Most New Year’s specials recap the highlights from events prior to the ball dropping. This covers just one night, with several of the best bits come from the wee hours of 2020.

Like any good countdown, we will start at 10 and work our way to the best of the best. This does not occur in real time.

10. Keystone Copper

There’s nothing more sinister than a cop abusing power. And, there’s nothing more absurd than a cop abusing power he or she absolutely does not possess. Figure this, you’re trying to get away from the cold and the only hope you have is to squirm your way up to the front of the line to get a few sweet seconds of body heat emanating from the capacity crowd. But there’s hope! People are leaving and you’re next up.

One minor missing detail — in the effort to wriggle your way to the cream of the crop, you forget your girlfriend 10 feet behind you.

It’s fine, you say to yourself, I’ll just pull her past these other eight people who waited longer than I did. They aren’t mushed together like the March of the Penguins or anything.

Skipping the line is a privilege, but not a white privilege, and not a blue privilege. Our copper was too eager to protect and serve his own self interests that he had to pay the price — waiting outside until every person he inconvenienced darted ahead of him. When he tried to protest, he took out his wallet, flashed an ID card and said, “but I’m a cop.”

Off duty. Plain clothes.

In another jurisdiction.

Soon after he made it into the bar, he started arguing with Maui about how inconvenienced and aggrieved he was. That got him a one-way ticket to Palookaville and out of the bar for the night. His girl did not follow.

9. Minutes In

As in, nine minutes into the shift when we get both the line we wouldn’t shake until midnight and the first of five IDs on the night. A few minutes later and our second ID comes in the form of a passport. Her friend, who thought this plan was fool-proof, asked me how she would drive back home without her ID.

“It’s a passport. She can use her driver’s license.”

“But, how is she gonna get into the country now?”

Hold up. I know I was having some fun when I already verified it was her sister’s passport, but did he just say how is she going to get into the country?

Into.

In.

I>N>T>O

The United States of America.

The country in which she is already occupying space.

I hope they both left each other in 2019.

8. Closing Time

Short and sweet is this one. A naive party goer took a sly step out of the line and furtively walked up to us. She motioned me to come to her level so she could ask her question.

“Does the bar close at 12 tonight, or will you stay open a few minutes extra?”

I don’t know about you, dear reader, but to me this implies that she has never been to a bar on New Year’s Eve, or any night. While nothing good happens after midnight, we, at the very least, give you the opportunity to make those decisions for yourself.

7. Pissing the Night Away

Even in English, we lose some things in translation. Take the Chumbawamba classic, Tubthumping, for instance. A man is drinking a whiskey drink, a vodka drink, a lager drink, and a cider drink before singing songs of good and better times. A voice comes in telling tales about “pissing the night away.” In England, getting pissed means getting drunk. In America, getting pissed means getting angry.

Also in America, after you’ve had your whiskey, vodka, lager and cider, you want to piss in another way.

And just about anything will do if the bathroom line is long enough.

Like the sink.

Or the trash can.

Or a plastic novelty bowler hat that you leave on a tabletop.

6. Styled ‘n Out

When people know they want to go all out for a night like NYE, they go all out. Dressed to the nines, clean shirts, ties, jackets, all wrinkle-free and spotless. Shoes polished, hair on point, jewelry, shades, the whole ball game right there for all to see. Makeup, hours in the salon, and glittery dresses are par for the course.

When you walk up, and walk in, you want all eyes on you. This is supposed to be the new edition of the Roaring Twenties, and like hell you’re not greeting it like we did in the decade after.

Unless someone is underage and not ‘with’ the group’s plan.

Fun fact — if you show up in a pressed suit and silk shirt and tie, and cherry blossoms adorn your jacket, I am going to very much notice something different. Not to mention every woman you came with was in a dress. Unlike the girl you’re now trying to get into the bar a half hour later, not just with someone else’s ID, but in a jean jacket, leggings, and bedazzled pink Uggs.

5. Outrage & Aftertaste

Two men, each with a lifetime of hopes, dreams, friendships, and families. Loved ones, people who care about them, and those who will show up in times of tragedy.

