A Night at the Loud Lobster

I should’ve known better than to trust a random speech coach I found through an online ad. Looking back, the warning signs were there, practically screaming at me: the cheap “luxury” graphics, the overly dramatic slogan, and the type of empty promises that sounded like they were written by a desperate motivational speaker. Yet, somehow, I let them convince me.

Now, I’m wondering how I’m going to look myself in the mirror again, especially if I ever admit how much I actually paid for the thing. The program called itself “the most innovative coaching experience” and guaranteed that I’d earn the respect of my managers and become a top contender for my next job opportunity or promotion. There were a lot of promises for a website that looked like it was designed in a 15-minute break. Who the hell is this Dr. S. Benson anyways, and he claimed to have a PHD, but at this point I’m wondering that his title stood for Pretty Huge Disappointment.

I sent the money to the Venmo account listed on the program advertisement, and shortly after, I received an email with the address, and instructions to ask for the name of the speech club operating in the basement of the bar. It didn’t hit me how embarrassing the name of the club actually was until I had already driven all the way there – at which point turning around felt too late.

I waited in the parking lot outside of this wooden building that looked like it could have been a brewery, tucked away in the middle of an office park. I took a deep breath, stepped out of the car and was immediately hit by the sound of blaring Celtic rock music that seemed to rattle the green door I was approaching.

Walking inside, I noticed it was a hardcore Irish pub with a guy playing Celtic harp in the corner, the rest of his band mates, playing drums, electric guitar, and accordion.

“How could I look a grown man in the eye and ask them directions for this stupid embarrassing club by name.”

“How many people are in your party, sir?” a young woman at the door asked. She was pretending to be a waitress, jotting down notes as part of some kind of role-play.

She had a chopped mullet, half dyed pink, half blonde, and wore what looked like a Frankenstein’s monster of a crop top - stitched together from different fabrics, old band shirts, and denim and a piece of cotton blanket.

“Wait, isn’t this a pub?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Ha! I’m fucking with you,” she said with a smirk before walking out to the patio to light a cigarette.

Then, I saw the sign at the center of the pub’s walls.

“The Loud Lobster Pub”

Inside, it looked like any other Irish pub – except somehow louder, warmer, more alive. Everyone seemed so aggressively social, the kind of happy drunks you’d want on your side in a bar fight. They laughed, reminisced about the good old days, and sang along as Irish punk ballads blasted through the speakers. The interior was something else, the place looked like it had been standing for decades, with every dent in the floorboard, and faded photograph thumb-tacked to the wall, felt like it carried a thousand stories from its longtime patrons.

It was certainly a place I wouldn’t feel comfortable walking into alone. It was too wild, too full of energy and I immediately felt like an outsider. Still, I had a mission to finding the entrance to this mystery club I had been instructed to ask the bartender about.

I took a deep breath through my nose, looked down at my phone again to the ridiculous name of the club, and then looked back across the room to the bartender. He looked like someone who had spent his younger years diving headfirst into every mosh pit that crossed his path. He was only a few feet away, but my brain had somehow turned those few feet into the distance of a football field.

Of course, he was busy. A crowd of actual waitresses running around surrounded him, along with people sitting at the bar, watching sports, laughing, drinking and enjoying their night.

As I walked toward him, some guy who already looked irritated bumped into me, causing him to spill half of his beer onto the floor.

“Ey bro. You’re gonna buy me another one, right?”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry bout that.” I said.

“Your ‘sorry’ gonna magically refill this cup of IPA or…?”

“I’ll be more careful.”

“No.” he laughed. “You’ll be more generous. That’s eight bucks.”

“Fuck.” I sighed.

I pulled out my wallet, counted some cash and before I could even finish, he snatched more than he needed from my hand.

“Thanks,” he said casually, already walking back towards his table of friends.

This is such a waste of time.

I gave up. I turned around and started walking back toward the exit. I wasn’t going to bother with finding this stupid club anymore.

Then someone grabbed my hand.

“You can’t leave me here,” said the punk girl from the door, - the one who had been pretending to be a waitress.

I stopped and looked at her.

“What?” I raised an eyebrow. “Do I know you?”

“Do you know how many of these chuds are here tonight? Do you know how many times I’ve been invited to their lame cousin’s backyard show? And I’m telling you, they don’t even ask in the slightest polite way. To make matters worse, my best friend just introduced me to her cousin, whose already been caught staring at my cleavage like five times... I hate men.”

She winked.

“Well, I’m a man.”

“Ha! Barely.”

She looked me up and down, holding intense eye contact like she was trying to figure out what species I was.

“Look, I need you to do me this favor.” She said. “I need you to pretend we ran into each other, and we’ve known each other for years, I don’t want to talk to him the rest of the night. Make something up. Cock-block him.”

