Gather ’round, gather ’round, kiddies… it’s time for one of Uncle Sean’s drunk stories… this one is about something that only happens in the movies… or when you’re really drunk…

Once upon a time there was a welcoming place called Cadillac Cafe.  It was called the Alibi before that, and many other names since then, but for a brief period of time, under that moniker it existed.

Sure, it was a ways from home, but it was a straight shot up the Grand River.  Let it be known that in this place, a wonderful and strange event happened, that may or may not have happened the way I remember it.

At this time, I used to be a helper at a local doctors’ office.  I would do menial tasks, such as file forms and file claims.  I was but a boy working amongst mostly older women.  In hindsight, I should have taken a job at the local eatery or merchant with others my age, but such is life.

A few of the women I worked with were closer to my age, and we would make it a point to collect a gathering of folks and visit the Cafe on weekends.  Fun was always had – even if your Uncle Jay may not agree.  Ask him about the time he stepped on a fair maiden’s hand that he liked while they were “freaking.”  She broke a nail.  His spirit broke – it was great.  Also, one of his future ex-mistresses happened to work there, though he didn’t know it at the time.  What a small world!

On the day of the event, I had my share of libations and I took to the dance floor as I was wont to do.  For whatever reason, on this eve, as I was out there “skanking,” another fellow took up the space beside me and did the same.  A crowd slowly formed around us as the songs continued.  People chanted and cheered.  Him and his friends took turns, tapping out on one another’s shoulders.  Each of them had different styles of moves.  (I had three at best.)  But I remained on my own the entire time.  It felt like the glow from a light up above was shining down on me (it was – from a ceiling fan… Cadillac Cafe was a restaurant during normal hours… didn’t I mention that?)

Once the last song ended, my competitors and I parted ways without a word or second glance.  My friends dubbed their leader “Powder” because he resembled this guy:

Same guy that was in Boondock Saints and Young Indy Jones... different complexion... same hat?

And they declared me the winner.  But there were no winners that day…  only losers.

MORAL OF THE STORY: Don’t get into real-life dance-offs.  They’re gay.  (Sorry HilDuff!)

BONUS: A song by another co-worker-at-the-time’s friend’s band – Drunk Uncle by the Miracle Berries.