The Oregon: Year One - The Tale of Soup and Salad Strangeness
The cops left us alone at the Oregon. More often then we would’ve thought possible since we caused a ruckus there on a daily basis. Louisville cops are also well known for there irritatingly pointless traffic stops and other such antics due to the boredom brought on by working in a town where nothing happens. It was well known that the place to party on the weekends was the Oregon and still the most we got was the occasional stops to tell Dan and myself to stop laying in the road drunk because outside of the yard it’s public intoxication. However, as soon as they would leave back out in the road we would go. The same cops would even see us go back into the road to continue whatever philosophic questions we had been posing before we were so rudely interrupted. Still they never really bothered us.
TV Land was having another A-Team marathon and life was damn good at the Oregon when a rather plain car with rather plain men wearing rather plain clothes started parking in the Main Street Café’s Parking lot. We were hoping that this meant that the Café was getting more business because it was the most convenient place to stumble to during the day after a hard mornings drunk fest, and we were concerned that our patronage was driving away customers. So we didn’t think anything of the car or the men or the clothes at all. They were background. Plus A-Team was on and lets face it, there’s not much that can pull any of us away from the A-Team. So life went on as it always had in the Oregon. Two weeks go by and the men are still parked in the parking lot. Adam and I get to talking and it was agreed that they were watching us. No matter what kind of ruckus we made we really had nothing to hide from anyone aside from some under aged consumption. So having watched way to many episodes of the A-Team to let the man get the best of us we plotted to confront said men wearing said clothes in said car. Under the pretense of “getting lunch” at the Main Street Café Adam and I walked over towards the car. Adam stopped at the driver side window and I walked over to the passenger side. The men told us that they were plain clothed cops staking our place out because of the Soup and Salad sign that Adam had put up a few weeks ago. He acquired it from Subway where he was working back then. They explained to us that soup and salad was apparently street slang for “HEY WE SELL THE FUCK OUT OF SOME DRUGS AT THIS HOUSE!!! COME ONE COME ALL! WELCOME TO THE LOUISVILLE DRUG EMPORIUM!!” Adam and I looked at each other fairly amused because drugs are one of the few things that weren’t allowed in the house during parties. None of us wanted anything to do with them and here’s the five-o staking our joint out for drugs. We told them that we had know idea that that’s what it meant and explained that Adam was indeed employed at Subway and that just like my light up Western Union sign we just liked dressing our house up as punk/white trash as we could get it. The Jolly Roger flying from the television antenna should’ve clued them in that not your everyday drunken frat boys lived here. We told them that if they wanted to waste their time watching us that they were more then welcome to. That in fact they may actually be entertained if they would watch us on the weekends because that’s when the parties are. They thanked us for our time and drove off never to be heard of again.
A related story involving said soup and salad sign was the day we got a light rapping at our door. We opened it only to find a little old lady standing on our porch asking if we really served soup and salad here. We told the lady no but that we did indeed have a restaurant style corner booth in our dining area from the Main Street Café and that she was more then welcome to come in and hang out if she wanted. Well she passed on the invite and beat a hasty retreat. Hell I would’ve found something to make for her if she would’ve come in to sit down. Now I’m not too clear on the details but I think she may have come in and I had shown her the booth. Either way she left in a hurry but with one of those grandma smiles that left you warm and cozy inside. All in all a weird experience but then again it was at the Oregon. The house itself had it’s own life and sometimes strange things like that would pop up to remind us that it was the seventh roommate. An entity in and of itself.
That’s all for now. See you all a little further down the road.
Mike
TV Land was having another A-Team marathon and life was damn good at the Oregon when a rather plain car with rather plain men wearing rather plain clothes started parking in the Main Street Café’s Parking lot. We were hoping that this meant that the Café was getting more business because it was the most convenient place to stumble to during the day after a hard mornings drunk fest, and we were concerned that our patronage was driving away customers. So we didn’t think anything of the car or the men or the clothes at all. They were background. Plus A-Team was on and lets face it, there’s not much that can pull any of us away from the A-Team. So life went on as it always had in the Oregon. Two weeks go by and the men are still parked in the parking lot. Adam and I get to talking and it was agreed that they were watching us. No matter what kind of ruckus we made we really had nothing to hide from anyone aside from some under aged consumption. So having watched way to many episodes of the A-Team to let the man get the best of us we plotted to confront said men wearing said clothes in said car. Under the pretense of “getting lunch” at the Main Street Café Adam and I walked over towards the car. Adam stopped at the driver side window and I walked over to the passenger side. The men told us that they were plain clothed cops staking our place out because of the Soup and Salad sign that Adam had put up a few weeks ago. He acquired it from Subway where he was working back then. They explained to us that soup and salad was apparently street slang for “HEY WE SELL THE FUCK OUT OF SOME DRUGS AT THIS HOUSE!!! COME ONE COME ALL! WELCOME TO THE LOUISVILLE DRUG EMPORIUM!!” Adam and I looked at each other fairly amused because drugs are one of the few things that weren’t allowed in the house during parties. None of us wanted anything to do with them and here’s the five-o staking our joint out for drugs. We told them that we had know idea that that’s what it meant and explained that Adam was indeed employed at Subway and that just like my light up Western Union sign we just liked dressing our house up as punk/white trash as we could get it. The Jolly Roger flying from the television antenna should’ve clued them in that not your everyday drunken frat boys lived here. We told them that if they wanted to waste their time watching us that they were more then welcome to. That in fact they may actually be entertained if they would watch us on the weekends because that’s when the parties are. They thanked us for our time and drove off never to be heard of again.
A related story involving said soup and salad sign was the day we got a light rapping at our door. We opened it only to find a little old lady standing on our porch asking if we really served soup and salad here. We told the lady no but that we did indeed have a restaurant style corner booth in our dining area from the Main Street Café and that she was more then welcome to come in and hang out if she wanted. Well she passed on the invite and beat a hasty retreat. Hell I would’ve found something to make for her if she would’ve come in to sit down. Now I’m not too clear on the details but I think she may have come in and I had shown her the booth. Either way she left in a hurry but with one of those grandma smiles that left you warm and cozy inside. All in all a weird experience but then again it was at the Oregon. The house itself had it’s own life and sometimes strange things like that would pop up to remind us that it was the seventh roommate. An entity in and of itself.
That’s all for now. See you all a little further down the road.
Mike
posted by Mike | 5:43 AM
1 Comments:
first off its damn odd reading my first name on ANYTHING other than junk mail and bank statements. and i think that they were at dairy mart too, because i remember running down there during a commercial break during said A-Team foolathon for smokes and cokes and having The MiB beat a hasty retreat from my crazed ass running down that hill at warp 2. the guy saw me running RIGHT FOR HIM and fumbled with his keys and then booked. i think that was after we noticed them, so it was extra funny. and DW paid his rent to me in a super shady handshake on a few occasions BESIDE dairy mart, so im sure that clued them in. but i agree, we wouldnt have walked up the the car with such pure brazen testicles if not for the 48 hour A-Team that we had just watched 75% of. I love it when a plan comes together...
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