Barcade

Like the lizard in Rampage, I found myself on a Saturday night in Williamsburg wanting nothing more than to climb these newly built apartment buildings and lay my fists into them….punch punch punching away until eventually they crumbled.  The liquid courage that I had found at the bar on Bedford Avenue was surely doing its trick but as I stumbled on my way down Union Avenue and hit the brick wall of one of the churches, my hand hadn’t gone through…merely scratched the surface leaving my knuckles with tiny slits that were slowly beginning to bleed.  ”Just a flesh wound” I said to the statue of Mary Magdaline as I made my merry way down the street and eventually into Barcade.

Upon entering, dozens of men seemingly doing their best to win a Super Mario Bros. moustache contest were huddled over games….the rap-a-tap tap sound of their fingers and thumbs furiously banging at red and blue buttons.  I take a seat at the bar and notice how high the countertop is…it level with my chest and all 5’8″ of me is feeling like a child with enough curiosity to hang where the big people go to play.  The overhead chalk board has dozens of tasty brews written on it while the one behind me chalks up the highest scores of the biggest hipster nerds in the Burg.  The bar is packed and I’m powering through the Gauntlet of people with a Sixpoint ale in my hand on the way to the change machine to grab quarters.  I’m in a running mood and settle on Track and Field….placing my pint on the conveniently located table in between the games…then another Sixpoint and another before slithering over to the Centipede machine to give it a go.  My knees buckle from time to time as the ale sets in my body and I’m hoping to get some tips from Q-Bert if I plan on descending any stairs tonight.  Sadly the machine is broken down over by the bathrooms so I decide to give the drinking and gaming a rest and head to the pool table to give my poor hand / eye coordination a bit of a switch up.  Then back to the bar to play some more hops and barley and stare at the brunette in the gray hoodie sweatshirt listening to her iPod.  Ducks are flying all about my head and I’m pretty sure the dog someone has brought in is laughing at me on my exit out.  I follow the Pac Man trail home…passing fruit stands along Metropolitan Avenue…and grab a banana to make the ghosts dissapear.

(4/25/2009)