tannoyblanc

Halloween this year filled the streets of San Francisco with the most bizarre creatures. I’ve never seen so many of them in this city. Usually the streets are a bit vacant. I imagine there to be a low buzz in the air, the sound of friend groups meeting together at their favorite local brunch spot for a cozy cup of coffee on a misty Saturday morning. Not today. Today there was a roar of people, in orange, neon green, purple, in all different shapes and sizes.

Everybody was there for the bar crawl, a funny enough term, meaning that people come out during the afternoon and jump from bar to bar, waiting in these long lines to buy their $5 drinks and chat with each other about their costumes.

I waited in one of these long lines. I was with a few friends. We were all dressed up. I was Frank Ocean on the Met Gala this year. I had on a black overshirt over a white button-up, and my hair was dyed green and I carried with me a baby doll that was also painted green a few days prior. It was simple, but simple is best in most cases.

Some people approached me to ask about my costume – a green baby does draw some eyes, I guess. I told them I was Frank Ocean. It takes a few moments to register. I show them a picture, and they break out into animated cheer. I didn’t have the urge to ask them in return about their costumes, or anyone in line about theirs for that matter. It wasn’t information that particularly appealed to me.

So we kept standing in this long ass line before our time was up. I stared ahead with blank eyes, already feeling a little spaced out. We eventually got into the bar, which revealed itself to be a narrow, cramped space that was crawling with people. It was shaped like a small mess hall, the walls of which were made of dark weathered wood, lined with some pictures and posters. Nothing special. Left and right people were rubbing shoulders. Antennas collided, tails brushed against each other, plastic spikes protruded harmlessly. We snaked our way through the crowd of people, each of them fighting for space just to stand comfortably holding their drinks out in front of them.

What were these people here to talk about? I’m wondering. I’m observing the people around me. There are some tall guys, probably in their mid-twenties, in half-assed get ups, something like a red tracksuit or a cowboy hat, asking each other enthusiastically about each other’s costumes. What a silly game that they play.

Beside them are these blonde girls in animal onesies, giggling about some funny character they saw, or about some freak who asked them for their digits, or something like that.

There’s a crudely-made wooden spinner on the wall near the back, with labels like ‘two shots of Tequila’ and ‘a fourth of whiskey’ written on each of the petals. The bartender just gave it a spin, and a flock of people are gathered around, watching it intently. I join them (because what else is there to look at?). The pointer eventually slows down… as the labels on each petal become clear again, I could see that the pointer was going to stop at ‘a bottle of champagne’. Click, click, click… there it is. The whole place erupts. I’m amused, but to be honest I don’t really share their excitement.

A girl in silver hair and glittery eyelashes sidles up next to me and asks me if I’m dressed up as Frank Ocean. A little surprised, I give her a soft smile and tell her yes. She beams back at me. I don’t say anything. In that moment, the potential of conversation immediately dissipates. She turns away, probably disappointed. Maybe I’m playing the Frank Ocean part a little too well? Because I know that’s how Frank would go about it.

What can you even say to each other in such a place like this? A packed space makes for crammed conversation. Isn’t a bar supposed to be the best place for something like that? Perhaps I’m just not one who is looking for conversation. To be honest, I wouldn’t know what to talk about, with a girl in an animal onesie or a guy in his mid-twenties wearing a red flannel and a cowboy hat in a place like this… would you?