Peeing like Capone

Some people told me to start writing in English, because apparently they want to understand what I post and their Spanish game is not that strong. Well, here it goes. My first English blog I think. And this story is not in Spanish yet, so… feel important.

It’s one of those winter days in Chicago. Snow is all over the place. That kind of cold that makes you realize that you haven’t experience real cold in your homeland. Because the crudest winter you can get in Buenos Aires is a puppy (or a cub) next to a Chicago bear. And that is a fact. At least, after living there, I seemed to have developed some sort of resistance to these Baires “low temperatures”. Sometimes I wonder if shoveling so much snow (the level when it reaches your knees) was some weird ritual of initiation or something.

Anyway, it must have been during a weekend. One Friday, or maybe a Saturday. You know, when you are studying abroad as an exchange student, and only for one semester, you kind of want to do everything in a short period of time. Then you come to realize that five/six months is a lot and you have visited all the touristic places already. Or most of them.  And you still have a couple of months to go. That’s when you feel you become part of the city. A small part. A teeny tiny minuscule and microscopic part. But, in the end, a part. As you hear those pirates from the Flying Dutchman in Pirates of the Caribbean: “Part of the crew, part of the ship!”

And let me tell you that when you are into the Mafia stuff (movies, literature, whatever) and someone says “Hey, let’s go to the Green Mill, the bar where Al Capone used to hang out”, you don’t think it twice. Even if you have to pay cash to get in, when you don’t usually have to pay to enter bars. But, famous jazz club and Capone. I certainly didn’t go for the jazz.

We ended up going in different groups for some mysterious reason I don’t recall. But we agreed on meeting everyone else there. Me and some other guys decided to take the bus, because the student life is cheap. Plus, if you take a cab you have less money for the entrance fee… and for beer. We waited for like twenty minutes that, with the falling snow, seemed to be the longest eternity I have ever experienced. Eventually the bus came and we practically jumped in. Ice cubes in human shapes.

The Green Mill, at last. From the outside it was not as majestic as I had imagined. Having too much imagination sounds good, but is often tricky. It seemed like just another bar, kind of hidden and disguised in between the regular urban architecture of Broadway Street, in the North Side of the city. Except for that big shiny green sign on the front that reads: “Green Mill Cocktail Lounge”.

One of us didn’t have enough cash to get in, so we had to go find an ATM nearby. Couple of minutes later we were back at the door and this time we got in. The place was crowded. It was hard even to walk around. Every table, every green plush booth was taken of course. Along with every floor tile. We had to stand in the way of a waitress, that obviously was better trained than us to walk among packs of people, but also was having a tough one. She came and go several times and eventually we exchanged jokes about the situation.

I owed my good friend Hunter (the only baseball player I know) a beer, so I went and bought two. And there we were. Drinking cheap beer in the place where Al Capone, one of the greatest American gangsters, used to hang out. Where people went to break the law of  the Prohibition, and drink illegally, during the Roaring Twenties.

The place was not that big. Maybe it felt smaller because of the whole lot of people that was in there. It was dimly lit with a reddish light. Jazz music on the air. Non stop conversations. A dress code that went from people wearing jeans to some women that were dressed to kill.

From the main door there were a line of those green booths on the right and an old looking counter on the left. It really makes you feel you travelled back in time. If you keep going on that corridor (which was almost impossible to walk through), the counter ends at some point and gives way to a big hall, with smaller tables (and more people). Until you reach the stage. Jazz musicians playing their guitars, saxophones and piano.

We eventually managed to get a table where the nice waitress brought us more beer. The necessity to visit the rest room was growing inevitable. So, I started the adventure. There was an infinity of people standing between me and liquid release redemption. And for the looks of it, barely enough time. Good luck to me. 

The mission was a huge success. I got there. It was a rather small restroom. I was in the position at one of the few urinals. Looking to the wall. Walls can be pretty interesting. Plenty of graffitis on that one.

Suddenly, the guy peeing in the next urinal said something funny. I don’t clearly remember what. But I sure do remember what I answered: “Yeah, just think that we may be peeing in the same place Capone did”. He looked back, amazed. And laughed.  Yes, I know we were under the effects of alcohol, but some of the best crazy conversations come up sometimes just because you’re drunk (and some forgettable embarrassments too). It was a historic moment in our lives, in a weird way. History is not always pleasant or socially comfortable. Liquid release redemption accomplished, right after making history, we went our separate ways.

About an hour later we were done listening jazz music and needed to get out. Hunter said he wanted something to eat and I very much liked the idea. Food is always an option. So we headed out. God was listening to us, apparently. Almost right next to the Green Mill there was a Mexican food place. The jazz night ended in a couple of delicious burritos.

After that we took an Uber taxi back to campus. And that was it. Pretty good night, huh?