Ike on the Rocks

by Mills-McCoin
Illustration by Tim Dorsey

Some friends and I skipped into The Harp on Richmond around 8:37 post meridiem, three nights after Hurricane Ike punched Houston in the face... Allowing credit cards, The Harp was packed with all manner of hipsters, neighborhood elders, etc. So we ordered tequila and some drinks, never paying any attention to the ridiculous curfew of 9 o’clock. At approximately 8:45, a pair of cops walked into the bar to inform the manager of said curfew in hopes of persuading her to close The Harp. The momentarily-brave bar manager politely declined to close, adorning the cop with a look of absolute shock. The foot-soldiers walked out pouting that they didn’t ruin everyone’s happiness in times of doubt. But seconds later, the other cop walked back in and asked for the bar manager’s driver’s license so that he could document her civil disobedience. I remember this taser-toting asshole had a shaved head. The bar manager folded her cards and closed the bar. The cop walked out with a grin from ear to ear and the stench of martial law, which smells worse than Eva Braun’s gash. Yeah, you might oughta take a breather after that one.
No electricity. No internet... No gas. No air conditioning. And now, no watering hole to take a prolonged dip in. Nevertheless, we all rolled with the punches together like one big happy AA meeting in the future.
I’ve never seen so many people take refuge in their forgotten love for alcohol induced... anything. Not only that, the clientele was a strange amalgamation of everyone who lived within a two mile radius of our once village quaint that now looked a bit like Sleepy Hollow. Sans hurricane, these people wouldn’t be caught dead drinking together. Hipsters and bourgeois Montrosians were pounding brew and discussing strange scenes of devastation with professors from Rice. I raise my glass high to those who took the opportunity to engage in a weird thwarting of the everydayness. After all, drinking is all we could do to get by.
That’s not entirely true, but to prove my point... Raking leaves drunk versus raking leaves sober? You’re mildly obligated to rake up the mess in your front yard anyway; so why not get thrown while doing it. Sitting on your front porch because it’s too hot inside your de-electrified house (aka “the olden days”): sober or drunk? You’re bound to sink into insanity just sitting there sober, staring at your neighbor across the street cleaning up the broken tree with his chainsaw and Jack Daniels. So toss a few back and... then toss a few more and talk out loud to yourself.
Libations are the cornerstone of most marriages, business deals, misadventures, intercourse and the like. The “like” being everything that makes the world go round. So; by that philosophy,- we’re just being productive in the drunken aftermath of a treacherous hurricane. At the start of the Hurricane season next year, we very well could have an entire generation of “Ike” babies. Remember the last time that happened?
Well... We’re back to “normal” now. There’s no more hysteria. You don’t hear “Oh my God, when am I ever gonna get my AC back!?” as often. Curfew’s not gone though. But, we’re back to ‘normal’... Cheers... .