These were not those times.

I get a sense that some people want to be outraged. They yearn for conflict, no matter if the time or place is right.

One man had to get kicked out for throwing up after a bad shot. I’m sure we’ve been there. You take something your stomach can’t handle like tequila, or warm gin, or cheap tequila, or extra sugary shots, or literally any brand of good or bad tequila on its own.

What goes down must come up.

Our man clad in Wolverines gear had to leave because his bad shot caused a chain reaction that splattered the porcelain, and later, the sidewalk. What caused this biochemical reaction? The pack of cigarettes he smoked between 10 p.m. and 12:30 a.m. Some people go out smoking while drinking. Others go out drinking to smoke. He was the latter. 

He didn’t leave in a hurry, but he left the property in a buzz of activity.

First, his ‘friend’ came up to us and demanded Wolverine be let back inside. It was outrageous that he’d been standing outside, alone, for almost two hours!

Alone. In the cold. We’re so heartless. I mean, yeah, he could call everyone in his friend group. Get two on FaceTime, and explain the entire situation.

Alone, in the cold.

With me, Peanut, Maui, and anyone else who was outside the bar between 12:30 and 2:30 a.m. You know, when his outraged friends came outside to check up on him. Meanwhile, the other man connected to this story had a quicker exit, vomit billowing in his mouth ready to burst onto the unsuspecting pavement. At least his girlfriend was there for him. Rubbing his back in reassurance.

Then a pause.

A caress of the cheek. A turn. And a hand on the back of the neck. Closer, face to face.

GIRL, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

After their disgusting French language lesson, she tried to lead him back inside. I stopped both of them.

“Why? he’s fine now.”

“He’s not, and you’re both nasty, that’s why.”

4. Speaking in Tongues

I’m flashing forward deep into the night. We had someone slip past us during Item No. 2. It was so hectic that we didn’t see the teenager in a bodysuit and jeans squeeze through us and run up to the bar.

*She didn’t get far, and was never served.

What she did was fall so hard into the bar rail that her fake ID fell onto the ground and wasn’t uncovered until after we had almost closed for the night.

She was danced out of the bar by a King of Comedy, the one-and-only Cedric the Entertainer. Known as Health Inspector, a chance encounter with a bowler hat, glasses, and well-fitting sweater birthed the new moniker.

For someone who spent only a few minutes in the bar, she tried hard to gain entry, often pushing her way in using her Chinchilla-like body composition to manipulate herself into the narrowest windows of opportunity.

When people get caught doing something bad or illegal, that’s the end. They give up and go home or go to jail (cough Mr. President cough) In the rare occasion they stick around, they are relentlessly annoying. And in our case, incoherent, just like the president.

I can’t tell you full thought process line of dialog BodySuit said, but I can give you a word salad.

Actually, I do care. I do care, but I really don’t care. Do you know Cooper? I need Coop, coper. You’re two weeks. Two weak. No, too weak. Two weak men trying to penis. Penises. Just penis from men who are weak. Not pracopia. Pracopia. Care? No, pracopia, kuppercopia. Actually, you don’t care. Care. I don’t care, but you don’t care, but I actually do care. Actually care, you know. I actually care.

I bet she doesn’t understand wind either.

A semi-regular, Hyde, was also nearby and too drunk to get inside. Unlike the girl, he knew it and was ordering a ride. Our misguided girl went up to him with her usual gibberish when Hyde laid a verbal smackdown.

“Bitch, I’ve paid for three abortions older than you.”

You cannot come back from that.

3. Nurse Ratchet

One incoherent woman I can deal with. Two incoherent women? That’s is a lot of estrogenic angst for someone without a girlfriend.

A woman in her mid to late 40s is stumbling up. Sometimes you can give a person the benefit of the doubt if they’re walking up in the cold. Wind blowing, skin exposed, blood flow only working to cover essential functions, of which walking isn’t one of them. But Peanut and I soon found out that this walk wasn’t cold-induced. She was struggling.

The conversation started light at first. Can I come in, no you can’t, why can’t I, you’re too intoxicated, etc.

But then it veered.

