5.20.2004
Jukebox
At approximately 6:00pm yesterday Ron and I headed over to George and The Dragon for some beer and pool. G&D is a pub near downtown Phoenix that usually draws a middle aged crowd of men looking for a seat at the bar, a pint of Guiness, and world soccer on ESPN. The décor is that of an English tavern with the predictable accessories: pool tables, dart boards, the end-of-the-bar-video-game, and the jukebox.
Ah, the jukebox. I’ve come to look at the jukebox as karaoke for shy people. You get the same satisfaction out of choosing a song that you would at karaoke and no need to deal with the stress of standing in front of a room full of people who are waiting to hear George Michael. The ego is stroked, the reputation is in tact. So when it was clear that my pool game was headed to the loo, I gathered my 2 dollar bills and headed to the jukebox. The selection was fair; from Queen to Blur, The Beatles to Jamiroquai. After sinking a couple balls, Ron joined me and we took turns flipping through the list. Seven songs seems like an easy order to fill but I was feeling overwhelmed and gave up at #5 leaving Ron finish out the set. He came over to me giddy about his selections.
“What did you put in?”
“You’ll see.”
For about $1.50 of the $2 set we continued our pool games tapping our feet and nodding our heads to the music. I was feeling pretty confident that we had chosen songs that appealed to a majority of the people in the bar. I even threw in “Sultans of Swing” as an offering.
And then Ron’s song started.
“I'm goin down down baby, yo' street in a Range Rover
Street sweeper baby, cocked ready to let it go
Shimmy shimmy cocoa what? Listen to it pound
Light it up and take a puff, pass it to me now”
There was a bit of panic at first then nervous laughter at the fact that this WASP-y pub had Nelly’s "Country Grammar" in the jukebox. Ron and I dipped and swayed to the music, taking turns strutting to the pool table and back, laughing at the possibility of getting booted from the pub. We figured if they put it in the jukebox, we were gonna play it. It almost became a secret mission to choose a list of songs that could get us booted. We survived "The Reflex" and began plotting another purchase when I noticed a couple guys circling the jukebox. One of them, a bearded man in his late 40s dressed in jeans and a plaid button down shirt, stepped up to the machine. I knew he wasn’t the bouncer so we weren’t getting kicked out, but it seemed our devious plan was headed for an intermission. We’d have to settle for AC/DC, Black Sabbath, or some other magic carpet ride. Plaid Guy finished up his selection and we resigned ourselves to playing bad pool. Then "Simply Irresistible" kicked in. Ron and I burst out laughing. Apparently, this guy really liked Robert Palmer. He played a continuous set following up with "Addicted to Love". It was hilarious. I guess you can never figure people out. Is that actually a scruffy macho guy or Eric Carmen’s secret lover? Or both? It’s contradictions like these that make for hungry eyes. After Plaid Guy finished rocking out to Robert Palmer, Ron and I stepped in and queued up some Missy Elliot. Sadly, and mysteriously, the jukebox never played our songs. Cynthia said they probably had a big red panic button behind the bar that resets the jukebox when things get out of hand. Uh well…I guess it’s better than getting the boot.
Nah.
Ah, the jukebox. I’ve come to look at the jukebox as karaoke for shy people. You get the same satisfaction out of choosing a song that you would at karaoke and no need to deal with the stress of standing in front of a room full of people who are waiting to hear George Michael. The ego is stroked, the reputation is in tact. So when it was clear that my pool game was headed to the loo, I gathered my 2 dollar bills and headed to the jukebox. The selection was fair; from Queen to Blur, The Beatles to Jamiroquai. After sinking a couple balls, Ron joined me and we took turns flipping through the list. Seven songs seems like an easy order to fill but I was feeling overwhelmed and gave up at #5 leaving Ron finish out the set. He came over to me giddy about his selections.
“What did you put in?”
“You’ll see.”
For about $1.50 of the $2 set we continued our pool games tapping our feet and nodding our heads to the music. I was feeling pretty confident that we had chosen songs that appealed to a majority of the people in the bar. I even threw in “Sultans of Swing” as an offering.
And then Ron’s song started.
“I'm goin down down baby, yo' street in a Range Rover
Street sweeper baby, cocked ready to let it go
Shimmy shimmy cocoa what? Listen to it pound
Light it up and take a puff, pass it to me now”
There was a bit of panic at first then nervous laughter at the fact that this WASP-y pub had Nelly’s "Country Grammar" in the jukebox. Ron and I dipped and swayed to the music, taking turns strutting to the pool table and back, laughing at the possibility of getting booted from the pub. We figured if they put it in the jukebox, we were gonna play it. It almost became a secret mission to choose a list of songs that could get us booted. We survived "The Reflex" and began plotting another purchase when I noticed a couple guys circling the jukebox. One of them, a bearded man in his late 40s dressed in jeans and a plaid button down shirt, stepped up to the machine. I knew he wasn’t the bouncer so we weren’t getting kicked out, but it seemed our devious plan was headed for an intermission. We’d have to settle for AC/DC, Black Sabbath, or some other magic carpet ride. Plaid Guy finished up his selection and we resigned ourselves to playing bad pool. Then "Simply Irresistible" kicked in. Ron and I burst out laughing. Apparently, this guy really liked Robert Palmer. He played a continuous set following up with "Addicted to Love". It was hilarious. I guess you can never figure people out. Is that actually a scruffy macho guy or Eric Carmen’s secret lover? Or both? It’s contradictions like these that make for hungry eyes. After Plaid Guy finished rocking out to Robert Palmer, Ron and I stepped in and queued up some Missy Elliot. Sadly, and mysteriously, the jukebox never played our songs. Cynthia said they probably had a big red panic button behind the bar that resets the jukebox when things get out of hand. Uh well…I guess it’s better than getting the boot.
Nah.
