“Legendary-ish Stories” is a series I plan to write occassionally in which I describe actual incidents that happened in my life. These incidents often involve alcohol and at times immorality – neither of which I necessarily condone. With these stories I hope to add a touch of humor and display human imperfection while simultaneously eroding my credibility. Enjoy.
Two weeks before my wife and I were married I underwent the sacred right of passage known as the bachelor party. Five of my best friends and myself decided to have a night on the town in Atlanta. My friends did a fairly good job planning. We had a designated driver, a rental car, and all the alcohol any human being could reasonably consume.
The night started out typically enough. We decided to get a few drinks before hitting the town. One of my friends had made a power hour video. (a power hour video consist of an hour long video with a different humorous clips each 60 seconds. After each clip you drink. The ultimate goal is to drink 6 beers within 1 hour.) In out excitement we finish power hour, drank an energy drink, had a couple of celebratory shots and headed to the bars.
That’s about the time I woke up on the couch the next morning. My good friend was watching TV on the couch and I was very disappointed. I couldn’t believe that we hadn’t even made it out – on my last night of manly freedom! I scolded my friend for letting me pass out – he looked at me with concern. Something was wrong.
“Dude, we didn’t get home unil after 4am this morning, what are you talking about?”
I was dumbfounded. Up until that point in my life I had never experience a complete memory loss/blackout. I made it through 4 years at the #1 party school in the nation and managed to remember making it home every time. I must admit that the rest of this story is a result of hearsay and brief memory flashes from the past night.
10pm: We left the house, which in retrospect, I vaguely remember. We were around 20 minutes from our intended destination. I believe that was the problem. I think that 20 minutes of non-movement combined with the effects of the large amounts of alcohol finally caught up with me. (I also suspect that one of my friends or a bartender may have slipped me a the date-rape pill.) Assholes.
11pm: I was taken to a strip club, but not any strip club, because those are boring. My friends planned an excursion to the premiere spot in Atlanta – and by premiere I mean that all of the strippers are 50 or older. It is really a freak show, but quite entertaining. I was told that I was given a glorious lap dance by a 60 year old black woman. If you ask my friends they’ll say “she wasn’t that bad”, but I know that means she was disgusting. I imagine she was probably 200lbs of wrinkles and breasts to her belly button – they also say I enjoyed it. That, I cannot confirm or deny. Apparently for a $10 tip you can touch 50 year old strippers all you want. Also, to add to my insult, this was in public.
At this point I also asked for a glass of water – my friends instead gave me a glass of vodka. To their surprise I didn’t notice it wasn’t water. I drank the entire glass – How I am alive to this day is uncertain.
1am: I was told that we we left the club to go to another, less eclectic, bar. However, I was refused entrance. I was belligerent.
1:30am: To my friend’s dismay I began to dismantle the rental car. I jumped on the hood and gave the poor doors vicious left hooks. Why? I do not know and I have no history of this type of behavior. I suspect my lunacy had something to do with the mixture of alcohol, energy drinks, and possible unknown substances inserted into my drinks throughout the night.
2:00am: A friend slipping the door man $5 was enough to get me in the third bar. I sat in the booth with my head on the table, rendered useless. My friends forced me to drink energy drinks. On my way to the bathroom I morphed into the incredible hulk and took my belligerence to a new level. Since I couldn’t use my “inside voice” we were asked to leave. I apologize to everyone who had to deal with my idiocy. On the way out of the bar I demanded that the door man stamp my back repeatedly with the “over 21” stamp, he complied. That explained why for the next two weeks my future wife looked at me funny when I had my shirt off… No one told me until weeks later.
3:30am: After we were asked to leave the bar and one of my friends literally pissed his pants in an unfortunate “I skipped a step in the bathroom” incident – I was taken home and carried to the couch – where I awoke the next morning. Smelling of urine, old lady perfume, my back decorated in “over 21” stamps, no memory of the glorious night that had taken place, a massive hangover, and taking a piss that I am convinced had blood in it – describes my right of passage.
What did I learn? “Always remember to unzip your pants before taking a piss.”