Sunday, September 19, 2010
I Found This Mexican...
...lying on the ground in the parking lot of TJ's. Something tells me he eventually ended up blowing chunks of soft pretzel all over himself and the back of his buddy's car, running around in an open field on Brown Blvd. in Bourbonnais while that same buddy chased him, and getting locked out of his house because he lost his keys and couldn't form one comprehensible English word in order to help locate them. Just looking at this picture tells me all that.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The Exploits of Wild Bill
Most people my age when asked what they think of Kankakee probably won't shower the town with praise. They complain that there's nothing to do, the nightlife sucks (if you continue to read this blog you'll realize that claim is utterly ridiculous) or that they're sick of seeing the same people in the same places. Others like to bring up the high poverty and violence rates. Both have a point.
If you clicked on that link, you'll notice that rating was formed more than a decade ago, and in my opinion, the town has significantly improved since then. This doesn't mean all is hunky dory, though. Kankakee still has many, many cons. Count "Wild Bill" as one of those cons: in possibly more ways than one.
I'd like to preface this story by stating that every word of the following is true. Scout's honor. And by Scout's honor I meant Indian Guide's honor. (Yes, I was one of those kids who claimed they were in a "tribe," wore cardboard headdresses, and went on scavenger hunts looking for rocks that looked like states. You know, just like the Indians did it.) Anyway, the story of Wild Bill begins like this:
I woke up the morning of Friday, September 3rd to a curious sight. I use my phone as my alarm clock, and when I reached to turn it off, I noticed I had one missed call that just so happened to come from an unknown number at 5:10 am. Having no idea what it could possibly be, I checked my voicemail. This is what I heard:
Hammered Nutjob
You can imagine my bewilderment and enjoyment after hearing that. Not only had this completly wasted dude somehow got my number, he was, in the most hilarious/vulgar of ways, telling me to come pick up my phone (which was sitting at the foot of my bed) from behind Denny's where he was currently residing. I preceded to play it for everyone at my work, who all were just as amused as I was. I naturally assumed it was simply a misdial; that is until about 2:30 pm, when I got a call from my friend Alli. Turns out it wasn't Alli, however-it was her roommate Kristy, one of my close friends. This is how the exchange went down.
Kristy: "Where's my phoneeeee, wah wah wah sob sob sob??"
Me: "How the fuck should I know?"
Kristy: "This is serious. I think someone is holding my phone for ransom."
Me: (after holding in laughter for 30 seconds) "Oh man, I think I know who has your phone. And you're not going to like it."
And now to the previous night:
It was the night of September 2nd, and my friends and I had big plans to go out on the town to celebrate our buddy's 24th birthday. A few of us were pregaming at our friend Kristy's apartment/night club in Bourbonnais when I got a text message from the birthday boy that his car had broken down in Orland Park and he wouldn't be able to make it out. Disappointing though it was to not see him, we didn't let this fact deter us and we continued to drink at the club before heading out to Oliver's on Rt 50.
For the first hour, the night at Oliver's was pretty tame. The place was hardly packed for a Thursday (Martini Night!) and we were going about our business enjoying conversation and feeling slightly buzzed. Really, the most exciting thing going on was the thrilling duel of Golden Tee between two middle aged men in the corner. That was before we befriended the slick, moustached gentleman sitting next to us all by himself.
Now at first glance, he seemed like your average Kankakeean. And at second and third, he still seemed like your average Kankakeean. His skull and crossbones surprised no one, nor did the lack of all his teeth. But when Kristy (who will be a fixture in these posts by the way) started making small talk with the man, clearly on the path to her devious plan of free shots, is when things really got cooking. We learned two things instantly about this man. First, his name was Bill. And second, earlier in the day he had just so happened, so he said, to come across a blank envelope containing a grand sum of $10,000. This didn't really rattle me, as I'm used to drunk people around town stating outlandish falsehoods (e.g. The "Ireland" native who turned about to be from... you guessed it...Manteno). None of us really cared though because the shots were flowing, and Bill was buying. All of them. For a grand total of 8 of us. I'm a guy who can handle his liquor, but when doing consecutive shots like that, I tend to steer clear. However, I've always had difficulty saying no to red-headed sluts, especially when there's a large group partaking.