“What do you mean? I paid $60 to get in. Here’s my ticket,” the woman slurred, holding out a hand with nothing in it.

“Miss, we don’t even sell tickets.”

“But I paid. Gave you money. I’m a nurse. Just got done at [HOSPITAL]. Have had nothing to drink.”

Her slur was getting worse, which was a mixture of whatever she was on and the cold. It only got worse from here.

She tried to push her way in after her ticket attempts were failing. That was a mistake.

If she was a man, she’d be on the ground. Instead, she tried to take cover from the wind on the other side of the door (where the wind was worse). Upon realizing her mistake, she walked over a stanchion, beginning her 2020 with an early OBGYN exam.

“I worked 14 hours and when you come in a need a nurse I will reject you, too!”

“Well, that’s probably illegal. You must have a high mortality rate?”

“Fourteen hours! Work. And then $60 for tickets. Ugh!”

“Miss, I think you spent 14 hours doing something, and it wasn’t working.”

Then she threw a snowball at me.

What in the name of Harry Potter and The Audacity of This Bitch. Accuses me of stealing her money for a ticket that doesn’t exist, refusing to help me if I need emergency services, and then a snowball. A fucking snowball?

A few minutes later, she got another ice ball ready to take aim before Peanut stopped her.

As I was dealing with BodySuit one more time, the nurse confided with Peanut, saying that she was a traveling nurse and wasn’t drunk.

She took a hit of acid.

2. Live Crew

It’s getting late in the early hours post midnight. The ball drop was ages ago. It’s time to wrap this up.

Nay. Nay said the 2 a.m. crew. The disaster artists. The Z team.

March on they did, out of the Uber, over the curb, across the valley of broken sidewalk and snow. Into the land of enemy territory, that tall bouncer.

Let’s fuck up his shit and try to ruin his life.

The second woman in looked like she was 17. That’s what we’re dealing with at this witching hour. A 17-year-old girl. With a 29-year-old’s ID. A weathered, mean looking woman who has never seen better days. Pure anger leaping off the card and into my retinas. Not only was out Little Miss Sunshine too tall, she was too hopeful, earnest, and didn’t give off that “Yeah, I’ve wanted to kill my fast food manager but have only gone through with it twice, who’s asking?” vibe.

Easy, right? An ID that belonged to someone else. Surely they’ll let bygon-

“This is DISCRIMINATION.”

Oh, you’re starting now. With the racism. Yep, I guess I’m a racist again. That didn’t take long.

Oh, I only discriminate toward black people, now. Just an FYI, the last two times it was me against white people. And also Asian-Americans.

“RACIST MOTHERFUCKER.”

Really, because I just complimented your husband’s sweet Milwaukee Bucks hat when I let him in just before you.

“Rac-”

“Can I …”

“-ist!”

I get it, you want to play that card. But can we talk about the card in my hand that looks like it belongs to Joe Jackson’s aged-up female clone? Which is a shame because the Jackson descendants were by most accounts an attractive family. Just not their patriarch.

Hold on.

I know some of you are thinking to yourself, “Hey, Jon, an awful lot of people call you racist in real life. Why are you giving off that vibe?”

The short answer is, “I don’t have a good answer.” I am part Native American, Son of a full tribal member, which more than most people can say (cough Elizabeth Warren cough). And if I’m honest, the minority communities gives me the least amount of professional problems, this instance notwithstanding. I have more verbal and physical confrontations with upper middle class and lower upper class white people — aka the most entitled people in existence — by a huge margin. Hell, look at this list, it’s 80% dipshit white people.

Back to it.

In comes Cedric, Code Name: The Cleaner, and Big Red.

When they came out, the conversation changed. Somewhat. But they couldn’t play the full-on racism card now. Therefore, we had to be sexist.

How dare we gang up on an unsuspecting girl who “was only the designated driver.”

Bucks hat then tried something stupid — forcing his way in. Admittedly, I went easy on him. I didn’t want to mess up that hat. Forest Green with a silver silhouette new logo. Crisp. He … did not think it was an appropriate use of force and took a swing at me.

