Monday, May 02, 2016

A Night in Jacksonville

In 2013, I randomly moved to Jacksonvillle, FL because I was offered a job and I was bored. When I arrived in Florida, I didn't know anyone and found myself even more bored than I was in NY. This all changed when a friend from NY, who was currently living in Alabama, drove down to visit for the weekend and party like we were in NY again.

It's Friday night. Sean shows up around 7 and we begin to pregame at my apartment. At around 9 we decide to go out. I dont really know where anything is yet. I am pretty far from downtown and the beach is about 20 minutes away. After googling, we decide that we will start at the world of beer because we want to eat and then maybe go to the bars down by the beach.
I start driving there and don't know where the hell I'm going. Even with GPS on my phone I'm getting lost and doing U-turns. Sean is a horrible co-pilot. I'm probably borderline to the point where I shouldn't even be driving anymore so I start thinking that were going to have to find an alternative ride home tonight.

We finally make it to the parking lot where world of beer is supposed to be, but we still can't fucking find it. Where is this mystical world of beer?! We spot a wild wings cafe in the same parking lot, so we decide to go there. Sean starts off by ordering beer and shots from a dude in a Tom Brady shirt. Being Bills fans, we have to talk shit to him.

We go to an outside eating area with our drinks. We wait a while and can't get anyone to serve us food so we decide that we are going to go next door to hooters to eat. Sean goes to the bar to cashout. Two pretty attractive girls are standing next to us. One of them taps me on shoulder. Some dude just bought her a shot of peppermint schnapps and she doesn't want it. I am not interested in taking it either but I am interested in her, so I oblige. The other girl doesnt want her shot either and also offers it to me. I'm not about to take another one of these bullshit shots, so I get Sean's attention. He takes the shot and we start conversing with these girls.

Sean buys a round of lemon drops with sugar. The girl he is talking to drinks hers but the girl I'm talking to is sipping hers. This girl is gorgeous but I start to make fun of her anyway. I ask her where good places are to go in Jacksonville. She asks me for number so she can tell me where to go tomorrow. That literally took 2 minutes.
Things seem to be going well until some dude they know comes over and they walk away walk away for a bit.

I need to wake up so I order redbull vodkas for Sean and I. Sean also wants shots so I order us some jager. Neither one of us has eaten, so you can see where this is going.
The girls come back to talk some more. I ask her where she works and she doesn't really want to tell me, but ends up saying she works at hooters one town over. I continue to carry on conversation with her but Sean is getting obnoxiously hammered and I'm really starting to feel the alcohol to. I'm trying to hold it together, while not slurring my speech too much. They walk away again and I fear that our own drunkenness has cockblocked us. 

We do 2 more shots. Sean starts talking shit to a waitress who is wearing a Jacksonville Jaguars jersey and then starts dancing with some other girl. I begin to document his shenanigans to my friends back home via snapchat.

I am not feeling very well. I head to the bathroom to try to gather myself. Im trying to keep the last shhot down, but its not working. I descretely throw up in the toilet. I try to be quiet so I dont get kicked out. Since I havent eaten anything, it only takes a couple heaves and my stomach is empty. My eyes are watering and my vision is blurry. Based on a previous successful strategy, I order a jager bomb to cover up any scent of puke on my breath.

The girls are no where to be found at this point. I find sean and we decide to close out our tabs and go get food. Sean gets his tab from the Bartender in the Tom Brady shirt to find that he has written "Pats rule" on it. This was shortly after the Bills drafted EJ Manuel so Sean crosses  that out and writes "#16 manuel" (Manuel is actually #3 but he's drunk) He also writes spiller time and signs it as Jim Kelly.

We go outside to walk next door to hooters for food. These places seem to be everywhere in Florida. We get there and they are putting chairs up on the tables. They are closed. This is probably a good thing because now Sean starts to puke. This wasn't the two descrete heaves that I did. He's full on throwing up.

When he's finished puking, He lays in the grass and passes out. Some dudes walk over from wild wings cafe and ask if hes ok. I advise them were fine.

I try to call taxi. I tell them were outside of the Hooters by wild wing cafe. They dont know where that is. Its some general call center. They need me to be more specific. Im getting pissed off. I tell them its 2013, fucking google it. I dont know where the hell i am. The bitch hangs up. I call another taxi company that seems to be more local. They know where I am and will be here in 15 minutes. Sean is still sleeping in the grass.

The taxi shows up and I pull sean off ground. I get in the back of taxi but Sean gets in the front seat for some reason.
he has the door open the entire time and is puking out it while we are moving. I am trying to give taxi driver directions and keep him talking so that he cant say anything to sean.

I give him awful directions that send us in a circle several times but we eventually get back to my apartment. Seans stumbles out of the taxi and passes out ouitside of gate. He wont let me pull him up. I decide I don't want to deal with his bullshit anymore and start to head inside.

I start thinking about it and figure that I need to at least get him inside the gate. I drag him by his arm until he finally starts walking. He gets inside the gate and decides he needs to take another nap.

We get to the concrete starewell. I live on the third floor. We walk up two flights and that is just too much for Sean. He lays down and goes to sleep again. I walk up the last flight and open my apartment door. I go back down and force him to walk up the last flight.

I finally get him in my apartment. He pukes in the toilet and lays on the bathroom floor. I have to go pee but he wont leave the  bathroom. 

I just stand over him and go pee. He still refuses to leave the bathroom, so I throw him a pillow and let him sleep there. He's inside, I've done my duty. I go sleep in my bed.

Monday, April 25, 2016

Broken Keyboards and Crunchy Mac and Cheese

One mystical night, as a strapping young 21 year old, I head to downtown Buffalo for some random girl's party at a bar. Jimbo and Jenny pick me up in lockport around 7. Carl and Conley have to work late, so we pickup the keys to their apartment from their work so that we can pregame until the party at 10.

We darrive at the apartment around 8 and get a good pregame going. I'm drinking beer but Jimbo has been on this blackberry brandy kick lately and has been drinking that straight.

We head to the party at the bar, where it's $5 for all you can drink until 12. This is a bar on chippewa, what a steal! We drink fast to take advantage of the open bar, while playing darts. Right before 12, we each go up to the bar and order 4 drinks a piece. Nothing wrong with double double fisting.

After the drinks are gone, we are completely hammered and walk back to Carl's to see if they're back from work yet.

It is raining outside and Jimbo is purposely stomping in every huge puddle on the way back. Luckily, it is a short walk.

We get back to the apartment, where Carl and Conley are ready to go out. Jimbo lays face first on the floor with one hand up on the wall. I try to get him up to go back out but he decides to go pass out on Conley's bed. He gets up, runs and does a belly flop onto the bed. CRACK! The bed is broken. This won’t be the last thing broken on this night.