Meanwhile, on one side of the bar, Kristy and Bill were becoming quite chummy. Seeing how her plan had already worked, yet she was still continuing to talk to him, I knew it was about time to head home. But for Kristy, Bill, and a few others, the night had only just begun. A group of 5 of them made their way over to City Tavern in Kankakee, where more of the same went down: Bill dishing out a healthy portion of his "$10,000" and my friends taking full advantage. Anyway, all seemed well at bar close when everyone went their separate ways, secretly hoping never to see Bill again but also secretly hoping they'd run into him again when they're in the mood for mixing Butterscotch Schnopps, whiskey, and Red Bull in a glass, downing it, and yelling "America!"
We return to Friday afternoon. The part where Kristy's flipping out about a strange 40-something asking her for money in exchange for her phone, and I'm dying of laughter. Luckily, I still had his number saved from my missed call, and I gave her the number. I desperately regret not hearing that particular conversation, but they eventually decided on a rendezous point of Vito's Pizza on Armour Rd, which just so happens to be next to the Motel 6, which just so happens to be, yep, right behind Denny's. The exchange wasn't easy, though. After his initial offer of giving Kristy his Motel 6 room number, her coming up and him sliding the key under the door was refused, he then made them (she was accompanied by 2 friends) wait in the parking lot for 20 minutes because he had "to shower." Finally, he came out, approached Kristy's car and gave her the phone, uttering a simple "sorry." No violence, no money exchange gone wrong-I know, a tad anti-climactic.
The story hardly ends there, however. Thankful that her throat was still in one piece, Kristy instantly started thumbing through her phone. She quickly realized that ol' Bill had a good deal of fun while he had it in his possession. In addition to calling me, he called about 3 other of Kristy's friends that night thinking that somehow she would answer (my 85 year-old grandfather who can't remember his lone daughter's name has better cell phone knowledge than that) and also was even RESPONDING to text messages she received throughout the next day. My personal favorite was sent by my friend Bergen, who asked her if she wanted to help out coaching a 7th grade girls basketball team; to which Bill simply responded "Yes, I do." For some reason, I don't think I'd trust him around 13 year old school girls. He also sent a recorded text to Kristy's friend saying: "I have your phone, if you want it, it's going to cost you." Again, how he thought she would answer this message from a friend's phone 30 minutes away is beyond me.
We all thought it would end there (and I bet you thought the same thing about this post). However, after Kristy told her mom the whole story the next day, her mom pointed out the The Bank of Chebanse had just gotten robbed the day before. The police had the suspect in custody but the money was nowhere to be found and they were still investigating. The total amount of cash missing? TEN. THOUSAND. DOLLARS. When I checked the Daily Journal the next day, sure enough, there was the article. Ten grand missing. Suspect in custody. And....an unknown accomplice still on the loose.
At first when I heard about the robbery, I was pretty skeptical. After the accomplice mention, however, I became a little less leery. It wasn't until I put myself in the shoes of a hillbilly who just robbed the Bank of Chebanse that I was completely convinced it was our guy the police were looking for. I thought, if I was an Iroquois County lowlife who had just come across $10,000, where would I go? Well clearly I'd first go straight to Target to purchase the newest Rascal Flatts album. But then I'd go straight to a martini bar in Bourbonnais! Where else??
Now, I realize events like this don't happen every weekend at Kankakee County bars. However, if I can meet another man remotely close in behavior to that of "Wild Bill," I'll be a happy man.
Club K3
"Where Every Beer's a New Adventure"
More pics of Wild Bill (Kristy hasn't gone to the cops yet even though I keep telling her she should. But we wouldn't have much on him except his phone number, residence, multiple photos, and his $10,000 envelope. So maybe it's not worth it).
