Everything in Here, Including You, Is Trash
There’s often a turning point in the night where the sighed utterance of “some people” becomes a loud and guttural “all people.”
I know, I know. I should expect it working in a college atmosphere. But it’s not like these people are hitting the town’s hotspots in search of their first beer ever. It’s merely their first legal beer in public. Shouldn’t they at least be accustomed to you know, public? Personal hygiene is generally reasonable. Social etiquette, however, is thrown right out the window whenever a girl unleashes her first woo.
I understand that homeschooling is big now, but wasn’t there ever a birthday party at the arcade or local summer festivals where people learned general pleasantries and common sense?
We had a big crawl on Saturday that didn’t really get going until much later than expected. The crowd was sizable, but the timing was off, is all. Anyway, the first three crawlers were at the bar to celebrate the middle girl’s 21st birthday.
I’m using girl instead of woman because as she pulled out her ID from her gold-bedazzled fanny pack, two shooters poked out - Smirnoff Raspberry and UV Cherry, which is, essentially, fermented Red Dye No. 40. There’s a reason full bottles of UV only cost $10, are brightly hued, and taste like sugar water. If you drink them, you’re still technically a child.
And why are you bringing shooters to a bar on your 21st? That’s like bringing old hostess cupcakes to your birthday party knowing that your mom already made (or bought) your favorite cake. Bars on birthdays should be fun times with endless possibilities. Don’t hamstring yourself to the past.
But also don’t drink straight tequila, warm gin, or bourbon for at least another 20 years. The bartenders don’t think you’re cool when you order it. We all know you’re on the path to bathroom destruction via multiple orifices.
Quote Me, Bitch! Part II
“Do you have a lawyer, because my dad’s an attorney.”
”Oh no,” Specs sighed. “Of course he is.”
”No, for real. He’s a lawyer and he’ll sue this place.”
”Please?”
”You think I’m joking? This place is trash!”
”Listen,” Specs said about to explain the whole world to this spoiled brat. “Everything in here, including you, is trash.”
“Hey, Fozzy’s mom is going to come up, just let her in when you see her,” Sunshine said.
“OK. It shouldn’t be hard to miss, his dad’s in a full suit,” I replied.
“Yeah,” Sunshine said. “She is, too.”
She was very much in a dress.
“As soon as I get in I’m going to have a Paul Walker shot.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s an Irish Car Bomb with a Fireball chaser.”
“Can I have my ID back?”
“No. It’s fake and we both know it.”
“But how am I going to drive home? I wasn’t even drinking tonight. I only have it for DD purposes.”
“You came here on a party bus.”
“Miss, I can see your vertical ID poking out of your purse. Just take the loss and try some other time.”
“That’s not my ID, that’s my Dave & Buster’s card.”
“Since when do Dave & Buster’s cards have photos and birthdates?”
“You probably ain’t even been to Dave & Buster’s, then.”
Full disclosure, I have not yet been to Dave & Buster’s, but if I don’t get a photo ID I’ll be real upset.
“Are you our friend?” she said, dazed on her 21st birthday.
“I’m your cousin,” her cousin said.
“Can you take care of him, he’s my son,” said his mom.
“He hasn’t been in the bar tonight, I’m not sure what I can do for him.”
“Thank you,” his mom said as she walked away.
She just left her obvious teenager at our front stoop like a baby at a fire station.
“You want some of this,” said the man who took a raw pickle out of his pocket and took a bite.
“I’m perfectly fine and these bastards won’t let me in the bar,” said the man dressed as Elf laying down on the sidewalk.
It was early April.