We leave Jimbo behind and go back to the bar. Conley starts buying lots of drinks, as usual. He starts off with three shots for himself, one for Carl, and one for Jenny. I refuse to do any shots. I am not too far behind where Jimbo is and I can already see where this night is going if I try to keep up with them.  I am not puking tonight. I order a rum and coke. After the shot, and a couple more drinks, Jenny thinks she might get sick. Carl and Conley are not ready to leave so I take Jenny back to the apartment to throw up.

Carl and Conley come back close to 3:30. They wake up Jimbo, hold him up and force him to come to the bar below the apartment. Jimbo decides to be a tough guy and he makes it downstairs. They must drink a lot down there because when they come back up at around 4:30, Carl is the one who is now unable to walk. I see him stumbling up the stairs like a zombie, while giggling.

Jimbo is ready to pass out again. Not learning his lesson from last time, he decides to bellyflop onto the recliner. CRACK! The recliner tips over as something inside of it breaks. Conley tells me that Jimbo had puked outside before coming upstairs.

Carl and Conley go into the kitchen to get some more to drink. They start chugging smirnoff vodka straight from the bottle. The bottle is passed to Carl. His eyes are barely open, he is wobbling back and forth, and he's already drooling. No good can come of this. He does a decent chug and doesn't look good. A few minutes later I see him starting to shake and he is going to puke. I leave the room just in time to hear, but not see, puke splatter all over the kitchen floor. Carl goes back to the living room and passes out sitting up on the couch.

Conley decides that, since there is puke all over the kitchen floor, that it's time to make some macaroni and cheese. He gets out a pan that is clearly not big enough to handle the ridiculous amount of noodles he is going to pour into it. I go back out in the living room to check on Carl and Jimbo. I hear a loud CRACK! in the kitchen. Conley down, Conley down! He has slipped and fallen on his ass while making the mac and cheese. He's ok though, and he claims that he didn't slip on the puke. I decide to be a nice friend and clean up the puke anyways.

Conley starts cooking the noodles and throws in the cheese and butter while it's still cooking. He starts mixing it all together and everything is overflowing. That doesn't bother him at all. He starts eating it with the big mixing spoon. As he's chewing, I hear crunching. It is barely cooked. I tell him, "I don't think mac and cheese is supposed to be crunchy." He does not care.

Now, there is mac and cheese all over the kitchen, replacing the puke that was on the floor. I'm just standing there, witnessing this culinary atrocity. Conley continues to stir,  with his eyes barely open, while noodles fall into the flame underneath and sizzle. I tell him that he's going to burn the apartment down and to just give it up. He turns off the flame and I head to bed.

Since Carl is still sleeping in a chair in the living room, I pass out in Carl's bed around 5. At 7, the light turns on. It's Carl. I pretend to sleep because I do not want to sleep in a chair, I was already sleeping so good. He stands in the doorway and walks away. I get up and turn off the light. Carl comes back, eyes still not open, stands in the doorway and starts blinking the light. He doesn't say a word. I finally sit up and say, "Carl, you want your bed?" He plops down next to me. He still doesn't say anything. I leave the room and he goes to sleep.

I wake up the next morning to find Conley passed out in a chair with a full bowl of crunchy mac and cheese next to him. Everyone else is still passed out.

Later in the morning, Jimbo, Conley, Jenny, and I are sitting in the living room watching TV. Conley is playing the Sabres on the keyboard. All of a sudden, Carl walks into the living room, wearing just his boxers. His eyes are still barely open. He doesn't say a word. He just grabs the keyboard, rips it out of the wall, and slams it on the floor. CRACK! He then turns around and walks back into his room. Everyone looks around shocked before bursting out in laughter. I begin to laugh so hard that my ribs start hurting. It is the perfect ending to random night back when I didn't need to sleep.

Saturday, May 30, 2015

I Was Poisoned!

Before work, I drive my brother and John up to a tattoo place in North Tonawanda. My brother is getting some work colored and John wants to put a deposit down. We stay there for a little bit, then head to work.

At work, around 4:30, Mark says he is going to Tim Horton's to get coffee. I have him grab me one. He brings it to my desk at around 5. I start drinking it. Mark has a goofy smirk on his face and starts talking about how sweet it probably tastes. I don't think anything of it.

John comes over to my desk. We somehow start talking about roofies. I jokingly say, “I hope I get roofied tonight.” Mark now has a smirk on his face that has gone from goofy to creepy and says, "Who knows? Maybe you already have." He looks like he's about to twiddle his fingers and say muahahahaha. If he had a mustache, he'd be twirling it. He's done something.

I laugh and change the conversation. I drink about 3 quarters of the way through the coffee when Mark starts asking me if it tastes real sweet again. I tell him kinda. I ask him if he got some sweet shot in it or something.

Suddenly I have finally realized what he’s done. “No you didn’t!” He laughs. “Did you put that honey in it?” He nods yes. He has some “special” honey from California that I had seen him put in his own coffee before but didn't believe he'd put it in mine without telling me. It is too late to go back, as my cup is just about gone. I am still hoping that he's just kidding around, but his villainous vibes have gotten me fearing for the worst.

After about an hour, I don’t feel anything, so I think I’m safe. I start talking to one of the leaders at work when my cheeks start to feel heavy and I have an urge to laugh. Its hitting me. Hard. I finish the conversation and walk to the break room. It feels pretty good right now and I can still function. I walk back to my desk and now I am floating. Fuck, it’s getting worse. John comes to the water cooler and talks to me. After he walks away, I can’t figure out if I just talked to him or if I imagined it. I no longer no what reality is.

This is bad. We are going to be having a fire drill in ten minutes. I am afraid that I won’t be able to function. I sit at my desk and blindly stare at my computer screen, waiting for time to pass.

The fire alarm goes off. I lock my computer and go outside. I stand there and don’t say anything. When we go back in, Tom starts to trip me. I stumble and laugh. I’m not sure where I am in the office because we went out an emergency exit that is never used and I am wrecked. Thankfully, I see Mark from afar and follow him back to my desk. I tell him Tom was tripping me. He says Tom wasn’t with at work today. I am unsure of who was tripping me or if that even happened. I still have 15 minutes left to my shift. Thank God I had taken half a day so that I could go out tonight.

I can’t feel my body. I start pinching myself. Nothing. Am I even Alive anymore? How am I supposed to drive home? The clock hits 7:30 and I get out of there. Luckily, John rode with me today. We get outside and I explain to him that he has to drive because I have been poisoned. He doesn't understand. He says he can't drive because he doesn’t have his glasses. I tell him I can’t feel my bladder and don't know if I have to go pee or not. He agrees to drive.

I am super paranoid the entire ride home, thinking that John is going to rear end every car in front of us. We see Mark driving his car next to us. He is laughing his ass off. I try to convince John to rear end Mark’s car. He doesn’t oblige. I close my eyes so that I don't have to worry about John crashing my car.