“W-wait. Wait.”

Before I could finish disagreeing, she grabbed my arm and dragged me away.

“Names Sophia by the way,”

And just like that, we walked straight into her friend group.

“I’m Logan.“ I said, and doubt she even heard me.

I was introduced to her best friend, Jennifer; she had bright red curly hair and wore a full black leather outfit that looked like she belonged on stage with the band. I said hello to a few of her other friends who were mingling.

Then I finally met her friend’s cousin, Michael. At first, he seemed like a nice guy. My immediate impression was that he probably spent a significant amount of time at the gym.

“Well,” Michael snapped his fingers in front of me. “You just left the room for a second there, man. So… how do you know Sophia?”

“Oh…” I blinked, realizing everyone was waiting for me. “Long time ago. Uh… our parents worked together, and we used to go on these summer trips to the lake. Then we didn’t see each other for… I don’t know… eight years? Then we ended up at the same high school for four years. Then life happened, and… now we’re here.”

“Damn,” Michael said with a grin shaking his head. “Life just keeps throwing you two back together, huh?”

“Yeah, the universe has a sick sense of humor.” Sophia said.

I snickered. “Yeah.”

She shrugged innocently.

“First time you’ve seen each other since high school?” Michael asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

Michael nodded. “So what did both of your parents do for work?”

“Flavor Scientist” I answered with far more confidence than the lie deserved.

Michael paused.

“… A what?”

Sophia let out a laugh.

“You know,” she said. “The people who invent flavors. Ice cream. Chips. Soda. Try to keep up, Michael.”

“Oh,” Michael said slowly. “That’s… a thing?”

“My mom worked on new menu ideas for a fast-food chain,” I added.

Sophia nodded enthusiastically.

“His mom invented the Japanese sushi taco.”

I stared at her.

“My mom definitely did not invent the Japanese sushi taco.”

“She would’ve if her managers hadn’t been such cowards.”

I couldn’t stop smiling.

‘Well,” I said, pointing at her, “your mom invented matcha ice cream, and it tasted like lawn clippings.”

Sophia gasped dramatically and smacked my shoulder.

“You take that back!”

“Hell no.”

“You’re so dead to me.”

Michael watched the two of us for a moment before letting out a fake laugh.

“You guys are…weird.”

“It’s actually a surprisingly common profession,” I said with a straight face.

“Right….” Michael replied, though the smirk on his face said he wasn’t buying a single word. He gave me one last once-over, and then walked away towards the bartender to order another beer.

The second he looked away, Sophia grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the other side of the room.

The moment we were out of earshot, we both burst into laughter – real uncontrollable laughter that somehow managed to compete with the deafening Celtic punk blasting through the speakers.

“I cannot believe you committed to a flavor scientist.” She said between laughs.

“You’re the one who made my mom invent a sushi taco.”

“Hate how confident you are.”

For the first time all night, I wasn’t thinking about getting to the stupid speech club, the money I’d wasted, or how badly I wanted to leave.

I was actually having fun.

“You need a beer?” Sophia asked.

My eyes lit up.

“Do I? You kinda just made me want one.”

“You sure?” she asked with a grin “Why don’t we raw-dog the night.”

I immediately broke into a coughing fit.

“Excuse me?”

She burst out laughing and smacked my arm.

“Ow!”

“ I said raw-dog the night,” she repeated, slowly, like I was five. “No booze.”

“Oh,” I rubbed my arm. “Right. That makes way more sense.”

“What did you think I meant.’

“I’ll be pleading the Fifth.”

“So?” she asked, “Smoke break?”

Outside, I borrowed a cigarette from her, fumbled with the lighter and finally got it lit.

“I don’t even smoke,” I admitted.

“I could tell.”

She took a drag, then blew the smoke off to the side.”

“You’re kinda fun, dude.”

“I think, I’ve peaked.”

Before she could answer, a chorus of Happy Birthday drifted across the pub. A waitress was carrying a dessert toward a table full of what looked like middle-aged softball team.

Sophia looked over.

Then she looked at me.

Her eyebrows slowly climbed.

“No,” I said immediately.

“Oh, fuck, yes.”

“No.”

She was already dragging me across the room.

At the birthday table, she leaned down and whispered something into the birthday woman’s ear.

The woman beamed.

“Aww, that’s so sweet.”

“Huh? Sweet?”

Seven pairs of eyes turned towards me.

“Go ahead, bud,” one man wearing a polyester jersey said. “Say somethin’ nice.”

Someone tapped a fork against a mug.

For a moment, the Celtic punk faded into the background, it felt like the entire corner of the pub had gone quiet.

My face burned.

I glanced at Sophia.

She gave me a tiny nod.