He was 5-foot-7 and his fist came nowhere near my body. Bricking shots like TJ Ford.

The Cleaner was about to move in on him when another member of the party rushed up behind him, then stepped in between him and everyone else of note.

“DON’T PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME.”

“What are you talking about? Our hands are nowhere near you. And, he just tried to swing on my guy!”

“I AM PREGNANT.”

Don’t feel bad for her, social justice warriors. I saw her ID. She was not pregnant.

As The Lady Chablis would say in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, I knew what was in her toolbox.

All parties endured a few more tense seconds before Ms. Joe Jackson Junior Jr stepped up to the plate, confirming everyone’s suspicions. The erratic night could come to a close.

Or so we thought.

1. Why? The Last Man

They laughed, drank, and even took a group photo. Rides were set, cars ordered, and all the house lights were on their brightest setting. At 3:45, it was time to go home.

He was almost out.

He doubled back.

Why? The car was on its way. There was no need to go back to the bar. He didn’t even have a drink.

“It’s time to go,” we clamored. He shouts back at us. Why is he hostile now? What happened since the friendly group photo they all took together. What sowed the seeds of discord?

He stands up, shouts at us two more times.

“Get the fuck out,” we say.

The answer isn’t verbal. Instead, he rolls up his sleeves and turns away from the door. Away from the easy exit, and all the hope of a fresh start in the new year.

He lunges toward our manager, but my arms are longer.

This is where it gets tricky. He’s short. Maybe 5-5. So my grasp on him is loose and he slides down onto the ground so I have to pick him up under the armpits like a toddler.

We get to the door that Face is opening up for us. He’s at the door getting some caffeine pick-me-ups for the EMTs picking up BodySuit’s rambling rag doll physique. As soon as we cross the threshold, the Tasmanian Devil grabs hold of my hoodie’s collar, which I pry his fingers off.

In distress now, Maui knows where to pick up where I’m lacking, so he grabs hold of Taz and throws him to the ground.

It’s natural for anyone falling to grab hold of something or put a hand down to break their fall.

Lacking a fixed structure, Taz found the next best thing — my coat. Not just my coat, but that one spot on everyone’s back where it’s impossible to reach even without three layers and winter gloves.

Because Maui’s strength is no joke, Taz falls fast.

That 5-5 bastard got me on the ground. Flung around like a quarterback being taken down by his pocket pouch or undershirt.

What an embarrassing way to end my New Year’s Eve. On the ground, bruised, both literally and egotistically.

When I find my footing again, Maui has Taz pinned on the ground at the feet of a police officer near the end of her shift. All she wants is her coffee, but that time is long since past. It’ll be cold by the time she gets this whole mess sorted.

Taz relents and Maui peels off him. Officers handcuff Taz and park him in the back of their cruiser.

“Do you want to press charges?”

I take a pause. Catch my breath.

“No, he was just doing some dumb bar shit.”

“OK. Do you want him banned?”

“Fuck yeah I want to ban him!”

The officer leads me over and makes sure her body cam is working and aimed at the little devil. The officer in the driver’s seat pushes the button to roll down the automatic window covering the backseat’s mobile cage.

I don’t see a face behind the bars, but I hear a voice in the dark.

“Shalom.”

What a natural, not at all insane thing to say in this situation. Peace be upon you, too. Now take this furball to jail.

As the cruiser leaves, Taz’s Uber pulls up.

“You just missed him.”

Epilogue: Richard’s Knees

The fully-fledged new year is off to a slow start. We’re in the last week of school being out, school starting back up, and everyone recovering from their holiday hangovers.

The bachelors all got off their party bus. Three of them decided to pop out for cigarettes and phone calls. Two were told not to return.

“BAM, can’t go in there. Cus I’m too drunk he says. This guy. This … DICK SNEEZE! This dick sneeze won’t let us back in.”

Alright, that got a chuckle. I haven’t heard that one before. And then he surprised us even further when more of his bachelor party friends came out to see why the loud one wasn’t welcome back.

“Why can’t you come back inside? What were you doing?”

“Just SUCKING DICKS on the outside.”

Welcome to 2020.