We get to my house. I walk by my brother and his friends. They try to talk to me. I try to listen. Something about some girl being a prostitute. I don’t remember. I don't say anything.

I walk up to my room. Jackie asks why John is driving my car. I can barely form sentences. I tell her I’ve been poisoned and that it has to wear off before I can go out. She is not amused. I sit in bed and wait for it to wear off. Jackie gets me some kfc. It is delicious. I sit around for 6 hours and still don't feel like i can function enough to go out. I still can’t feel much. I just go to sleep. The night is a total loss. Fuck you Mark.

Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Scarred for Life

It is just another normal day at work in the first summer of my 20s. Bob, Joe, Erik and I are working over at the grit building at the wastewater treatment plant with the summer help supervisor, Ron. It is a warm and sunny summer day. The memorable smell of shit that is synonymous with the wastewater treatment plant is lingering in the fresh summer air. We are loading a bunch of shit (literally) into the skid steer. The skid steer is an old piece of crap that always breaks. We've often had trouble starting it. Today is one of those days.

Ron had driven the skid steer over and parked it, with the bucket raised, so that we could shovel into it from the platform above. We have filled up the bucket with rancid piles of shit covered used condoms, tampon applicators, and anything else that flows in and gets stuck in the grates. This is our second summer working here, so not too much really grosses us out anymore. Every once in a while we would get a dead sewer rat that is water logged and covered in shit. The smell of rotting flesh in the hot, humid air would be so bad that even the most senior employees would start to gag at the smell. Since we were the summer help, we were responsible for doing the bitch work that no one else wants to do. That's the reason why we are over at the grit building pulling random shit out of the grates.

Since the bucket is full, Ron is ready to drive the skidsteer back to dump it. He turns the ignition, and it doesn't start. This is nothing new. We figure that the battery is just dead.

Joe walks back to the main garage to get the jumper cables and drives back in the truck. We hook up the jumper cables and now Bob is in the Skid Steer, trying to start it up. No success. The skid steer breaking is not always looked at as a bad thing, as we get to spend a good amount of time watching other people try to fix it, instead of doing anything that is labor intensive. We screw around, trying to start it and wasting time for about 5 minutes when Lee comes over.

We do not know Lee. He's a guy in his late 30s or early 40s. He's got a nice, bushy mustache and he's wearing a red shirt and blue jeans. He was working on the roof of the grit building for a contractor. He is now on his break. He tells us, "yeah, we used to have one of these at my work. We always had trouble starting it too. Let me see if I can help you out."

He walks over to the side of the skid steer and starts tapping something. I don't know anything about mechanics so I go back to shoveling some shit off the ground into the bucket. Bob is in the skid steer, still turning the key to try to start it. It just won't turn over. Lee goes behind it to try something else.

Suddenly the skid steer starts up. I hear someone yell and I'm thinking that they are yelling because they are happy that it finally started. I could not be more wrong. I realize that it sounded more like a painful yell. Now I'm thinking that something heated up and that Lee must have burnt himself. I look over to the back. Wrong again. Then I see the most horrific sight I have ever seen.

Lee pulls his arm out of the back of the skid steer and walks towards me. I am shocked. All I see is a bloody mess of flesh where Lee's arm is supposed to be. He's holding it up with his other arm and has a painful look on his face. It looks like something straight out of a horror movie. I cannot believe that this is real.

Joe is standing next to me and we both just keep saying, "oh my god, oh my god." Bob is freaking out, as is Erik. It is so weird to see the look of fear in everyone's eyes. We are always laughing and joking around at work, never serious. This is serious.

Ron frantically tells Lee to lay down and raises his arm above his heart. Bob runs back to the main building to use the phone and get help. Ron tells me and Joe to go find something to tie off his arm. We run upstairs and find a bunch of rags. We come back down and Ron is cutting off the blood pressure with his hands. Luckily he had already had rubber gloves on.

I try to hand Ron the rags. He looks at me and says, "You gotta tie it off." Joe had backed up because he couldn't stand the sight of the severed arm. The blood doesn't bother me so much, I am just not very sure of what I am doing. With the amount of blood this guy has already lost, I am afraid to mess this up. I wrap a rag around his arm and somehow form a perfect turnicate. Ron asks me if I've done this before. I tell him I have no idea what I'm doing.

Now that I am this close, I get a real good look at the arm. There is not much left. The arm is cut down the side, from the elbow to his hand. He has 2 and a half finger remaining. I can see dark, bloody tendons. The bones are broken, because the arm is not bending in a usual spot. It is folded over in the middle of the forearm. It looks so unreal. The folded part almost looks like a deflated balloon. An extremely bloody deflated balloon.

After I tie it off, Ron lets go of his grip on the arm and blood shoots out. I pull it tighter, and Ron takes over. I then get on my phone and call 911.

Me: We're down at wastewater. A guy just got his arm cut off.
911: I'm on the other line with someone down there. Where are you exactly?
(I give them exact directions)
911: ok, make sure the arm is elevated and keep changing the rags. We will be right there

I don't think that they know exactly how severe the injury is. You cannot simply change the rags. We aren't holding rags over a small cut to soak up blood. Changing the rags will allow more blood to flow from his arm.

I keep looking at the guy. He is actually apologizing for what has happened. He feels bad that he that we all have to see this.

An ambulance finally shows up. There are people taking pictures of the scene while they load him in. After he's gone, more people from work come over. Some people had thought that it was me because from far away all that they could see is the red shirt and blue jeans that I usually wear to work. Thankfully, I still have my arm.

I look around at the scene. There's blood and flesh all over. It looks like hamburger meat. I do not have any blood on me, other than a little bit on my white shoes. The bosses send us back to the main building to sit in the air conditioning for the rest of the day. We have the option of going home, which Bob has to do, as it bothered him the most because he started the engine.

What actually happened was that Lee went behind the skid steer and opened the back panel, where there was a fan. He tried to spin start it. At the same time Bob turned the key. Lee's plan had worked and the skid steer started, but Lee's arm was still in the fan and he could not pull it out in time. The fan tore the arm apart.

The next few days, every time I look at my own arm, I see his arm. I have to feel my arm to make sure it is still there. It was the most terrible thing I had ever seen and I relive the incident every time I drive by the ole grit building. Scarred for life...

Thursday, February 28, 2013

We Some Crazy White Boys

If you don't make it to Buffalo for the square, there's not all that much going on around Lockport on a Thursday night. Around midnight I'm about to just go to bed when Bob calls me up, seeing if I want to find something to do. Always looking for adventure, I agree to go out.

We head out to Finnans to meet some girl. There is about ten people at this bar and this girl we're meeting is already destroyed when we get there. We hang out there for a beer and decide we're going to try to find somewhere else to go.

Before we leave we somehow get into conversation with an interesting black man named Fred, who is sitting outside on a bench. He offers to sell us weed really cheap for a ride home. We decline. He then starts talking about how he was a veteran and all this other random talk. We're in a two seater pickup truck and he lives completely out of the way. I buy him a drink instead of giving him a ride. We leave Fred and the completely wasted girl at the bar.