You got this.

“Uh…”

Still nothing.

Then the words finally came.

“I just want to say…” I pointed toward the birthday woman with my cigarette.” This lady has the kindest smile in the room.”

Everyone looked at her.

“And if she’s choosing to spend her birthday here… “ I gestured, around the pub” then clearly she’s got excellent taste.”

A few people laughed.

“So here’s to another year of great stories, terrible decisions…”

I raised an imaginary glass.

“… and never being too old for either.”

“Cheers!”

The table erupted.

Mugs slammed together.

Someone whistled loudly.

Sophia cupped her hands around her mouth.

“One more!”

The crowd immediately joined in.

“One more! One more!”

I looked at the birthday woman.

“You know what?”

I pointed to her with my now limp cigarette from chewing on it nervously.

“From this day forward…”

I paused for dramatic effect.

“… you’re officially the pub’s honorary Mee-Maw.”

The entire table exploded.

“MEE-MAW!”

“MEE-MAW!”

MEE-MAW!”

People pounded on the tables, chanted louder than the musician in the corner. I laughed, gave the birthday woman a fist bump and escaped before anyone could rope me into another speech.

Back outside, I borrowed a lighter from a stranger and lit my cigarette.

I leaned against the railing, watching headlights stream down the highway at night. Somehow, against all odds… I was actually glad I’d come.

Sophia walked over and poked me.

“What now?” I said.

She studied my face for a moment and immediately noticed I was reaching my breaking point.

“Sorry, for all the teasing tonight.”

“What’s with all the bullying?” I shook my head smiling.

She smiled.

“You looked like a lost puppy walking into this place. I just wanted to get you out of your shell. That’s all. Besides…” she shrugged, “I actually enjoy your company.”

I let out a dramatic sigh. The cigarette had started making me light-headed, so I pressed the tip against the wooden gate and flicked it away.

“So, who were you looking for in here anyway?” Sophia asked. “Why did you come?”

For the first time all night, I didn’t hesitate.

I walked straight toward the bartender.

No nerves to hold me back. There was no voice in my head second-guessing myself.

The whole night had been so bizarre and overwhelming that I had somehow run out of fear.

The bartender looked up at me. His long beard hung down over his chin, with tattoos creeping around the edges of his face and neck, making him look like the town’s Viking. “What can I get you?” he demanded.

I opened my mouth.

Then I said it.

Loud.

Crystal clear.

“I’m looking for the BUTTERFLIES IN MY BELLY BRIGADE!”

The music seemed to stop.

A few people nearby turned toward me. “What did he say?”

Then they burst out laughing.

I looked around the room, my lips slightly curled, unfazed.

Honestly? Nothing surprised me anymore.

The laughter grew louder.

Then to my surprise, came the applause.

For a second, I felt like I was trapped in a fever dream. Like I had accidentally entered some strange simulation where everyone knew the script, except for me.

The bartender was clapping.

The birthday woman and her softball team were clapping.

Even the guy who had punked me for my money earlier was clapping.

People surrounded me, patting me on the shoulder, telling me “Well done.”

Thumbs-up gestures came from across the bar.

Then the crowd slowly parted.

Sophia walked toward me.

Except, she wasn’t Sophia anymore.

Her piercings were gone.

Her wild dyed hair had been replaced with a normal brunette medium length style.

Her punk jacket was now a professional black blazer.

She smiled.

“Congratulations, Mr. Logan Henderson. You’ve demonstrated exceptional potential.”

She extended her hand.

I grabbed it with the weakest handshake known to mankind.

She immediately tightened her grip and held it.

“I’m Dr. Sophia Benson,” she said. “And today is your first day of my experimental, life-changing seminar.”

I stared at her.

“We like to start things a little unorthodox,” she continued. “it helps establish the foundation of what we’re trying to achieve. Even asking for a silly name of a club in public for a problem most people are afraid to admit they have. I am whole-heartedly proud of your courage. To summarize what happened tonight, you demonstrated pressure management, persuasive speaking, improvisation, and even special occasion speech,”

She nodded smiling with giddiness.

“You’re kidding me. This was all an act?”

Before she could answer, the guy who had bumped into me earlier tapped me on the shoulder.

“Here you go, Mr. Henderson.”

He handed me back my money.

“Sorry about the stress. I’m one of Dr. Benson’s assistants.”

His proper mannerisms didn’t match the “cut-here” neck tattoo and green Mohawk.

He smiled.

“Part of the program is learning how to express yourself confidently during stressful situations – especially when dealing with antagonistic people. We still have a lot of work to do in that field.”

I stared at him, snatched my money from his hands, then looked back at Sophia.

“Thanks…” I said slowly.

I looked around the room.

“… I think.”

I was still trying to process everything.