Added 3:51 pm 10/14/12
“You in the yellow shirt! Stop!”
A few notes about the Grovetoberfest beer festival before getting into the story. First off it was awesome. There were just under 6,000 tickets sold and people were everywhere. One of my favorite things about beer festivals are the crowds that it brings - everyone is super friendly and everyone is there strictly to have a good time. They typically last three hours or so and people get absolutely hammered yet I have never seen a fight break out, which is pretty incredible when you think about it. Miami gave a new spin to an event that is typically held indoors at a huge convention center or something of the sort. You could not have asked for a prettier setting - Peacock Park is right on Biscayne Bay which gave incredible "palm tree in front of water" views and an awesome breeze. The humidity was mild and the temperature was mid 80’s. In the beginning of the festival (4pm) the sun was a little bright, but there was plenty of shaded areas, and when 5 o’ clock rolled around it was perfect. Other than the setting being absolutely ideal, the other cool thing about this beer fest is that it had a ton of Southern breweries that I have never even heard of before (www.grovetoberfest.com/the-event/beer-list). With any circumstance like that yes, some beers were pretty bad, but surprisingly most of them were delicious. There was even a brew called “A Gentleman and A Scholar IPA” which was pretty awesome because that was our moniker for DeMatha High School. The bands that played were really good, the beers were cold and very few ran out, all in all it was amazing. For me it was definitely in the top 2 festivals I’ve ever been to.
So I will preface with I suggest you read the post “Pretzel Madness” before reading this one so you can get an idea of the situation. Long story short, I wore two pretzel necklaces into the beer fest, and people were freaking out about it, acting like it was the greatest thing to ever happen to Miami. All this unprovoked attention was really strange and awkward at first, I mean I have never been in a situation where literally 100’s of people were complementing me about something, but as the beers went down more easily so did my inhibitions, and I started to embrace it a little.
Now one thing is for sure, Miami has some of the hottest women to ever walk the planet. I mean, my God, not only are they effin gorgeous but for the most part they are friendly and approachable. Every single beer fest I have ever been to has been dominated by dudes with a sprinkle of girlfriends that got dragged along for the ride. Grovetoberfest was the furthest from the case. According to their website women bought more tickets than men, 60/40 and it certainly felt that way. The beer fest looked like it was doubling as a convention for tight tank tops, mini skirts, and big sunglasses enthusiasts. I mean every biddy in there was 23, tanned, toned, and just simply hot. It was sweet.
Now this pretzel necklace was working like moths to a flame. I had more conversations within those three hours with girls completely out of my league than I probably have had in my whole life. Since there were just shy of 6,000 people you would have to wait in a two minute line for most of the beers. This wasn’t bad at all because you would just sip your beer that you had just gotten before and by the time it was your turn you had just finished, so you could fill up your next beer. So while in line everyone would make small talk and essentially every instance was on repeat and happened as such:
Babe: OH MY GOD I LOVE YOUR NECKLACE!!
Me: Thanks
Babe: Can I have one your pretzels?
Me: No, I only have a few left.
Babe: Pleasee.
Me: Fine, take one.
Babe: These are my friends, insert hot girls name, insert hot girls name, insert hot girls name.
Me: Nice to meet you guys, do you live around here?
Babe: Yah we go to the U. (which is the University of Miami)
Me: Oh cool, Sean Taylor.
Now I said this, one because I was a huge Sean Taylor fan and two I got a big kick out of the fact that these young ladies had absolutely no idea who he was, even though he was one of the best safeties to ever play at Miami.
Babe: Who?
Me: Nevermind.
Babe: What about you? Do you live around here?
Me: Yah, I just moved here from New York City, I live on the beach. (This is the phrase I was told to use since no local says South Beach)
Babe: Oh my god, I love the beach!
And then they would ramble on about their favorite clubs, which beach they go to, and how her best friend bartends at blah blah blah. The whole time I am just trying to not be too obvious that I am just blatantly staring at her friends body. Got to love reflective sunglasses! Yes, I know I am a total dude.