We drive by Taboo which is sometimes ok on a Thursday. Nope, not today. Looks like they're pretty much closed. We decide to drive by a couple more bars. Nothing going on anywhere. I remember that the Ski Lodge, which is a crappy little dive bar, has karaoke on Thursday nights. It could at least provide for some laughs. We decide to check it out.

On the way to the Ski Lodge we realize what the most happening place in Lockport is on a Thursday night, Casa Montego. The parking lot to this place is pretty decent sized, and this place is packed. For those of you who aren't familiar with Casa Montego, it is a bar that I believe is owned by Jamaicans. It is the shadiest place in Lockport. On Thursday nights they have exotic dancers. Very few white boys have ever dared go in there. We do not know of any of our friends who have ever even stepped foot in the place.

We decide that we can't possibly go there, so we go to the Ski Lodge. After a drink there, we realize karaoke sucks and decide to just head home. The night seems like a total loss. We start to discuss how we wish we had black friends so that they could take us to Casa Montego. I then remind Bob that we do have a black friend who happens to need a ride home, Fred!!!

We decide that we will see if he is still at Finnans. If he agrees to introduce us to Casa Montego, we will give him a ride home. We call drunk girl to see if Fred is still there. He is and she puts him on the phone. He is all about the idea and says, "yeah my brother’s, best friend’s, dad owns it, we'll be treated like royalty."

After some contemplating over whether or not it's a good idea to pick up a random black man who has already tried to sell us drugs and take him to a Jamaican strip club, we decide that it is obviously a GREAT idea and go pick him up. On the way I realize that bars in Niagara County close at 2am during the week. It is around 1:30 when we are heading to pick up Fred. We decide that maybe this bar, being so ghetto, won't close right at 2.

We get to the bar and see Fred still sitting on the same bench outside. He tells us it doesn't matter that it's so late because his brother’s friend’s dad or whoever owns the place, so we head to Casa Montego.

As we approach the place at around 2, we realize that we are, indeed, too late. The parking lot is nearly empty. We decide to go in anyways, because of Fred's promise of being treated like royalty. Fred walks in. Actually, he drunkenly stumbles in, as he is much more intoxicated than I had realized. There are two guys in hoodies sitting at the bar and a bartender who says they're closed. Fred stumbles around looking for someone he knows, but no one else is there. The two guys at the counter wave him over. They don't look too happy. Me and Bob are standing right in front of the door, ready to get the hell out of there. The two guys have a close, quiet conversation with Fred, then we leave. Fred won't tell us what they said. We are still happy that we can finally say we stepped foot in there, although one foot is about as far as we get.

We all go pee in the parking lot and get back into the truck. Time to take Fred home. Fred is not ready to go home. He tries to sell us more drugs, saying he can get us whatever we want. We do not want anything. He then tries to sell us liquor, claiming he is a liquor distributor. He says he can get us 6 bottles of Jack Daniels for $50. Now who can pass up a deal like that?

Still looking for something to come out of this night, we agree to drive Fred to go get the liquor. He directs us to some house in the ghetto, which he claims is his "stash house." It looks pretty shady. We sit in the street, waiting for Fred to come out. He comes back to the truck empty handed. He then directs us to another "stash house."

We pull into the driveway of this house and he wants us to give him money. We refuse, as we do not know this man. He gives us his wallet as collateral. He then goes into the house for a while. He comes out again, empty handed. He gets back into the truck and claims we now have to stop somewhere else. We are beginning to question ourselves. Was this really a good idea to pickup this wasted, war veteran, drug dealer and possible crack head and drive him all over?

We drive him across the city to another ghetto area where he goes into an apartment building. This is starting to look really shady. We decide we just want to get our money back. We watch the building and there seems to be a lot of activity going on. Shitty cars with rims are rolling up and leaving, quite possibly buying and selling various drugs.

Fred has been gone for 15 minutes. We are not about to walk in there to get him. The gas light has been on for a while and we decide this is the last place we want to be if we run out of gas. We drive to a gas station and decide that Fred can keep the money and we'll try to pump $50 worth of gas into the truck on his credit cards. I scan 4 of them and none of them go through. Shit! We fill the tank up and drive back to the apartment building, hoping that Fred is waiting for us.

We get back, and no sign of Fred. We wait for a few minutes and he finally stumbles out, empty handed. He says we have to go somewhere else now. We try to get our money back but Fred says he still plans to get us the Jack, we just have to go to another house. We know he doesn't have the money. Fred won't explain to us what he's doing, but we are pretty certain that he is using our money to buy and sell drugs and we are being is personal chauffeur. We tell him we'll take him to one last house, and he better come out with the Jack or the money. He agrees to this.

We take him to the next house. He wants us to come in, but we refuse. I'm not about to get robbed by some crazy drug dealer. We weren't afraid of Fred because he was an older man and we could just beat his ass, but walking into these shady houses, who knows what we'd be facing?

Fred goes in and we wait. And wait. It's another 15 minutes and we are not happy. It's 3:30am and we're sitting in a driveway in the middle of the ghetto. What's the best idea now? I encourage Bob to lay on the horn. I don't care who it pisses off. Fred better get his ass out.

After revving the engine for a while and laying on the horn, Fred does not come out. Apparently he doesn't care that we still have his wallet. We decide to cut our losses and leave. It's only $25 a piece so it's not that big of a deal. I've lost much more than that in a shorter period of time at the casino.

As we leave I start to look through the wallet. New York state ID card; dude doesn't have a license. VA card; Dumbass might need that. Several credit cards. I look into the part where there should be money. All that is there is a big list of phone numbers and some coupons to KFC. Not surprised at all. We may have lost some money, and didn't get the Jack, but at least we can save $3 on a bucket of fried chicken!

Monday, December 10, 2012

Gingers, Guidos, and Midgets

Living in Allentown was a pretty awesome time, but sometimes, shit got weird.

One weeknight, me and two of my roommates, Jimbo and Drew decide to go to the local bars. We first go to brick bar. Since we haven't pregamed at all, Drew starts us off with a round of shots. What does he order? Soco. My arch-nemesis. I down the shot and immediately I am not feeling good. I head straight to the bathroom and puke it up. I am 100 percent sober. How the fuck does this happen? I head back to the bar and order a beer to get the taste of puke and Soco out of my mouth. The beer goes down fine.

After a few beers, we leave brick bar to head to another bar, when we see Margarita and her boyfriend standing outside the local convenience store drinking some beers. They have some extra and offer us each one. We talk to them for a while, when Margarita's boyfriend starts saying some shit about Conman, our other roommate. I let it slide at first, but the alcohol is starting to hit me and he is not stopping.

