No Shame at the Sham
I’ll be the first to admit that amorous couples who start getting busy in the middle of a crowded bar are annoying and ignorant. And, yes, I’m a hypocrite. I mean, who hasn’t had 19 shots of Jager and been guilty of a little Public Display of Affection?
But nothing I’ve ever seen or done compared to the Caligula-esque orgy that broke out in the parking lot of the Shamrock Pub the other night. And, while I usually find over-the-top PDAs repugnant, I couldn’t stop watching – mainly because it was taking place on one of the closed-circuit tv sets that hang at the end of the bar and was right in front of me and, well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to give up my seat.
I understand that watching people when they don’t know it is wrong. Exhibit A: The Patriot Act. But, seriously, to the horny couple, I’d like to say on behalf of everyone at the Sham, we’re happy for you two. Obviously, it’s been a long time since either of you got any. Congrats. The night started out innocently enough. I walked into the bar, took a seat next to a buddy of mine, and tried to watch the Rangers game, with “tried” being the operative word. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that my pal’s gaze was transfixed on one of the security monitors. Bored out of my skull with the stRangers, I leaned over and – well, whadda you know? – two kids making out. How sweet.
I turned back to the game, but within minutes a crowd started to gather. Pretty soon, about a dozen people were hanging over my friend and me, their eyes glued to the security monitor, cheering the couple on. Around the same time, another couple on another security monitor started going at it. Our little corner of the Sham was going nuts. Everyone in the vicinity, of course, had disparaging things to say, but, to a man – and the mini-mob, at this point, was all men – kept watching.
Before long, it became a game. Every time a couple walked out of the bar, the watchers and I began taking bets on which couple would give us a show. Most of the couples indulged us. For the record: Nothing lewd or intimately sexual went on. Just passionate necking (and voyeurism). After a while, though, the game got old, and the Rangers game got interesting again – not because the team was doing so well, but because there’s a good reason why PDAs, even on closed-circuit television, are annoying and ignorant: Because, like baseball, doing it is always better than watching it.
In last week’s article (“Wasted Away Again”), I misidentified the club at which all of my experiences took place. And, no, I wasn’t wasted when I wrote it. The correct locale is Kelly’s Cove, at 9216 Live Oak Ln., in Fort Worth. The number there is 817-236-8301. Sorry for the error.
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