Last week was one of those weeks that drives you to drink. The absence of a boss at work for going on seven months has created uncertainty, disarray, confusion, back stabbing and power plays. By Friday I was fed up. I hate office politics. I attempt to help my superiors make the best decisions for my organization by providing them accurate data and interpreting that data in a way that provides direction and guidance based on facts. When I see hidden agendas, egos, and power plays overwhelming the facts, I begin to question my purpose in an organization. I’ve been down that road before and I don’t like it. The meeting on the following Tuesday was going to be a doozy.
I was happy to escape my office on Friday at 5:30. I was actually looking forward to the horrific Friday night commute. This was the first weekend we haven’t had renters in Wildwood all summer. But, we couldn’t head down until Saturday night because we had a family reunion picnic on Saturday afternoon. We decided to go down for one night of fun at the Shamrock and come home on Sunday afternoon. Little did we know how surreal the next 24 hours would be.
What I didn’t know until a couple days before, was this was biker weekend at the shore. They call it Roar to the Shore. We had always rented this weekend out, so I didn’t know what to expect. I had a suspicion it might be loud.
While we were at the family reunion it began to downpour, but then it let up. I checked the radar when we got home and it showed nothing in Wildwood. We hit the road at 6:00 pm which would get us to Wildwood just past 8:00 pm. We could settle in and then head over to the Shamrock at 9:30 when Billy Jack would start playing. Traffic was light. The rain was light. We were making excellent time. As we approached Ocean City I saw really dark foreboding clouds in the distance. Before long it was clear we were headed directly into a mammoth thunderstorm. I began to see flashes of lightning in the distance. I told Avalon to get her phone out and snap some cool pictures. Here are a few of the shots through our windshield:
At first it was just a pretty show in the sky. Then the torrential rains began to fall, or actually whip sideways with 50 mph winds. Luckily I was driving an itsy bitsy Honda Hybrid that handles like a tricycle in the rain. I had the wipers on max speed and could still barely see the highway. Then we got to a construction zone near Wildwood where the rain didn’t drain. My mini-machine was practically floating as I tried to maneuver the final five miles of our journey. Avalon was oblivious to my fear, as I could barely see the road.
While my knuckles were white from holding the steering wheel so tight, Avalon was happily snapping pictures and telling me she got a good one. Finally we reached the Wildwood exit on the Garden State Parkway and entered Wildwood. It was really weird, as the storms had somehow managed to miss Wildwood. You could see lightning flashing to the north and to the south, but not a drop of rain had fallen in Wildwood, as if it had a force-field protecting it. Maybe these bikers had super powers.
We arrived at the condo and settled in. I was ready to shed the baggage of a shitty week by listening to tunes from our buddy Billy Jack and getting plastered at the Shamrock with our new best friend Jim (aka Gravedigger). As we left the condo to walk to the Shamrock, the roar of motorcycle engines could be heard all over town. There were people partying on all the condo decks. Then we turned onto Atlantic Avenue and I was amazed to see hundreds of motorcycles parked on both sides of the street. We were walking into an alien world of leather jackets, tattoos, biker chicks, and scary looking dudes. I tend not to fit in with Pagans and Hells Angels and felt slightly uncomfortable as we tried to make our way to the Shamrock. Note the Rusty Rudder Buffet Restaurant in the picture. It comes into play later in this story.
We were confused to see hundreds of people just sitting in chairs along the sidewalk. The biker crowd seemed to be waiting for something to happen. I was moving at a brisk pace to get through the gauntlet of tattoos, nose rings, muscles, bald heads, piercings, leather, chains, and bike helmets as quickly as possible. Avalon, as usual, was curious and wanted to know what was going on so she stopped and started asking questions. I rolled my eyes and acted supportive. It seems bikers just like to sit on the curb and watch other bikers drive by. They are a simple people. I know I’m generalizing, but tattoos seem to be a requirement if you want to be a real biker or real biker chick. It also appeared that being fat might be a requirement to be a biker chick.
We survived our trek through biker hell to reach the Shamrock as our man Billy Jack started playing. One small problem. There were a bunch of bikers in the bar taking up our seats. I thought about telling them to get out of our seats, but decided I wanted to live for a few more years. Eventually the bikers left and I got my usual seat to observe the festivities and craziness at my favorite bar.
It wasn’t long before I noticed the chick directly across the bar with a blinking red light on her head. She was also wearing a sash that said BACHELORETTE. Her friends brought her to the Shamrock for her bachelorette party. She didn’t seem to be having much fun, but at least she wouldn’t be hit by any low flying planes.
Then things really started to get interesting. When you think of a romantic marriage proposal at the beach, you picture this scene:
What you don’t picture is Billy Jack clearing away some of his equipment on stage and some dude kneeling down amidst empty beer bottles, with bartenders pouring shots, a crowd of tattooed bikers sitting around the bar, and proposing to his girlfriend at the Shamrock. But that’s what happened. We were so stunned, we forgot to take a picture. So now we’ve seen a wedding reception and a proposal at the Shamrock in the same season. The happy couple departed the stage and Billy Jack resumed playing tunes.
We met up with Jim/Gravedigger and proceeded to drink at a healthy clip. Before long another couple we know showed up. Avalon and the other lady proceeded to the dance floor and began dancing. I protected our seats from the biker hoard. I could see Avalon had made some more friends on the dance floor, which wasn’t unusual for her. What was unusual was the discussion that was taking place. I didn’t get the sordid details for another half hour.
There were three women dancing together near my wife and she asked if they were on a girls weekend. They just laughed and said no. They then proceeded to inform my shocked wife and her friend that they were swingers and went into the lurid details of how it works. They were all there with dudes, but they were all looking to go home with someone other than their spouse. They seemed to take a hankering to Avalon and she skedaddled back over to our side of the bar.