Dude: Yeah, that kid is a douche
Me: You look like a Canadian with those glasses you're wearing. Are you Canadian?
Dude: Did you just call me Canadian?
Me: Yeah. Seems like you're the douche.
Dude: Are you serious you little bitch? I'll fuck you up
Me: What are you gonna do? You're a fucking ginger and you look Canadian.

Margarita gets between us and I start singing the Canadian national anthem. I thank him for the beer and leave.

The Ginger texts Jimbo the rest of the night about how his best friend is a heroine dealer and that he is going to kill me. Blah, blah, blah, I don't care, I'm getting drunk.

We drink until 4am close and head outside. There seems to be a lot of action going on. There are still a lot of people gathered on the street. There is a group of Jersey shore-looking guidos causing problems. This is rare for allentown. It must be the week of the Italian Festival. I spot a guido chasing a midget around. I think I know this midget, as he looks like the midget who stands on the corner and sells poems that he writes on colored construction paper. While the guido is chasing the midget, a hippy starts riding circles around the two. Apparently, the hippy gets too close to the guido, and the guido pushes him off the bike. This guy is being a complete asshole.

There is a car sitting in the middle of the street blocking traffic. A guido is driving and yelling out the window. The guido chasing the midget gets into the back seat and starts yelling shit at everyone watching. He's acting like a real tough guy.

I've had enough of this douchebaggery. I start to look around for a rock. I can't find one anywhere but I eventually find the perfect projectile. A glass beer bottle. I pick it up, aim for the driver, and overhand chuck it as hard as I can. It doesn't hit the driver but it blasts the spot between the driver window and the back window and shatters very loudly. I try to stand there like I didn't do anything, hoping that no one has seen me. I look back and forth trying to help find out who threw it. The driver yells, "what the fuck?" The other guido yells, "it was that dude in the black shirt!!!" He points at me. I'm not sticking around to get arrested so I get the fuck out of there.

I sprint down the street and up a parking lot. Shit, dead end. I turn around, hoping no one is behind me, then run up a side street. I am wearing sandals so I take them off to run faster. I see headlights coming and jump behind a parked car. My feet are in pain as there are tiny little rocks lodged in the bottoms of them.

The car passes. I catch my breath and call Jimbo. He answers. He does not sound very happy. I'm not sure what he's saying. I make out him saying, "the fucking cops are here," then he hangs up the phone. I wait behind the car a little longer, waiting for things to cool down.

I don't see any cars anywhere so I run up the street and around the block. I put my sandals back on and non-nonchalantly walk up Elmwood. I make it into my apartment safely. I wait for Jimbo and Drew to get back.

They arrive just a few minutes later. Jimbo's hand is messed up. I think that he has gotten into a fight and I start to feel bad that I left him behind. He tells me that he calls the cops to report a drunken driver. The cops show up but do nothing. He gets angry and punches a street sign right next to a female cop. He hears that the driver is the son of someone higher up in the city of Buffalo so they just let him go. The only thing he got in a fight with was a sign. He is very angry. Once again the legal system has failed Jimbo.

Sunday, December 09, 2012

The West Virginia Story

When I leave my house I’m thinking it will be just another Thursday night of watching the Sabres game, getting obnoxiously drunk playing drinking games, and passing out in my comfortable bed. But combine being obnoxiously drunk, with a need for adventure, and you never know where you might be when the sun rises.

After spending two hours at the apple store so that Bob can get his Iphone fixed, we pick up a case of beer and head over to Devo's to watch the Sabres game and drink some beers.

After the game, we start to play some drinking games and try to talk everyone into going to the bars. It is a Thursday night in Lockport so no one really wants to go. Dan contemplates for a while, then finally decides to go. Dan always ends up going.

Bob, Dan, and I head over to Taboo. It's a Thursday night, so it's not overly packed. There's not too many girls, which is generally the deciding factor on whether it's a decent night to be there or not.

Brownie shows up to the bar to pick up his credit card that he had left there the past weekend. He doesn’t plan on drinking tonight, he just wants to pick up his card.

Brownie: "you guys gonna be here for a while?"
Me: "yeah, probably"
Brownie: "ok. you talked me into it, I'll get a drink."

Brownie orders a drink. 2 minutes later, Brownie orders another drink.

We decide that Taboo is pretty beat and want to go somewhere else. Since everywhere in Lockport is generally beat on a Thursday night, I suggest Niagara Falls. I remember there being some decent places to go on for Thursday college nights when I was living at school up there.

Brownie, having a little bit of alcohol in him, agrees to go with us. Since Brownie's truck is much roomier than my car, he agrees to let Bob drive it to Niagara Falls.

On the way there, Brownie is on the phone with his dad:

Brownie: "I'm just gonna stay at Taboo for a while and then head over to Vanessa's.
Dad: "ok, just don't end up in downtown buffalo tonight."
Brownie: "ok, I won't"

Club New York in Niagara Falls isn't what I had remembered. It's full of a bunch of wiggers, so we head to downtown Buffalo.

We go to Big Shotz. Brownie starts buying drinks. We go to Liars. Brownie continues to buy drinks. He's ordering doubles every time he gets a drink. He's ordering shots. He is drunk.

Soulja Boy comes on. Brownie begins to try to do the dance. Some girl comes up and asks him to teach her. He agrees to teach her but he really doesn't know how to do the dance. He just pretends. We are cracking up. The girl gets pissed off that he lied to her and that we are laughing at her so she walks away. I continue to laugh at her throughout the night. She spends the night trying to get other guys to stick up for her. The other guys want no part of it and ignore her. She is a bitch.

For some reason I don't remember, I notice a girl flipping me off so i decide to flip her off. She grabs my hand and starts sucking my finger. She then bites the shit out of it, damn near biting it off. I try to show no pain, even though I am afraid of losing my finger. She is also a bitch.

Brownie pays the tab, which is $67 and, according to Dan, tips the guy $67, saying, "remember my face." The guy says, "o yeah, I'll definitely remember your face."

Dan and Brownie disappear to Jim's Steakout while Bob almost gets into fights for saying some outlandish things. I start getting calls from Dan that they want to leave. I eventually get Bob and we head out. Brownie is passed out in the passenger seat and Dan is driving.

Dan: "How do I get home?"
Me: "If you go this way you can take the 190. Just make sure you don't miss the exit for the 290."

Dan misses the exit for the 290. This is when Bob jokingly says, "let's go to South Carolina." I'm not sure how serious he is, but I decide that this is a brilliant idea and begin to convince everyone of how good it is.

Me: "Yeah, you really want to? I can get out of work."
Bob: "I don't have to work until Sunday night. Let's do it!"
Me: "Dan? Dannnnn?"

Dan has this stupid smile on his face and nods his head. We are heading to South Carolina in Brownies truck, while Brownie is asleep. I think that South Carolina will be awesome, but my main reason for going is that I think it will be hilarious if Brownie wakes up in a different state.

