Is That Bacon I Hear?

 We live across the street from a bikers’ club. I must confess that when I first moved to Brooklyn, I thought my parents had hired the cast of my life to illustrate their very insistent point that New Yorkers really play into type. For one thing, my apartment looks like the set of a sitcom, and of course there are the vigilantes that live across the street, which would make for a great use of guest star appearances, if you ask me.

The bikers that I have met have all been perfectly delightful to me during each of our interactions. They have opened doors, asked me how my job is, and shown me the inside of the club house… which means I’m practically on my way to becoming someone’s old lady.

I recently came to embrace and loathe this title after watching (skimming) through Sons of Anarchy lately, which then turned my fondness for the bikers to fear. I mean, how do I really know that they aren’t running drugs, smuggling guns, and smoking their enemies (SoA lingo)? But this fear is unfounded because these bikers are legendary in this neighborhood. I could tell you the urban legends that follow their fumes, but I’ll just say that I would rather live across the street from these guys than the 5-0s (That means cops for all of you inexperienced folk, but I actually learned that from The Fast and the Furious Five, a film that I was forced to watch, but that’s not the point. I lost my train of thought).

Oh, yes. The bikers. I wouldn’t want to cross them, but baked goods and friendly conversation usually soften them. One of them gave me his phone number “in case anybody messes wichoo.” (*Wichoo = me)

Most Fridays they can be found lined up outside across the street with blaring engines. My roommate said that they were especially loud the other night because all of their bikes were lined up… except she was looking for the slang terminology for “bike”, so I helped her out and explained that they call them “hogs”… so you can hear the hogs from almost a tenth of a mile away.

Last week the party was even larger. The size could have been a result from Halloween festivities or someone recently making parole, or both.

I guess what this boils down to is that I do not like not being invited to things, and quite frankly, I cannot believe that no one has so much has offered me a jacket, or at the very least, a patch. I mean, I have worn my leather jacket several times to show my fashion versatility. I remember all of their “names” (Goose and Bubba are taken, so I cannot have those names if and when I am ever initiated). I have several ideas that I would like to discuss for chapter mixers and a possible nomination for Social Chair (fingers crossed!).

Junior League is my second choice, but I’m going to hold out for this other club. They are close by, the chapter dues can’t be terribly high, and I can wear black to every event. I urge you to consider this option, especially if you’ve already gone the sorority route.