This carried on for the 2 minute line, you would then fill up your tasting glass again, say “Well it was nice meeting you” and head to the next brewery tent, and repeat. Very fun, very light.
Something to keep in mind, I was so busy trying to get the effing pretzel necklaces done I completely skipped out on eating breakfast or lunch, and just assumed I would buy food at the festival since I would be flushed with cash from all the awesome profits from the necklace selling. Riiight. I was now in the hole for the day and they were selling $14 dollar cheeseburgers. Hmm yah, I’ll wait till I get back and get an amazing burrito from Taco Cantina for $5. So needless to say when 6 o’ clock rolled around I was feeling no pain, and had a grand illusion of swagger working. It was right around this time that I met Gretchen, who, terrible name aside, was a stunner. Really nice, really friendly, laughed at all my terrible jokes, I was in love. She was third wheeling with her girl friend who we will call Weepy, because for the hour and a half I knew her she was crying for at least 50 of the minutes. Her boyfriend, we’ll refer to him as Sorry because he was pleading the entire time “I swear to God, she is just my friend, I barely talk to her.” Ah, gotta love relationships.
So it was now myself, Gretchen, Weepy, and Sorry walking around the festival and conversating. Turns out Gretchen and I had a lot in common, she was born and raised in Brooklyn and then moved to Miami for college and studied film. She now bounces around the few production assistant jobs available in Miami and serves at a restaurant in Coconut Grove. She is planning to move back to New York in a couple of years, but she can’t leave Miami because she is in love with the beach and the weather. Very cool chick. Oh yah and she has a tattoo sleeve. Now my mother, along with probably every other female in my family, is rolling her eyes right now - Yes, I am a complete sucker for a babe with a tattoo sleeve, and hers was actually really awesome - a lot of bright colors and really femine. Whatever, don’t judge me :)
Anyways, the festival shuts down promptly at 7pm, but Gretchen lives about 2 miles away and has invited all of us back to her place. Jackpot. Walking out of the festival I think to myself, hmm I have to go pee, but all the port-a-potties have a line four people deep and besides we are just hopping in a cab and we will be back at her apartment in no time. Sure enough, the outside is a mob scene with at least a hundred person line for a cab. So we decide to just walk back to her place. Shit.
So we are walking on the main drag of Coconut Grove and I realize this is the street that the shuttle took to us from the Metro Rail. We are walking on the side walk with hundreds of other people along the four lane road. I probably make it a mile before I really have to pee. Two problems, the sidewalk is very populated and very wide and there are no businesses around to duck into a bathroom. So after walking a little further, I opt to go behind a tree. Unfortunately this was not a wooded area and even though there were some trees, they were single plotted and very close to the road. But I really have to go so screw it, I don’t care if the people see me pee. I tell Gretchen to keep on walking and I will catch up. I walk behind a tree and start the process of relief. However, it is difficult to concentrate because the road is really close and drunks dudes are calling me out, and I over hear girls say “Oh my God, is that guy peeing?!”. Yes I am peeing, deal with it. So it takes about 45 seconds to get over the stage fright, and not to be gross, I’ve been drinking all day so I was peeing for a solid minute, right as I am about to finish, I am blinded. Yep, a cop out of nowhere has his spotlight on me and I hear on his loud speaker “YOU IN THE YELLOW SHIRT WALK TOWARDS THE CAR NOW!” Now what happened next I am still trying to dissect.
