Life Is A Cabaret

March 19, 2005

When the cops first walked in, a young guy with a ZZ Top beard was playing poker with the barback. Another guy they referred to as "Danimal" said he wanted in on the hand, too. ZZ Top asked the barback if they were going to keep the money in the novelty donkey cigarette dispenser, as they usually did. The barback said no. "That way, if anyone comes in, we're just playing for shits and giggles," he explained.

"C'mon," the guy scoffed. The novelty donkey cigarette dispenser was part of the routine. Part of the fun. "Who's gonna come in?" he said.

Surprise, surprise, about twenty minutes later, the dance police arrived to break up the party.

Okay, so they weren't the actual dance police; they were regular police, but they did come looking for a cabaret license, which the place didn't have. If anyone had been dancing, that would've been it. When friends visit from out of town, they often think I'm joking when I mention the cabaret laws that prohibit dancing in any establishment without a cabaret license. They laugh when they see a sign posted in a bar: No Dancing. But it's an offense taken seriously by the cops, since anything that makes money for the city tends to be.

Anyway, no one was dancing, so the four cops went looking for other violations, ignoring the poker chips piled up in front of the guys at the end of the bar. They managed to find three violations. I overheard the rookie cop—who was stuck with all the paperwork—explain to the bartender that the bar wasn't displaying its Certificate of Occupancy, which is just one of a dozen certificates needed for a bar to operate. The rookie explained each offense as he wrote out the tickets. Meanwhile, the other three cops strutted around checking out the crowd. This agitated the young guy with the ZZ Top beard. He became self-righteous about the invasion and started questioning the senior cop about why he was "hassling everyone."

"I come looking for three things," the cop patiently explained. "Cabaret license, C of O, and (something else I couldn't hear)."

"That's so ridiculous," the kid whined.

He was facing away from me, and between the music and the murmurs, I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I could tell the cop was annoyed. I didn't want the cop to think I was with this guy, so I turned the other way. When I did, I saw a guy sitting on my other side snapping pictures with his cell phone. The cop noticed him too and pushed his way through the crowd to confront him. "What are you doing?" the cop said sternly.

"Nothing," the guy shrugged.

"Nothing? Nothing? You're bein' a wise guy, takin' pictures. I could shut this whole place down if I wanted to—kick everyone out on the street. But I'm not. I'm just giving tickets. Doing my job. I'm not doing anything wrong, I'm just doin' my job. And you, being a wise guy, going snap snap snap takin' photos."

The cop ordered the guy to delete the picture.

The photographer showed his phone to the cop and said there was nothing on it. He was lying.

"Nothing on it?" said the cop. "Nothing? Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," the kid said smugly.

The other two cops, the ones not busy writing tickets, stepped behind the senior cop to see what was going on.

"This asshole’s snappin' pictures here," the cop explained.

The photographer convinced the cops all the pictures had been deleted, and things settled down without, though the scene further upset ZZ Top guy, who was already on the verge of losing it.

The bartender was trying to calm him down. "They're actually bein’ very cool," the bartender explained. "Without a C of O posted here, they could shut the bar down if they wanted to. If it were the Fire Department coming in, and we couldn't show a C of O, they'd shut us down, no question. Sure, a couple of tickets are a pain, but trust me, they're bein’ very cool about the whole thing."

The cops finished their inspections, gathered themselves, and headed toward the door when the guy with the cell phone made a sarcastic remark to the senior cop.

"That's it," the cop, enraged, yelled. "That's it! I'm shutting the fucking place down." He yelled at the bartender to turn off the music. "Everybody out."

"Whaat?" yelled the guy with the phone.

"That's right, you heard me. Thanks to you, I'm shutting down the bar."

"What are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about? I'm telling you to put your coat on and get out of here. The bar is closed."

The music stopped, the lights went up, and everyone looked around in confusion.

"You can thank this guy here, in the middle of the bar, with the glasses," the cop yelled, pointing to the guy with the phone.

"If anyone has an open tab, we'll settle it another day," the bartender called out, somewhat hopefully, as the crowd reluctantly filed out the door.

Oh well. I was out too late as it was.