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Just Call Me Vincent Le Cab ALLEZ!
Friday, October 15, 2004
Posted by GSH-Editor
 | School was over, and what else was there to do. All my buddies either had summer jobs, or girlfriends that wouldn’t let them out of their sight. I was between a puck and a goal-post, and I knew I wasn’t going let the summer of 2004 go to waste. |
All year my buddy Runner was telling me about the sick cash he was making down in Clearwater, Florida working as a waiter at some dive restaurant on the ocean. During the cold Canadian winter I was subject to story after story of how the money was plentiful, as were the girls, and despite his stubby legs and mangled grill, his Canadian accent did wonders for him down south.!
I’m not going to claim to be the best looking guy in the world, but I sure as hell put Runner to shame, so I made my decision, packed my bags, jumped in my shitbox and headed south. I wasn’t sure how long I was going to stay, but I needed a change, and Clearwater, Florida was calling my name.  | Once in the sunshine state of the south I didn’t have any more luck finding jobs, and I knew my float wasn’t going to last very long, so I went into cheap mode right away, a trick I had learned from my buddy Kyle back in Junior. He had it down to a science. I’m not going to lie to you, I have sick flow, I’m a decent looking guy. I stand about 6’2, and weigh around 220, and yah. I played Jr. A hockey since I was sixteen. I look the role. If only my feet could catch up with my hands, I probably could have gone some where, but I didn’t, and scrounging for jobs in ClearWater, Florida was now my fate.. Down the road about 10 clicks from the old beaten down shack me and Runner made our home was a pretty decent bar. A lot of rich kids would stop there on there way through town. It wasn’t uncommon to see a half a dozen yachts out in the bay on any given night through the week, so despite the rancid stench of our house and the softening tire on my car, there was something to look forward to each day, and that was the 12 minute walk to the WaterHouse Club. |
They go down easy let me tell yah. 10, 15, 20 beer later I was crushing cans off my head and I was cranked. Runner had to work the next morning, and I figured I’d lose him at some part in the night, but I didn’t care. I didn’t have to get up, until the sun was heading back down into the gulf. Runner started something up that night before he left. He started calling me Vincent Lecavalier, because of my sick blonde flow, I guess you could say I look a little like him, and yah, I’m big enough for people to actually believe it. At first I told him to quit being an idiot, but when people were coming over and broads began creeping in my direction, I thought what the hell, let’s do it. I was getting cranked. Oddly enough the whole bar thought they were partying with the star of the Tampa Bay Lighting, and by some supernatural phenomenon, I became him that night.
Out of nowhere emerges the owner of the WaterHouse Club and says “Mr. Lecavalier, I have seasons tickets, I come to all your games, let me buy you a drink or twoâ€. “No Problem!†I said.
Runner was long gone, and the owner and I sat there drinking Jack for at least another half hour. Life was good. I was worth millions, and I was chilling with the high society of ClearWater Beach Florida. I guess as high as it gets on this beach front paradise.
“Vinny, I’m having an after party at my place on the bay, would you like to come?â€. “You’re fucking right!†I said, and we were off. Walking towards his giant black Dakota, I wasn’t surprised to see two hot broads waiting for this guy. One was his girlfriend, and the other, well, I wasn’t sure who her boyfriend was, but as soon as she found out I was Vincent Lecavalier, I was him.
That Dakota must have drove for about an hour, but I didn’t give a shit, because I was in the back seat with easily the hottest broad in ClearWater. I’ve done pretty well for myself over the years, but this girl was out of my league for a Canadian boy like myself.  | I wasn’t sure if we had crossed state-lines or what, but wherever we were going, we were there. Like the owner of the WaterHouse Club had said to me, it was a house on a bay, but what was inside was not what I had expected. No word of a lie, it was like a 1930’s Old West whore house. There were guys walking around in suits with top hats, and girls dressed in spider skin nylons. I thought I had gone through a time machine where fashion lost all sense of reason, and cocaine was for table salt. This place was ridiculous.
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As soon as I started getting introduced to people the buzz was phenomenal. I was so cranked it felt like the room was swaying from side to side, everywhere I went, a dozen girls would follow me. I felt like I had a magnetic draw, but I sure as hell wasn't complaining. I’d later learn I was so cranked I had been drooling all over the floor, but that didn’t seem to deter from my celebrity status.
What was quickly becoming one of the greatest nights of my life, took a turn, but I wasn’t sure what was happening. It was like the music stopped. People's heads started turning, and the muffled and awkward rustle of judgemental chatter quickly grew in volume around me.
Some fucking asshole had to be the guy to look up Lecavalier on the Tampa Bay Lighting webpage and call my bluff. I only remember parts of getting thrown out of that house, and I found out a week later that after scraping my ass off the pavement outside I was witnessed by the 20 or 30 guests giving a two handed middle finger salute to the whole party while pissing all over some guys Mercedes.
I started walking. I didn’t know which direction I was going, but it was the middle of fucking no where and I’d only see a car every 10 minutes. I couldn’t get picked up for the life of me. I’m a good guy, but I guess people don’t realize that when they slam on the breaks in view of a 220 pound drunken monster standing in the middle of the highway mumbling “I don’t have money, please drive me homeâ€.
Finally I made my way to a convenience store and sure as shit my Canadian debit card wouldn’t work "I just want a cab to get home but I have no cash, and I left my credit cards at Runners place". I said to the clerk “Can I have a chew?†and as sure as I’m telling you this story right now, the son of a bitch said “I can’t give you a tin of cope my good man, but here’s a sampler, and you have yourself a good nightâ€. The old Cuban chucked me a puck that had block letters SAMPLE written across it, and let me tell you, that was the best chew I’ve ever had.
The cab rolled up to the convenience store and I went out and said, “I don’t have any cash on me, but my name is Vincent Lecavalier and I play for the……â€. The cabby wouldn’t let me finish “Holy Fuck! It is you! I take my son to as many games as I can afford!†This guy told me to get in his car and he’d take me anywhere I needed to go. I went on to explain that I really appreciated his help and that I'd send him two tickets to our home-opener. I knew that’s what Vinny would do in my situation.
Arriving at Runners place Pedro quickly scribbled down his address and that was the last I ever saw of him. It was a fucking nightmare the next 3 days I was in ClearWater, I was pissing out the wrong end, and a broad at the party worked with Runner at the restaurant. The story ripped through the beach houses like wildfire and I will be known for generations as the Canadian loser who impersonated Vincent Lecavalier.
To make a long story short, I’m not welcome back in ClearWater beach Florida, or for that matter, anywhere close to those parts. I’m not a bad guy for pretending to be a pro hockey player for a night. Everyone has done it once. Or once in awhile.
When I got back to Canada, I reflected back on my trip, the good and the bad. What made it memorable and all those guys that helped me through that night, in particular Pedro the cabby. What little cash I had at the start of the summer was gone, so I did what any good man would do: I grabbed one of my dad's office envelopes and stuffed it full of toilet paper, and true to my word, i sent Pedro the Cabby a seasons worth of shit-tickets so he could enjoy the shit bowl.
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