Dan continues to drive North on the 190. South Carolina is not North.

Me: "Dan, you have to exit so we can turn around and head to the 90."
Dan: "no, you can get on the 90 up here."
Me: "Dan, you're heading towards Canada."
Dan: "no, I'm pretty sure you can get on the 90 up here."
Me: "Dan, you're gonna have to trust me on this one. We have to turn around. You just have to trust me."

I begin to think that Dan is too drunk to drive. The 90 is in the complete opposite direction. We see signs for Niagara University and Dan realizes that he has made a mistake. We exit and head to a gas station. Brownie is still sound asleep. Bob decides that it is his turn to drive. We get some food and drinks and finally head South. We want to get as far as we can before Brownie wakes up. It is now about 4 AM.

We use the I-phone to get directions off of mapquest. Dan and Brownie are asleep, while Bob flies down the 90 at an average of around 95 mph. Someone isn't going fast enough when the road cuts into one lane due to construction, so Bob passes them on the right, in the rocks, and nearly kills us. But he doesn't kill us, he just laughs evilly and continues at this ridiculous pace.

Brownie wakes up at 6 am and it's still dark out. He doesn't realize what is going on. I quickly set the clock back two hours on the dashboard display so that it says 4 am. I tell him that we are on the 990 and almost to Lockport. He tells us to pull over. We pull over and Brownie gets out to pee. He's leaning against the truck while peeing and is barely conscious. He attempts to open the door to get back in and begins to lose balance. He starts to back peddle and stumbles backwards down the hill on the side of the road. He stumbles almost to the bottom when his legs go over his head and he backwards somersaults the rest of the way. He lays at the bottom and doesn't get up.

I get out to try and help him. It's not good for us to be pulled over this long on the 90. I try to help him up but he yells, "leave me alone!" Bob gets out and we carry Brownie on our shoulders and put him in the back seat. We start to drive again. Brownie says to us, "thanks guys, you just saved my life. I almost fell into that ravine." He falls back to sleep with grass stains and mud all over the front and back of his shirt. He still has no idea where he is.

We stop when we get into Pennsylvania to go pee and get gas. Neither Dan nor Brownie wake up. We know we take 79 south for a long time, but the battery to the I-phone has died so we don't know how long or what to do after that. Luckily my brother is awake and gives us directions as we need them.

I call my boss at around 7.

Me: "hey, its chuck. Would it be a problem if I didn't come in today?"
Boss: "O, that's fine. Anything wrong?"
Me: "Well, I'm in West Virginia."
Boss: "o, rough night?"
Me: "yeah, i didn't really even plan on drinking tonight, but I did and now I'm in West Virginia."

For some reason he didn’t even seem surprised. I should stop drinking on work nights.

We aren’t quite in West Virginia but almost there. Brownie begins to move and I think he is waking up. He unzips his pants. Bob and I start cracking up. He puts his hand down his pants and falls back asleep. I have no idea what just happened but I can‘t stop laughing.

Dan finally wakes up, just in time to witness the funniest event any of us may ever witness.

The sweltering sun really begins to shine through the windows when Brownie begins to stir. He slowly opens his eyes and realizes that something is terribly wrong:

Brownie: "Uuuuggghhhhhh. Daylight!!!? What!? Why are we still driving? Where are I? Are we still alive? What? Where be we? Hills? What? Where are I? Hills? Why are there hills? This looks like West Virginia. Why does this look like West Virginia?"

Me: "because we're in West Virginia?"

Brownie: "What? Whyyyyyy? What? Why am I here?! West Virginia!!!?"

Bob: "Yeah, Brownie, you were talking all night about how you wanted to go to South Carolina so we went with your plan."

Brownie: "What? Nooooo! No I didn't. I have to be to work at 1. Why did this happen to me? I'm calling 911 you guys kidnapped me! I can't believe this is happening!"

Me, Bob, and Dan are cracking up. My stomach is in extreme pain from laughing so hard. Brownie is freaking out. He doesn't seem so worried that he woke up in West Virginia, but more so that he may get fired from his job.

Brownie: "Pull over, I need to think."

We exit and park in some parking lot. Brownie sees a breakfast sandwich and says, "I'm taking this and you're not getting it back." He said it like he was trying to spite us by taking it, but in reality we had earlier purchased it for him.

Brownie stands in the parking lot on his phone, eating his sandwich. We can hear him on the phone screaming, "I went to sleep in Buffalo and I woke up in fucking West Virginia!!!"

We hear him tell people that his stupid friends kidnapped him, and he continuously asks, "Why did this happen?"

He gets back in the truck. I am now driving and I continue to head South. Brownie continues to threaten to call the cops because we kidnapped him. That way he could have an excuse to not get fired.

He notices that the clock in the truck doesn't match the time on his phone. He asks, “why?” I tell him, "o, it's West Virginia time." Without even questioning me, he says, "o, ok."

Brownie notices that he is covered in mud. “Why do I have Mud and grass stains all over me?” Apparently, he doesn’t remember rolling down the hill, into the ditch.

He starts to call people to try and get out of work. He really does want to go to South Carolina, but he doesn't want to get fired. He tells us that if we give him $100 cash to pay someone to work for him that he will max out his credit card in Myrtle Beach. We agree to this. He offers $200 cash to people to work for him friday and saturday. He finds people to cover his shifts but his boss is being a hardass and tells him, "it doesn't matter. If you're not at work by 4 o' clock, we're gonna have a problem." Brownie should have just lied and said he was sick, but he made the mistake of telling his boss that his friends had kidnapped him while he was drunk.

Brownie thinks about just quitting because this guy is being such an asshole. He calls his dad to ask him if he'd mind if he quit but he doesn't answer. Bob and Dan are sleeping when Brownie asks me, "what time is it Lockport time?" I'm doing all that I can to not laugh because he still hasn't put it together that we just changed the clock to mess with him.

He has been telling me to turn around the whole time but he'd get back on the phone and I'd just continue going South. After I decide that he has tried every possible option to get out of work I decide that we will have to turn around. I don’t want to ruin his life by having him get fired.. It will be close but we should be able to get back to Lockport by 4. It's around 10 am, Lockport time, right now.

I pull into a gas station. I'm too tired to drive, because I haven't slept yet. Bob and Dan are still sleeping so Brownie drives. He only drives for about 45 minutes. He is too hungover so he makes Dan drive.

We're making good time on the way back. Eventually Bob drives. Dan falls asleep. I then fall asleep for maybe ten minutes when we are both awakened by this song. It is the most ridiculous song ever and it is just blasting in my ears. I have no idea why Brownie has this song on CD. I will not try to sleep for the rest of the trip.

We continue to convince Brownie that it was all his idea. He begins to believe us when we tell him that he wanted to go south to get mason jars full of moonshine. It just sounds like something he would want to do.

