Taking the (Br)oath

For improv class, our teacher decided to give us homework: Face a fear or do something completely outside of your comfort zone. This stumped me for a while. I've ridden the El late at night, eaten some pretty weird things, and didn't have access to a pirate ship. Alas, I had realized my discomfort. It was just bound and gagged deep down in the pit of my stomach. My task: Go to Wrigleyville and be a "bro."

Throughout history, there have been many kinds of "bro." The Caveman Bro, who most likely thought it funny to use a sleeping woolly mammoth's tusk to open up a Pabst and draw about it later. The Medieval Bro who would take pictures of those punish'd in the stocks by handing them a Schlitz as their scrawny, chapped hands hung nearly lifeless in the elements. And the Victorian Bro, who would often trick others by making pickle sandwiches, rather than the customary cucumber, and wit about it with only the finest whiskey in hand.

I speak now of the Wrigley Bro: The Bro's Bro. The Dude Bro. The "Just...really?" Bro. There is nothing quite like the D-Baggery of Clark St., littered with the Stranglers of Bro-dom, that make me hate life. Just the blended scents of Old Style and cheap cologne by the gallon wafting through my nostrils has me looking for the closest hipster bar, trading up in the lesser of evils.

So what better way to get out of my comfort zone than to make a night of it? OK, well, more like an hour of it. Give or take. Baby steps. Here were my rules:

1. Spend a minimum of 1 hour on Clark St. and in bro bars.
2. Drink the bro drink of the night - Whatever the first bro I saw at the bar fed into his bro mouth.
3. Give myself a bro name (Kyle).
4. Dance it up like a bro, i.e. Fist Pumping; Air Punching and / or Kicking; Grinding on things.
5. Talk to anybody and everybody, making bro-nnections.
6. Go all out.

To go out in style, I had to bring my bro, Frank. I quickly gave him the name of "Mitch" as soon as we passed the first place with a line out the door. We had to build characters and become people we were not. People we avoided at all costs, and quickly mocked in scenes. We had to become "them." To go out in style, Frank decided to go with Tough Guy Bro, and donned a flannel and backwards hat. I decided on Social Butterfly Bro, wearing this season's Under Armour with a tee over it, and since the weather called for it, a UA beanie. We "wooooo'd," high-fived, and walked like we owned the place. First up, Houndstooth. The mood just felt right.

As we bought our Bud Lights (in the blue aluminum bottle, of course), we panned the crowd and squeezed through the pantry they call a hallway to the back. This is where we met Honorary Dude-Bro, Danny the Tour Guide. As soon as DTG saw me (and he was dressed exactly like Frank, er...Mitch), he must've thought I was a super cool bro, because he came right up to me, gave me a high-five, and said in his marbled bro speak, "Hey dude, you guys should follow me." We had to. These dudes abide. We followed DTG through this labyrinth of an establishment, through narrow hallways and sharp angles until he went right up to a girl and asked her if she liked double-dutch. We were all confused, all except DTG. After successfully creeping her out and having her beeline it back to the safe haven of friends, DTG turned to me and said,

"Dude. It's awesome. We ask girls if they like double-dutch. Then we go like this" (making the circular motions with his arms, as if rotating 2 jump ropes - while still holding onto his beer).
"And then what?"
"And then they jump, dude!"

Danny the Tour Guide then had to go to the bathroom, so Mitch and I quickly explored the rest of the crawlspace and decided to move on. After a few more "wooooo's" and high-fives of acceptance, we made it to the belly of the beast.

Once inside Big City, or colloquially, Big $#!tty, we armed ourselves with Heinekens and hit the foosball table. We played a game while a trio of older women flirted and shouted inaudible, and most likely, inappropriate, cat-calls as eloquently as they possibly could while they stuffed their faces with chicken tenders and wings. To make sure they really liked us, I went and did several dance moves in front and in between them during their fine dining experience. They raved.

I then noticed something of severe importance that was lacking attention. The dance floor was empty. I told Mitch this was our spot. This is where I did all of the previously mentioned dance moves. All of them. And I made sure I took up as much space as possible. Again, The Elders were into it. I felt like a shining star, dancing like the cast of The Breakfast Club at a Flogging Molly concert. Our hour finally came and went. Plus another 15 minutes. For good measure.

Since this was so out of my comfort zone, and because I put on a character, I have to say, I had a blast with this assignment. I'm still going to avoid this area at all costs, don't get me wrong. I know the lesson here is to just give it a shot and to not be afraid to live outside of your comfort zone. Just see what happens and what comes out of it. And I know this is a lesson deeper than improv.

High Five.

*Notable Bros Throughout History*

The Elizabethan Bro - He who shall call himself a man, yet drowns himself in barrel upon barrel of wine, not fit for a groundling, and barks up at women, as if they doth possess the characteristics of a humble tree squirrel.

The Socialist Bro - A brother who wears his unity pins in a manner of boistrosity.

Le French Bro - The dude who angers others but needs other bros to fight for him.

The Prohibition Bro - A man who maintains constant law and order in such oppressive times.

Russian Comrade Bro - Man who can not keep secrets, even under lightest punchings.

1940s Bro - This snake can't hold his liquor or keep his mouth shut. And he's always tryin' to hit on my dame! He's easy to spot because he's the one wearing cement shoes.

Lady Bro - A chick who will outdrink and outpunch any dude.

Early 90s Bro - This amazingly excellent bro barely scrapes by in life, thrashing all of his energy in his garage band, Wyld Stallyns, angering his cop dude dad.