Panic started to set in. I am so drunk and I can’t believe I am about to get a ticket for public urination and probably drunk in public. This is really going to suck. I’m not sure what made me do it, but the genius thought of RUN came to the forefront of appropriate reactions to this situation. Sure enough, I flip off my loafers (which are my DC shoe loafers which are essentially slippers) pick them up and I bolt barefoot down the bicycle lane of the road. Now anyone who has ever ran from the cops in college or in high school, knows there are a couple things going through your head. First of which is: there is no effing way they can catch me. This sense was heightened tenfold by my extreme intoxication and the fact that I really do run 4-5 miles almost daily. Now I run these 4-5 miles sub 9 minute miles, which is absolutely terrible by any serious runner standards, but not utterly horrible for your average Joe. I drunkly deduced that I could sprint the two miles to the Metro Rail and be safe and sound. So as soon as I take off I hear the cop jump out of his car and see his flash light bouncing all over the road in front of me. The chase is on.
He keeps yelling “YOU IN THE YELLOW SHIRT STOP NOW!” Granted I do have on a obnoxiously yellow shirt that is really closer to a fluorescent and could be seen from a mile away. So using my amazing drunk logic again, I rip off my shirt and continue down the road topless. I mean a guy with no shirt is way harder to spot than a guy with a fluorescent shirt, right? It is about this point that I pass my new friends Gretchen, Weepy and Sorry running for my life. As I pass, I hear Sorry go “What the fuck?!” I would give anything to know what was going through their heads at the time. Now I have heard of the phenomenon drunk strength, but I had pure drunk speed. I ran faster than I ever had before. The only thing that was pumping through my veins was alcohol and adrenaline. My senses were numb, my feet felt no pain, and I was just in a drunken trance of speed and fear. The cop had no shot. He did run after me for at least a half mile, which is actually a really long time when you think about it - somewhere in the region of three and a half to four minutes. Even after the cop was long gone I did not slow down and continued my run to the Metro Rail station. Miraculously, I made it there not in hand cuffs, and without a piece of 3 inch glass in my foot. I fought the law and I won! Kerry Collins, I know you are super proud of your TWENTY EIGHT year old son.
Of course, I have no idea what Gretchen’s last name is or remember what restaurant she worked at, or have her number or anything of the sort. So I take solace in that the last time she ever laid her eyes on Matty C was me dead sprinting barefoot, shirtless, with my loafers in one hand and my tshirt in the other, with a cop in hot pursuit. It’s pretty romantic really.
A few notes about the Grovetoberfest beer festival before getting into the story. First off it was awesome. There were just under 6,000 tickets sold and people were everywhere. One of my favorite things about beer festivals are the crowds that it brings - everyone is super friendly and everyone is there strictly to have a good time. They typically last three hours or so and people get absolutely hammered yet I have never seen a fight break out, which is pretty incredible when you think about it. Miami gave a new spin to an event that is typically held indoors at a huge convention center or something of the sort. You could not have asked for a prettier setting - Peacock Park is right on Biscayne Bay which gave incredible "palm tree in front of water" views and an awesome breeze. The humidity was mild and the temperature was mid 80’s. In the beginning of the festival (4pm) the sun was a little bright, but there was plenty of shaded areas, and when 5 o’ clock rolled around it was perfect. Other than the setting being absolutely ideal, the other cool thing about this beer fest is that it had a ton of Southern breweries that I have never even heard of before (www.grovetoberfest.com/the-event/beer-list). With any circumstance like that yes, some beers were pretty bad, but surprisingly most of them were delicious. There was even a brew called “A Gentleman and A Scholar IPA” which was pretty awesome because that was our moniker for DeMatha High School. The bands that played were really good, the beers were cold and very few ran out, all in all it was amazing. For me it was definitely in the top 2 festivals I’ve ever been to.
So I will preface with I suggest you read the post “Pretzel Madness” before reading this one so you can get an idea of the situation. Long story short, I wore two pretzel necklaces into the beer fest, and people were freaking out about it, acting like it was the greatest thing to ever happen to Miami. All this unprovoked attention was really strange and awkward at first, I mean I have never been in a situation where literally 100’s of people were complementing me about something, but as the beers went down more easily so did my inhibitions, and I started to embrace it a little.