We get back to Lockport right at 4 pm, Lockport time. Brownie says that he is going to the emergency room to get an excuse to get out of work because he doesn't feel good enough to work. We drive all the way back and he doesn’t even go to work. We could be on a beach right now!

I go home and take a shower then go play some cards and watch the Sabres game before going out with Bob, Dan, and everyone else later that night. We try to call Brownie all night but his phone is off. I fear that something is wrong. I still have not slept.

We talk to Brownie the next day. He tells us that he went to the emergency room for heart burn but they kept him there for 5 hours because he had very high blood pressure. I can't imagine what that was caused by.

We never did make it to South Carolina that night, but combine alcohol with people who are looking for adventure and don't care about their jobs, there's a good chance that it will happen eventually. (foreshadowing)

Saturday, December 08, 2012

A Very Random Night In Chicago

We stop at Walmart for ice, beer, and whatever other random things we want to buy. We find the beer and ice right away, when I decide that what we really need for this trip is disguises. I learned from my trip to Daytona how important a disguise might be when you cause trouble in areas you don't know. The six of us walk around the store looking for glasses with a fake nose and mustache. We are unable to locate them, so we ask an employee. She says that they don't carry them. She doesn't question why 6 guys carrying beer around walmart at 8:30 a.m. on a Friday morning are looking for glasses with fake noses and mustaches. These are the beginnings of what should turn out to be a crazy weekend.

We get on the road by 9 a.m. Bob, Keith, Duncan, Snell, Woj, and I are heading to Minneapolis in Bob's van for the Bills game. We will be spending the first night in Chicago, where we have tickets to see the Canucks play the Blackhawks.

We start to drink very early, which is not the best idea, as we all have to pee much more frequently. This means more stops, or throwing bottles of urine out the window at signs that say no littering. We run out of beer early and I am already hungover by 4 pm. Bob remembered to bring the largest bottle of aspirin I have ever seen. This was a great idea, and I take a few to help the headache.

We get into the city of Chicago just in time to be stuck in rush hour traffic. Bob drives his van like a race car, already pissing off the residents of Chicago as he continuously cuts them off.

We get to the hotel around 5:30, without any beer left. The game starts at 7:30, so we don't have much time to pregame. Keith decides to jump in the shower. The Rest of us decide to head out to find some beer to bring back to the hotel. We can't find any stores, so we go to the first bar we see, Hooters.

We start by ordering 3 pitchers of beer and a bunch of wings. Keith starts calling us, wondering where the hell we went. I tell him Hooters, and that he can google the location. We finish most of the beer before Keith arrives and order some more. The table next to us is ordering bottles of Dom Perignon at $250 a pop. At hooters? Welcome to the big city. They look like gangsters, so we try not to stare.

We down as much beer as we can before catching a taxi van to the game. The driver drops us off right outside of the arena and we head in, wearing our buffalo sabres jerseys, even though they are not playing. We were "those guys." Still got to represent Buffalo though, right? Keith is the only one not wearing a sabres jersey, as he decided to wear is Blackhawks Patrick Kane jersey. Woj is wearing a ridiculous red and black Joe Juneau jersey.

We get into the arena and head straight to the beer stand. We find it odd that, along with beer, they also serve mixed drinks. We each order a beer and a jack and coke to take to our seats. I am still feeling hungover. I need to drink more.

Our seats are on the goal line, but at the very top of the arena. Not the best view, but we have a bar and a bathroom directly behind us. We are able to get our drinks much faster, while wasting less time going to the bathroom.

We are kind of leaning towards rooting for the Blackhawks, but aren't really rooting for either team. I hear some wasted older dudes standing behind us debating whether they should spit on our Sabre's jerseys. They are very lucky that they choose not to. Chicago doesn't manage to even score a goal, and they lose the game 3-0. We instantly become Vancouver fans.

The place empties fast, but we are in no hurry to leave. A group of people are in their seats taking a group photo. Keith decides to try to get in the picture.

Photographer: "Someone get that kid out of the picture."
Keith: "Blackhawks suck!"
Photographer: "You're wearing a Blackhawks jersey!"
Keith: "Kane is from Buffalo. Let's go, Buffalo!"
Photographer: "Get out of here. Go back to Buffalo!"
Keith: " I will!!! And we're gonna take Patrick Kane out of this shit hole!"

It continues like this for a couple minutes, with Keith continuously referring to Chicago as a shit hole. I'm glad he is able to come to this conclusion after being in Chicago for a whole 4 hours. We get Keith to leave the group and walk downstairs to use the bathrooms where we get heckled more for wearing our Sabres jerseys. Keith continues to talk shit while wearing a Blackhawks jersey. Chicago just won the Stanley cup last season, but it's not hard to rip on them when they just lost 3-0 and their top player is from Buffalo.

We exit the arena to find a taxi. We need a van. To our surprise, this is much more difficult than we had thought it would be. On our way to the game, we just walked down the street and had no problem waving one down. You'd think there would be plenty of taxis outside the arena but we walk around for 15 minutes in 20 degree weather and can't find one. Someone finally looks up a number for a taxi and we call. They say it'll be about another 15 minutes.

We continue to stand out in the cold when a limo driver starts yelling from across the street:

Limo Driver: "you guys need a ride?"
Us: "HELL YEAH!!!"

We cross the street and jump in the limo without discussing if this is a good idea or knowing who is inside. Hey, there's six of us, what could possibly go wrong? In the limo there is about eight people: two guys and two girls at one end and four guys on the other end. The six of us, still in our Sabres jerseys, sit in the middle. Music is blasting and beers are getting passed out to everyone. The four guys on the one side all have strange accents. Possibly Russian, but definitely foreign. They are controlling the radio. They turn the radio up all the way, as Big City Nights blasts through the speakers. Everyone in the limo is singing along at the top of their lungs. We have no idea where we are going but we are getting hammered in the Big City!!!

It is awesome, but in the back of mind I'm still unsure of this whole thing. It is reminding me of the beginning of the movie Hostel when they partied hard before getting chopped up. But I remember that there is strength in numbers, so we'll be fine.

The song ends and they decide we need to get more beer. One of the guys on the other side of the limo, Matt, who is wearing an awesome Chicago Blackhawk's hard hat, instructs the driver to go to a beer store. Woj and Bob head into the beer store with some of the foreign guys, while the rest of us wait in the limo.

After a few minutes, everyone comes back to the limo, except Woj. Apparently, he is still in the bathroom. The limo driver starts to leave but we start yelling to stop. We can't leave anyone behind, not yet, anyway. The driver stops and Woj comes out. For some reason, everyone starts chanting USA!!! USA!!! as Woj gets into the limo.

Bob had come into the limo with a 30 pack of beer, and the bathroom key, which was attached to a metal rod. Apparently, he is thinking the same thing as me, that this situation is kind of shady and we may need a beating stick in case anything goes wrong.

