fever.

Bystanders beware.

 

The generous bartender brought us a round of complimentary Jameson shots as fuel.

Cheers.

Cheers J & P.

 

Charlie and Patrick went first. Charlie lost by mere 2 points. Potentially wavering our perfect score.

 It was all up to me now.

 Cross-eyed.

In a purple onesie.

Fresh out of a relationship with Jameson.

And channeling the magic of clam chowder as my unexpected weapon of choice.

 I threw each replenishing basketball with extreme and violent force.

The backboard nearly broke.

I couldn’t see anything.

I couldn’t hear anything.

Except Frank.

What's up.

Linger city.

 

And 33 seconds later the buzzer sounded. I came back to reality and asked “Did I win?” as I turned around and faced the gang.

All 3 fell silent.

And finally Charlie said”….Olive…you…just tripled the high score of the entire game…”

 Cue in the glory music.

And the support from my friends.

cheering gif

I did one single victory lap around the bar.

Brbbbbbbbb.

Brbbbbbbbb.

 

A casual drum roll against the claw machine.

And was finally wrangled and leashed by Charlie

cat on leash

To get the fuck out of there. We braved the arctic tundra once more. Jumped on the subway home. Drunkenly brainstormed between the similarities between cat food and tacos #notmany. And finally came home to our bite-sized, New York apartment with a workday that was a cruel….4 hours away.

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 And that night I dreamt about clam chowder . And I dreamt about the super-natural talents I attained from such a spontaneous Tuesday night plan. That I hadn’t just spent 24.5 years of my life underrating a week night out.

 But a bowl of soup as well.

 And how taking random chances and drinking a little champagne.

 Could prove to be quite the unexpected phenomenon.

This message is Frank approved.

This message is Frank approved.

 

Like this story and want to tell me a weird one too? That’s some good shit. Shoot me an e-mail at olivethepeople@gmail.com and let me know what you’d like to see me write about next, or if you just want to say hey!