If you clicked on that link, you'll notice that rating was formed more than a decade ago, and in my opinion, the town has significantly improved since then. This doesn't mean all is hunky dory, though. Kankakee still has many, many cons. Count "Wild Bill" as one of those cons: in possibly more ways than one.
I'd like to preface this story by stating that every word of the following is true. Scout's honor. And by Scout's honor I meant Indian Guide's honor. (Yes, I was one of those kids who claimed they were in a "tribe," wore cardboard headdresses, and went on scavenger hunts looking for rocks that looked like states. You know, just like the Indians did it.) Anyway, the story of Wild Bill begins like this:
I woke up the morning of Friday, September 3rd to a curious sight. I use my phone as my alarm clock, and when I reached to turn it off, I noticed I had one missed call that just so happened to come from an unknown number at 5:10 am. Having no idea what it could possibly be, I checked my voicemail. This is what I heard:
Hammered Nutjob
You can imagine my bewilderment and enjoyment after hearing that. Not only had this completly wasted dude somehow got my number, he was, in the most hilarious/vulgar of ways, telling me to come pick up my phone (which was sitting at the foot of my bed) from behind Denny's where he was currently residing. I preceded to play it for everyone at my work, who all were just as amused as I was. I naturally assumed it was simply a misdial; that is until about 2:30 pm, when I got a call from my friend Alli. Turns out it wasn't Alli, however-it was her roommate Kristy, one of my close friends. This is how the exchange went down.
Kristy: "Where's my phoneeeee, wah wah wah sob sob sob??"
Me: "How the fuck should I know?"
Kristy: "This is serious. I think someone is holding my phone for ransom."
Me: (after holding in laughter for 30 seconds) "Oh man, I think I know who has your phone. And you're not going to like it."
And now to the previous night:
It was the night of September 2nd, and my friends and I had big plans to go out on the town to celebrate our buddy's 24th birthday. A few of us were pregaming at our friend Kristy's apartment/night club in Bourbonnais when I got a text message from the birthday boy that his car had broken down in Orland Park and he wouldn't be able to make it out. Disappointing though it was to not see him, we didn't let this fact deter us and we continued to drink at the club before heading out to Oliver's on Rt 50.
For the first hour, the night at Oliver's was pretty tame. The place was hardly packed for a Thursday (Martini Night!) and we were going about our business enjoying conversation and feeling slightly buzzed. Really, the most exciting thing going on was the thrilling duel of Golden Tee between two middle aged men in the corner. That was before we befriended the slick, moustached gentleman sitting next to us all by himself.
Now at first glance, he seemed like your average Kankakeean. And at second and third, he still seemed like your average Kankakeean. His skull and crossbones surprised no one, nor did the lack of all his teeth. But when Kristy (who will be a fixture in these posts by the way) started making small talk with the man, clearly on the path to her devious plan of free shots, is when things really got cooking. We learned two things instantly about this man. First, his name was Bill. And second, earlier in the day he had just so happened, so he said, to come across a blank envelope containing a grand sum of $10,000. This didn't really rattle me, as I'm used to drunk people around town stating outlandish falsehoods (e.g. The "Ireland" native who turned about to be from... you guessed it...Manteno). None of us really cared though because the shots were flowing, and Bill was buying. All of them. For a grand total of 8 of us. I'm a guy who can handle his liquor, but when doing consecutive shots like that, I tend to steer clear. However, I've always had difficulty saying no to red-headed sluts, especially when there's a large group partaking.
Meanwhile, on one side of the bar, Kristy and Bill were becoming quite chummy. Seeing how her plan had already worked, yet she was still continuing to talk to him, I knew it was about time to head home. But for Kristy, Bill, and a few others, the night had only just begun. A group of 5 of them made their way over to City Tavern in Kankakee, where more of the same went down: Bill dishing out a healthy portion of his "$10,000" and my friends taking full advantage. Anyway, all seemed well at bar close when everyone went their separate ways, secretly hoping never to see Bill again but also secretly hoping they'd run into him again when they're in the mood for mixing Butterscotch Schnopps, whiskey, and Red Bull in a glass, downing it, and yelling "America!"