Now one thing is for sure, Miami has some of the hottest women to ever walk the planet. I mean, my God, not only are they effin gorgeous but for the most part they are friendly and approachable. Every single beer fest I have ever been to has been dominated by dudes with a sprinkle of girlfriends that got dragged along for the ride. Grovetoberfest was the furthest from the case. According to their website women bought more tickets than men, 60/40 and it certainly felt that way. The beer fest looked like it was doubling as a convention for tight tank tops, mini skirts, and big sunglasses enthusiasts. I mean every biddy in there was 23, tanned, toned, and just simply hot. It was sweet.
Now this pretzel necklace was working like moths to a flame. I had more conversations within those three hours with girls completely out of my league than I probably have had in my whole life. Since there were just shy of 6,000 people you would have to wait in a two minute line for most of the beers. This wasn’t bad at all because you would just sip your beer that you had just gotten before and by the time it was your turn you had just finished, so you could fill up your next beer. So while in line everyone would make small talk and essentially every instance was on repeat and happened as such:
Babe: OH MY GOD I LOVE YOUR NECKLACE!!
Me: Thanks
Babe: Can I have one your pretzels?
Me: No, I only have a few left.
Babe: Pleasee.
Me: Fine, take one.
Babe: These are my friends, insert hot girls name, insert hot girls name, insert hot girls name.
Me: Nice to meet you guys, do you live around here?
Babe: Yah we go to the U. (which is the University of Miami)
Me: Oh cool, Sean Taylor.
Now I said this, one because I was a huge Sean Taylor fan and two I got a big kick out of the fact that these young ladies had absolutely no idea who he was, even though he was one of the best safeties to ever play at Miami.
Babe: Who?
Me: Nevermind.
Babe: What about you? Do you live around here?
Me: Yah, I just moved here from New York City, I live on the beach. (This is the phrase I was told to use since no local says South Beach)
Babe: Oh my god, I love the beach!
And then they would ramble on about their favorite clubs, which beach they go to, and how her best friend bartends at blah blah blah. The whole time I am just trying to not be too obvious that I am just blatantly staring at her friends body. Got to love reflective sunglasses! Yes, I know I am a total dude.
This carried on for the 2 minute line, you would then fill up your tasting glass again, say “Well it was nice meeting you” and head to the next brewery tent, and repeat. Very fun, very light.
Something to keep in mind, I was so busy trying to get the effing pretzel necklaces done I completely skipped out on eating breakfast or lunch, and just assumed I would buy food at the festival since I would be flushed with cash from all the awesome profits from the necklace selling. Riiight. I was now in the hole for the day and they were selling $14 dollar cheeseburgers. Hmm yah, I’ll wait till I get back and get an amazing burrito from Taco Cantina for $5. So needless to say when 6 o’ clock rolled around I was feeling no pain, and had a grand illusion of swagger working. It was right around this time that I met Gretchen, who, terrible name aside, was a stunner. Really nice, really friendly, laughed at all my terrible jokes, I was in love. She was third wheeling with her girl friend who we will call Weepy, because for the hour and a half I knew her she was crying for at least 50 of the minutes. Her boyfriend, we’ll refer to him as Sorry because he was pleading the entire time “I swear to God, she is just my friend, I barely talk to her.” Ah, gotta love relationships.
So it was now myself, Gretchen, Weepy, and Sorry walking around the festival and conversating. Turns out Gretchen and I had a lot in common, she was born and raised in Brooklyn and then moved to Miami for college and studied film. She now bounces around the few production assistant jobs available in Miami and serves at a restaurant in Coconut Grove. She is planning to move back to New York in a couple of years, but she can’t leave Miami because she is in love with the beach and the weather. Very cool chick. Oh yah and she has a tattoo sleeve. Now my mother, along with probably every other female in my family, is rolling her eyes right now - Yes, I am a complete sucker for a babe with a tattoo sleeve, and hers was actually really awesome - a lot of bright colors and really femine. Whatever, don’t judge me :)
Anyways, the festival shuts down promptly at 7pm, but Gretchen lives about 2 miles away and has invited all of us back to her place. Jackpot. Walking out of the festival I think to myself, hmm I have to go pee, but all the port-a-potties have a line four people deep and besides we are just hopping in a cab and we will be back at her apartment in no time. Sure enough, the outside is a mob scene with at least a hundred person line for a cab. So we decide to just walk back to her place. Shit.
