Always talk to the crazy people, pt. 2

"I like Jesus, but his fan club sucks"

        "Good show, brother" I said as I approached with fist out, ready to drop some money into his collection sack. "Oi mate, You enjoy it?", "Of course I did, although your audience fucking sucked!" I replied. He agreed, as this is part of the job as a street performer. Sometimes it pays well, other times people are just wasting time... Getting a free show. We shake hands and start to talk. He's from Ireland, Belfast to be precise. When I tell him I'm from Portland, Oregon there is an immediate reference to the "Agriculture" there. We laugh and continue to talk. After a little bit, with other acts performing around us, he asks what I am doing tonight. At this point it's my fourth day in Vienna, of course I have nothing to do. He proceeds to tell me about a dance that night. Swing dancing, at a club he happens to teach dancing at, something he's been doing for nearly 15 years. Naturally, I am interested. We agree to meet back in Stephansplatz about 3 hours later. With that, I move on, continuing to explore the city for the meantime. 


        When I return to the square, he happens to be emerging from the Underground station I pass on the way down. Like a music video or a movie, we are sequenced precisely to end up walking next to each other. Neither of us breaking stride nor being aware of the other initially, as if one of us saw the other coming and meant to be there waiting without actually stopping. "Good timing" I note. "Aye" He agrees as we proceed to the center. We walk up to a group of people, come to find out most of them are performers as well. I am introduced to El Diablo, Mr. White and some other people with regular names. Among them a Serbian named David who takes off shortly after. 


        Myself, Chicken Joe and Mr. White take off to grab a beer from a cart up the way. When we return, a couple of Slovenians who were crashing and Joe's place are there waiting. After chatting for a bit, we decide to make our way towards the club. 


        Now, this story can go on and on with details and details. Most of which are irrelevant, so we'll catch up as we arrive at the club. Chicken Joe goes inside to talk to the owner, getting us a free entry. As he's inside, a couple appears in the hallway outside the club, practicing their dance moves. The lady is stunning, a figure to die for, a slightly chiseled face in a bright red skirt, matching shoes and a flower behind her ear with her hair tied back. The man is wearing slacks, saddle shoes and a vest with a white button up below and a black tie. Counting their steps out loud they dance. Mr. White and I were sitting down before they came out and at this point were standing in the entrance to the hallway watching. Their moves were hypnotizing. In perfect sync, it was obvious they were not only dance partners, that they had spent many many years perfecting their trade. Resulting in a work of art, both pleasing to the eyes and inspiring for the soul.


     "Joe" comes out dancing his way around the couple, finishing with a bow and the blow of a kiss. The couple heads back  and we're beckoned in.


      As we descend the multiple flights of stairs to the club, I find myself very quickly feeling under dressed in my blue jeans, white t-shirt and a hoodie. Everyone else was in the era. Suits, skirts, dresses, massive head pieces of feathers and all sorts of other things. Tables in the front welcomed us with a "Sandwich Bar" of various cheeses on bread topped with caviar and vegetables. All open faced and bite size, incredibly scrumptious. 


      There is a lot of people there, most dancing, some just looking dapper, drinking and entertaining. The club is small, A sheer sheet is draped from the ceiling between a stage and the dance floor. Black and white films from the era are playing from a projector and the DJ is rocking some great swing sound, some I've heard, others are new. I might as well have stepped into a time portal. Every song the dancers switch, seamlessly. Every pair is moving differently to every song but they all seem to be moving together, the essence of experience. Some even switching partners mid song with out missing a beat. 


      As the song playing winds down and finally stops the dancers move to the side. The dance floor is small, but seems so be endless when no one is dancing. After a couple moments of silence, the DJ introduces the couple from outside, their names I forgot 10 seconds after their introduction. They present themselves with a bow, catch eyes with the DJ and the music starts.


      What follows is indescribable. A flawless execution of a well practiced series of twirls, snaps, swings and flips. A beyond impressive display of a long practiced skill. One of those moments where you realize that you should be able to do that, only you lack the interest and self discipline. Even if you had the partner that you tell yourself you need, you wouldn't be there anytime soon. 


      Their routine ends, followed by a massive applause and the dance floor swings back into full motion. As I sit and watch, very tired at this point, Chicken Joe comes to me. I've been watching him on the floor for a bit, impressed by his ability to move at this point. When I met him 10 hours earlier he was obviously already drunk and had not quit. Then again, he is an Irish man.


      "I'm going to do a quick show, this audience is a little off tonight so I'm going to need a volunteer... Do you mind?". I think to myself, "Volunteer for what?" but only vocalize and agreement. Why the hell not, right? A few minutes later I see the sheet playing films come down, the projector turn off and Chicken Joe gets on stage. He starts the act, lighting torches and swallowing fire. The crowd is amused, slightly impressed but more drawn on by the energy of Chicken Joe. He has a way of catching peoples attention, be it good or bad. Remember, it is his job.


      "For the next part, I'm going to need a volunteer... Where is that big american bloke I met earlier?" Being the tallest on in the audience and wearing an I <3 NJ shirt its pretty easy for everyone to find me. I walk up to the stage followed by an applause. I introduce myself and submit to an onslaught of jokes from the host.


      "Christian, put your hands on the ceiling." I follow instruction, he gets behind me and pulls my shirt up to my elbows, shirt covering my eyes a cheer comes on from the crowd. I lower my arms and he throws the shirt to the side of the stage. "Now, the first thing I need you to do is shave" he says. A big laugh, I run my fingers through the hair on my chest and blow him a kiss. More laughs as he pulls a cucumber out of his bag, at least 20" in length. Introducing it as a "sex toy" he proceeds to stuff the first few inches into my belt line, leaving it pinned between my pants and my stomach. 


        "Now I need to blindfold you." Laughing to myself I allow him to put a bandana over my eyes and lay me down on stage. While the crown murmurs he introduces this section of his act as "The dangerous part". I hear the owner of the club, a pretty little thing yell to him. "NO! Nothing dangerous!". He responds with a laugh and "Don't worry love". He asks if I can see anything, I say no which is true. The crowd starts to laugh, I assume that since he's wearing a kilt he's currently standing over me. I flick my tongue out into the air a few times which continues to bring on the audience. 


      As he is talking, I hear next to my head the sound of metal on metal. More specifically the sound of his machete coming out of the same bag that contains the 13m of chain used for his escape act. "Hopefully this goes well, because if I fuck this up he'll be bleeding from the gut". Again the owner screams "No!".  Before I know it, there is a quick series of chops, followed by the feeling of  the pieces of cucumber rolling from my sides and an applause. 








So that ends the story of that evening at least. Now, some very small details that I've left out. As we walked from the square to the club he asks me "Christian, what is your nick-name?" Surprised I respond with "How did you know I have one?" "You have to, its just right". Had that comment not been made, I am not sure that I would ever let a drunk Irishman chop a cucumber on my stomach with a machete. But as it goes, I did. 


I hope you've enjoyed my experiences with this crowd so far. We've hung out many times since, all of which continue to exemplify the image of a free spirit. Likely perceived as crazy to most, behind the act and the drinking, I know he is a good man. I am glad I took the time to introduce myself, as I knew I be when I made the decision to return to "The Pitch" to to say hi.