We return to Friday afternoon. The part where Kristy's flipping out about a strange 40-something asking her for money in exchange for her phone, and I'm dying of laughter. Luckily, I still had his number saved from my missed call, and I gave her the number. I desperately regret not hearing that particular conversation, but they eventually decided on a rendezous point of Vito's Pizza on Armour Rd, which just so happens to be next to the Motel 6, which just so happens to be, yep, right behind Denny's. The exchange wasn't easy, though. After his initial offer of giving Kristy his Motel 6 room number, her coming up and him sliding the key under the door was refused, he then made them (she was accompanied by 2 friends) wait in the parking lot for 20 minutes because he had "to shower." Finally, he came out, approached Kristy's car and gave her the phone, uttering a simple "sorry." No violence, no money exchange gone wrong-I know, a tad anti-climactic.
The story hardly ends there, however. Thankful that her throat was still in one piece, Kristy instantly started thumbing through her phone. She quickly realized that ol' Bill had a good deal of fun while he had it in his possession. In addition to calling me, he called about 3 other of Kristy's friends that night thinking that somehow she would answer (my 85 year-old grandfather who can't remember his lone daughter's name has better cell phone knowledge than that) and also was even RESPONDING to text messages she received throughout the next day. My personal favorite was sent by my friend Bergen, who asked her if she wanted to help out coaching a 7th grade girls basketball team; to which Bill simply responded "Yes, I do." For some reason, I don't think I'd trust him around 13 year old school girls. He also sent a recorded text to Kristy's friend saying: "I have your phone, if you want it, it's going to cost you." Again, how he thought she would answer this message from a friend's phone 30 minutes away is beyond me.
We all thought it would end there (and I bet you thought the same thing about this post). However, after Kristy told her mom the whole story the next day, her mom pointed out the The Bank of Chebanse had just gotten robbed the day before. The police had the suspect in custody but the money was nowhere to be found and they were still investigating. The total amount of cash missing? TEN. THOUSAND. DOLLARS. When I checked the Daily Journal the next day, sure enough, there was the article. Ten grand missing. Suspect in custody. And....an unknown accomplice still on the loose.
At first when I heard about the robbery, I was pretty skeptical. After the accomplice mention, however, I became a little less leery. It wasn't until I put myself in the shoes of a hillbilly who just robbed the Bank of Chebanse that I was completely convinced it was our guy the police were looking for. I thought, if I was an Iroquois County lowlife who had just come across $10,000, where would I go? Well clearly I'd first go straight to Target to purchase the newest Rascal Flatts album. But then I'd go straight to a martini bar in Bourbonnais! Where else??
Now, I realize events like this don't happen every weekend at Kankakee County bars. However, if I can meet another man remotely close in behavior to that of "Wild Bill," I'll be a happy man.
Club K3
"Where Every Beer's a New Adventure"
More pics of Wild Bill (Kristy hasn't gone to the cops yet even though I keep telling her she should. But we wouldn't have much on him except his phone number, residence, multiple photos, and his $10,000 envelope. So maybe it's not worth it).
Welcome to Club K3!
Welcome to Club K3, Kankakee's one and only bar blog! When I moved back to the Kankakee area after graduating college, I realized (as most do) that the options for a 20-something looking for excitement in this town are pretty sparse. I had come to know our local watering holes fairly well from coming back my senior year on holidays, but it was when I became firmly entrenched here (by entrenched I mean living with my parents) that I realized just how dynamic the Kankakee bar scene can be. Whether it's Vietnamese bamboo-vendors, cougars pleading for the attention of Chicago Bears 3rd-string linemen, or a possible bank robber buying people half his age multiple rounds of Red-Headed Sluts, there's always something extraordinary to see when Kankakeeans consume alcohol. So saddle up! Because at Club K3, Every Beer's a New Adventure.
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