Sometimes on Saturday nights we go out after work. It’s only right that we recycle our tips into the hands of the bartenders over pouring our drinks. I still havent decided if this is a good or bad thing. I guess it’s good while it’s happening and bad when it takes me three days to get my life together from the hangover. Today is day two so I decided to write about it. I was pretty white girl wasted. Hence, the next few paragraphs about me talking to myself.
Going to the bathroom intoxicated is pretty amusing if you’re not on your knees puking. Saturday night I had a few conversations with myself. First off I was excited to see the bathroom attendant. I was in desperate need of gum. She’s definitely getting a tip if she has gum.
It was my luck she was on break. So no gum. Dammit. This kind of set the tone for the controversies that were about to take place in my head. I get into the stall, hang my purse, then I try to strategically place my drink in the least most disgusting spot. The best I could do was the floor. Gross. Then I began fighting with myself. Are you going to squat or are you going to sit? Do you feel like putting toilet paper down or do you want to risk your chances of getting a STD? I decided I was too drunk to execute a squat and way to classy to sit on the bare toilet. So I gathered up toilet paper and lined her up.
Of course the DJ wants to play Drake’s new song as I’m peeing. Why?! Doesn’t he know I need to snap chat myself around the club while singing Passionfruit! I go to wash my hands and its like Mac Gyver trying to work the soap dispenser. Push or pull with the hand soap? Oh wait is it censored? Make it simple pahleeez.
Typically I love making friends with drunk girls in the bathroom. They are so fun. No time to waste though. Sorry Becky I can’t listen to how you lost your lip gloss and you can’t find Bobby. Not today.
I’m not sure if I made it out to snap myself while lip singing to Drake but I do remember staring at the floor. I was staring down at dollar bills. Someone “Made it rain.”(eye roll) Do you know what that dollar bill signifies to me? The struggle.
I couldn’t help but recap my night. The 4 for a DOLLAR special in my station was a big hit. Yes, when they order 4 drinks and tip a dollar. Do not be “them”. So, as I’m looking at this money on the floor I’m torn over picking it up or not. I mean do I want to look like a rachet? Nah, I guess not. Back to the bar.
My night was just getting started. Everyone else’s night was winding down at about 3:30am. So the club started to close. There’s a blanket of shame covering everyone who is still at the club when the lights come on. (I’m the exception people I just got here) It’s like we all melt as soon as light hits us. You feel like a baby bird opening your eyes for the first time. It sucks. It sucks for all the dudes who thought they were leaving with someone and now its just them and the 10 dudes they came in with. It sucks for the girls whose face beat is now literally beat. So we left and I ended up at ONE OAK. Sike. We went to an after hours spot.
I was not aware of my level of drunkenness. Until I needed my sweater out of the trunk. Somewhere in between intoxicated and intoxicated I tripped and banged into my car while it was open though. What my friends tell me is that I fell into my trunk. The only reason I believe them is because my elbow was bleeding and it is bruised today. Terrible. (FYI I did not drive.)
I also apparently got kicked in the shin, earlier in the night, by a guy wearing the pointiest shoes ever.
In his defense the place was packed with R3hab fans.
The guy apologized I was told. I supposedly stopped my bouncer, aka my better half, from ripping his throat out. I’m proud to say with all the battle wounds I didn’t puke and isn’t that everyone’s goal? It was a fun time that I’m paying for now. I should be feeling better by Wednesday night.