After getting an eyeful of the women swingers when Avalon pointed them out to me, I can understand why their men wanted to swing. They looked like they had done some hard livin. You can see the terrified look in Avalon’s eyes as she hid behind me from the swingers.
You would have thought the evening was coming to an end by now, but it wasn’t. Jim was not only a former driver of the monster truck – Grave Digger, but he is also an electrical engineer and an extremely outgoing friendly person who seems to know just about every person in Wildwood. His condo was actually rented out to bikers for the weekend, but he was staying for free at the motel across the street from our condo. He has befriended the owner of the motel and does all kinds of electrical work for the guy.
The motel owner isn’t just any guy. He’s Tony – a character out of a Quentin Tarantino movie. He actually owns three different hotels within a two block radius of our condo. They are not exactly five star establishments. They are more like two star hotels frequented mostly by bikers, teenagers, and members of the FSA. Tony is a character. He is of Eastern European descent and looks like a cross between Donald Trump and Steve Martin’s wild and crazy guy character from SNL, as a 60 year old. But he is a wealthy Wildwood slumlord. Gravedigger Jim can essentially eat, drink and sleep at any of Tony’s establishments for free because of his electrical abilities and willingness to help out Tony.
Even though we were having fun at the Shamrock, Jim convinced us to depart and head for one of Tony’s hotel bars where we could drink for free. Luckily the rain had finally arrived in Wildwood and we got soaked walking to the new bar while dodging bikers along the way. There was a band playing metal rock and a sparse crowd at the new bar, but the beers were free. We noticed a section of the ceiling was falling in and Jim mentioned that the hotel pool was directly overhead and had begun to sink over the winter and had to be reinforced before it collapsed into the bar. That gave me a comforting feeling as I sat in this dark bar. As usual, Avalon made some new friends and was again dancing when we decided it was time for pizza back at Romeo’s, across from the Shamrock. It took a while to get her to leave.
It was still raining as we doubled back to the Shamrock. Billy Jack was still playing, so we went back in and enjoyed the tunes. We didn’t want to go home. We ended up staying until the end. Billy Jack finished up with Avalon’s favorite end of the night song – Good Riddance, and we headed to Romeo’s for a slice at 2:30.
After eating our slices we staggered home through the rain, but in our drunken stupor we made a dreadful mistake and agreed to meet Gravedigger at 9:30 and hit Tony’s Rusty Rudder all you can eat breakfast buffet. We were still dead to the world when 9:30 arrived and he texted us. Ugh. We both had headaches and were not in the mood for a breakfast buffet at a two star hotel restaurant with dozens of bikers. But we crawled out of bed and met up with Jim at around 10:30 and headed over.
SSS would have been a happy camper. The buffet breakfast bar had bacon out the yazoo. I piled a stack on my plate and drank a couple of cups of coffee. The breakfast of drunken champions. And the best part – it was all free. I did buy most of the drinks for Gravedigger the night before, so things have a way of evening out.
The biker festivities were winding down, but this was still the scene outside the restaurant:
They were selling shirts for half price and me being a sport, I bought Avalon the “adorable” Roar to the Shore shirt that caught her eye. She’ll need to get a couple of tattoos to complete the look. We continued our walk back to the condo, but then we came to another of Tony’s hotels. There was a huge Wildwood cop talking to some people in the parking lot. Of course Gravedigger knew him and began a conversation. He introduced us and we shook hands. The cop then regaled us with the stories of what had happened the previous night in that hotel. Two families got into a fight and someone was stabbed. Another drunken woman had fallen down the stairs and cracked her head open. There were a total of 6 incidents at Tony’s hotels the previous night.
As we finally turned down our block and were saying goodbye to Jim, who comes sauntering down the street but Tony, in his white pants and shirt with the top three buttons undone. He greeted us and joked with Jim about all the incidents at his hotels. They talked about his overheating electronic sign and the cop pulled up in his car and joked that he would have to arrest Tony. That is highly unlikely. Tony is dumb like a fox. He hires off duty Wildwood police during prom nights and during senior week as extra security. You don’t become a slumlord millionaire by pissing off the authorities.
We finally got back to the condo and a short while later decided to take a walk on the boardwalk. Having previously posted about the ridiculous signs attempting to keep people safe on jetties and the beach, I found it ironic to see hundreds of motorcycles parade on the boardwalk for 30 minutes, driving within feet of people walking on the boardwalk. It was pretty cool, but the continuous roar got old after awhile.
We hit the Star Diner on the way out of Wildwood in time for the early bird special. My mom would be proud. Where else can you get a basket of rolls, entree, salad, drink, desert and coffee for $11?
On the previous Friday I was irritable and angry about what was going on at work. By Sunday night I had let it all go. Life is too short. I spent Monday focused on helping the person who was going to be ambushed at the Tuesday meeting by preparing her for every attack she could receive. On Tuesday at noon I was told I was now in the meeting at 3:00 pm. I prepared my data and geared for battle. My colleague was happy to see me enter the room. She had an ally. It was an intense 90 minute meeting with the sides clearly demarcated. Myself and a faculty member provided the facts and the rationale for our side. I felt it was my duty to confront some powerful people in the room with facts and the truth. When we left the meeting, I thought we had lost.
I was pleasantly surprised on Thursday to find out our arguments and facts had won the day. The person I had helped win called me to thank me for my support, recommendations, and willingness to go to the mat on her behalf. Sometimes the good guys do win. I felt a lot better this Friday.
Only two weeks until our next weekend in Wildwood. I hope it is a little less eventful.
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