Know I spied a name and number it was sprawled on bathroom stall. Message was world’s oldest cliché, it read, “For a good time call…” I thought of Tommy Tutone, and Jenny five, three, oh, nine; name was not gender specific nor was nature of good time.
There are those who think me reckless and they may just have a point, but I dialed up that number and hightailed it out that joint. On the other end of phone line I could hear a jamming wail; when I’m chasing down great music common-sense does not prevail.
Quickly flagged down yellow taxi and sleepy driver asked, “Where to?”
Spied his name upon his license, said, “Just one moment, Babu.” Shouted into phone transmitter, “Is there anybody there?”
Got a big eye roll from Babu then a voice yelled in my ear, “Thank you very much for calling, but this place is rocking hard! Cannot hear a word you’re saying, come on down to Cellar Door!”
Silence in my ear was deafening and Babu just looked at me. Asked him if he knew location of Cellar’s number and street?
“Talking Cellar Door in Georgetown? Yeah, man I know the address. Wish you’d told me from beginning would have saved a lot of stress.”
I began an explanation but realized the point was moot. Changed from Tutone to Rick Springfield as the music we pursued. Babu traveled the scenic route, drove southwest on US 1. Took over a half an hour before Cellar Door was won.
Got a quick glimpse of the White House just south of Lafayette Square, Sixteen-hundred sparkled nicely despite occupant in there. Swear yellow taxi was jumping as he dropped me at the curb ground was rocking as in earthquake seemed my good time was assured.
Entered tiny little venue that was filled with boom, boom, boom, I arrived as the headliner’s took concert-hall cum barroom. The Cellar Door was electric we partied till half-past-three don’t know how got back to dorm-room but party was heavenly!
There’s a phrase caveat emptor, translates to buyer beware, truth in advertising A-Plus for message graffiti shared. Know I spied a name and number it was sprawled on bathroom stall. Message was world’s oldest cliché, it read, “For a good time call…”