So we are walking on the main drag of Coconut Grove and I realize this is the street that the shuttle took to us from the Metro Rail. We are walking on the side walk with hundreds of other people along the four lane road. I probably make it a mile before I really have to pee. Two problems, the sidewalk is very populated and very wide and there are no businesses around to duck into a bathroom. So after walking a little further, I opt to go behind a tree. Unfortunately this was not a wooded area and even though there were some trees, they were single plotted and very close to the road. But I really have to go so screw it, I don’t care if the people see me pee. I tell Gretchen to keep on walking and I will catch up. I walk behind a tree and start the process of relief. However, it is difficult to concentrate because the road is really close and drunks dudes are calling me out, and I over hear girls say “Oh my God, is that guy peeing?!”. Yes I am peeing, deal with it. So it takes about 45 seconds to get over the stage fright, and not to be gross, I’ve been drinking all day so I was peeing for a solid minute, right as I am about to finish, I am blinded. Yep, a cop out of nowhere has his spotlight on me and I hear on his loud speaker “YOU IN THE YELLOW SHIRT WALK TOWARDS THE CAR NOW!” Now what happened next I am still trying to dissect.
Panic started to set in. I am so drunk and I can’t believe I am about to get a ticket for public urination and probably drunk in public. This is really going to suck. I’m not sure what made me do it, but the genius thought of RUN came to the forefront of appropriate reactions to this situation. Sure enough, I flip off my loafers (which are my DC shoe loafers which are essentially slippers) pick them up and I bolt barefoot down the bicycle lane of the road. Now anyone who has ever ran from the cops in college or in high school, knows there are a couple things going through your head. First of which is: there is no effing way they can catch me. This sense was heightened tenfold by my extreme intoxication and the fact that I really do run 4-5 miles almost daily. Now I run these 4-5 miles sub 9 minute miles, which is absolutely terrible by any serious runner standards, but not utterly horrible for your average Joe. I drunkly deduced that I could sprint the two miles to the Metro Rail and be safe and sound. So as soon as I take off I hear the cop jump out of his car and see his flash light bouncing all over the road in front of me. The chase is on.
He keeps yelling “YOU IN THE YELLOW SHIRT STOP NOW!” Granted I do have on a obnoxiously yellow shirt that is really closer to a fluorescent and could be seen from a mile away. So using my amazing drunk logic again, I rip off my shirt and continue down the road topless. I mean a guy with no shirt is way harder to spot than a guy with a fluorescent shirt, right? It is about this point that I pass my new friends Gretchen, Weepy and Sorry running for my life. As I pass, I hear Sorry go “What the fuck?!” I would give anything to know what was going through their heads at the time. Now I have heard of the phenomenon drunk strength, but I had pure drunk speed. I ran faster than I ever had before. The only thing that was pumping through my veins was alcohol and adrenaline. My senses were numb, my feet felt no pain, and I was just in a drunken trance of speed and fear. The cop had no shot. He did run after me for at least a half mile, which is actually a really long time when you think about it - somewhere in the region of three and a half to four minutes. Even after the cop was long gone I did not slow down and continued my run to the Metro Rail station. Miraculously, I made it there not in hand cuffs, and without a piece of 3 inch glass in my foot. I fought the law and I won! Kerry Collins, I know you are super proud of your TWENTY EIGHT year old son.
Of course, I have no idea what Gretchen’s last name is or remember what restaurant she worked at, or have her number or anything of the sort. So I take solace in that the last time she ever laid her eyes on Matty C was me dead sprinting barefoot, shirtless, with my loafers in one hand and my tshirt in the other, with a cop in hot pursuit. It’s pretty romantic really.
