Brian Flanagan ’04

The Alligator Lounge, Wmsbg, Brooklyn, where Steven wanted to have his birthday get-together because they offer one whole free pizza per drink. Tiki lounge decor, now tiki-alligator-Xmas themed, with an alligator-victim mannequin glued to the wall, handless and red-paint bloody, but wearing a cheerful necklace of blinking christmas lights. Yes, one free whole pizza per drink. I don’t know how they stay open, except they charge $3 per diet coke.
So I spend about $135 in soda, purchased from a man Chris T. refers to as “The Brotender.” He’s wearing a sleeveless white undershirt (the kind that sweatshop-conscious softcore pornographers American Apparel knowingly term “boy beater”), despite it just barely topping freezing outside and bt-dubs, I don’t want to see your pit hair if you are touching my food, dude, gross. I feel as though the Brotender’s fraternity years were probably the best years of his life–he has a real “hazing” vibe about him. Everytime I order from the Brotender, he leers and calls me “baby,” as in “what do you need, baby” and “here you go baby” and “I’m not charging you for this one baby”–every time. Finally I’m like, “why are you calling me baby” and he’s like, “I’m just being friendly” and I say, “please stop” and he’s like “ok.” The bar is packed, and I listen, and he addresses every other woman there as “baby,” too.
About ten minutes later, Britney Spears’ “Baby One More Time” comes on the juke. Brotender leaps atop the bar, and to the horror of his unwilling audience, he is holding a protruding stack of white styrofoam cups to his pelvis like an erect dick. He starts slow-grinding, fake-masturbating and screaming, “Oh Britney, oh Britney! Oh, oh ohhhh.” On the final chorus, as 1000 multitracked Britneys appeal to “give me a siiiiiiiign,” Brotender jerks off the white cups so they tumble down– a styrofoam orgasm, cups raining all over the people standing around the bar. The song’s still going, but I imagine I hear the trebly clops of styrofoam cups hitting tile. Everyone is staring; no one knows how to respond. Some people laugh uncomfortably.
I ask Chris, “What has occurred in that man’s life, from conception up to this moment, that led him to believe that was an okay thing to do?” He says, “I was wondering that same thing,” and then “Are we still in New York?” and we both kind of blink at each other.