We ride around the city in the limo, while blasting beats and chugging beers. The limo drops the two girls off somewhere. He starts driving again and everyone is continuing to get obnoxiously drunk when the limo stops again. I guess we've reached our destination. My fear is that these guys have set us up to drop us off in the middle of nowhere and leave us. I decide to let everyone else get out of the limo before me to ensure that we will not get ditched.

The foreign guys all get out and head off on their own. We get out and behind us is Matt. He is laying out on the seat, with his legs in a jumble behind him, asking us if we can grab his wheel chair. I was not aware that he was crippled. That's why he's wearing the helmet, he's handicapped! He then tells us he's just joking and steps out of the limo. We are all cracking up.

We come to find out that this was nobodies limo. It was more of a taxi service. The limo driver wants $20 from each of us. There's six people in our group alone. That would be $120 to be dropped off at some random place, not knowing if we are anywhere near our hotel. We end up giving him $20 total and walk away with our beer. Asshole should have told us the terms before giving us a ride.

We still have a lot of beer left and don't know where to go. Matt and his friend Adam are walking with us. Matt suggests that we find an alley to drink the beer in and then go to the bar. He spots an alley that is blocked by a garbage container. He starts to move the container so we can enjoy some drinking in the alley, when Adam says, "Dude, my apartment is right over there, why don't we just drink there?" Everyone agrees that, even though it's a little weird going to this random dudes apartment to drink, it's much less shady than drinking in an alleyway.

We head to Adam's apartment, which is a very tall building and has a view of the whole city. Looks quite expensive. We drink all of the beer when Adam brings out a bottle of Wine for us to "taste." Everyone passes the bottle around, taking chugs, until the bottle is gone.

Little do know, but we happen to be in the presence of a magician, as Matt is showing us some crazy Magic tricks. He tells us how he volunteers with little kids as a magician. He is very good at magic. After the eight of us are obnoxiously drunk and have seen a bunch of tricks, Matt and Adam decide to show us some bars around the city.

We head outside. Matt walks into the middle of the street and waves his arm up. A taxi starts to pull over. He keeps walking. "They really hate when you do that."

We get to the bar and there is a huge line outside. Matt and Adam walk up to the front, say something to the bouncer, and the eight of us are in with no cover.

This place is pretty nice. It's packed, but it's definitely not a sports bar. Looks like every one is dressed up, but we are in our hockey jerseys, and Matt still has his blackhawks hard hat on. Adam orders some beers, which come in 6 packs with the plastic rings still on them. We start to drink them and look around the bar. It's almost too nice. We begin to realize that their are quite a few possibly gay men there. Bob and Duncan are convinced it's a gay bar. I think it's a straight bar, but since its nice and gay people like nice things, there are more gay people there than the dive bars we would normally be at.

Matt convinces some girl that it is Woj's birthday and that she should give him a birthday kiss. She does. Hey, if this is a gay bar, Woj is still doing pretty good, without being gay. We finish our beers and Matt and Adam take us to the next bar.

We take two taxis to the next bar. I have no idea where we are, except that we are in Chicago. For all I know, our hotel is on the other side of the city. No one seems to care. We will figure that out when the time comes.

We again walk right into this bar with Matt and Adam leading the way. This bar is much more our style than the last one. We see two beer pong tables at the front of the bar that immediately catch our attention. We order some beers. Woj, Bob, Duncan, and Keith play the first game, while Snell and I drink beer and watch. Adam and Matt have gone somewhere on the other side of the bar.

Getting bored from watching beer pong, I decide to head to the other side of the bar to see what is going on. I think that Snell is following me, but I look back and he is gone. I wander to the back anyways. I walk through a short hallway, and to my surprise, I walk into a completely different atmosphere. There is a dance floor, a DJ, two more bars, a roped off VIP section, and a lot more people. This is sweet!

I find Matt, who is still wearing his Blackhawks hard hat. I think he'll be wearing that the rest of the night. He wants to do a shot. Sounds good to me. Adam comes over and does the shot with us. I grab another beer and wander around with Adam while he tries to spit some game to random girls. He eventually just pulls a girl onto the dance floor and I go get another beer. No one from the crew is back here yet. I am unsure if they know it even exists, so I start texting them instead of going back to get them. They eventually come back and see that there is another crazy bar back here.

We drink some more beers for a while. Duncan decides to buy a round of shots, which is what Duncan always does. Against my better judgement, I agree to have one. Straight Soco. I take it and immediately regret my decision. I start to feel sick. This has happened almost every time I've drank soco since my twenty-first birthday. I nonchalantly walk away from the group and try to compose myself. The wooziness goes away for a second, but then comes back hard. The bathroom is on the other side of the bar. I begin to walk towards it. I contemplate going outside, but I'm not positive that I will be able to get back in dressed in my Sabres gear without Adam or Matt with me. I try to hold it down, but I can't anymore. I head to the bathroom.

In the bathroom there are three urinals and one toilet, with no door. I head to it and begin to puke. I'm trying to be quiet, because I know if a bouncer sees me, I will be kicked out. I start trying to make noise to cover the sound of me puking, like spinning the toilet paper roll and peeing. It seems to work. I finish, and walk out without anyone saying anything.

As soon as I walk out, I see Adam at the front bar talking to two girls. He waves me over. I'm hoping he doesn't want me to be his wingman, because my breath probably smells like straight vomit and soco. He hands me a beer. I chug it to mask the smell of my breath. I look at these girls and wonder why Adam is talking to them. They are not attractive. Adam gets me in the conversation. When he walks away, I realize that he didn't want me to be a wingman, that son of a bitch was trying to pawn them off on me! Well, it worked, as I'm stuck talking to these two sea donkeys. I start trying to make things awkward by giving one word responses and not talking much. It eventually works and I head back to the back bar to find everyone.

We realize that we have not seen Snell in a long time. Only Duncan and Keith actually have Snell's number. Keith checks his phone and has a couple missed calls from Snell. Duncan is on the dance floor with some girl. I go ask him if he knows where Snell is. He has no idea. He checks his phone and has 10 missed calls. He shrugs his shoulders and goes back to dancing. Well, I guess we'll find him eventually.

We head back to the beer pong at the front bar. We are all so hammered that no one really seems too concerned about Snell. I know that we can't hear in the bar, but I don't know why there hasn't been any communication through text. O well. We drink some more and head out. Duncan and Keith try to call Snell but he is not answering now. We get in a taxi and head back to the hotel while continuing to try to call Snell. Ten minutes later, we get to the hotel. We really weren't that far away from the hotel. The taxi drops us off.

We start to walk through the parking lot when we finally see Snell. He is sitting next to the van, in the ten degree weather. I have no idea how he got back. A security guard walks up to me:

Security: do you know that guy?
Me: yeah, he's our friend.
Security: well, i was about to call the police on him. I keep getting complaints that he's walking through the hallway knocking on everybody's doors and yelling.
Me: I'm sorry. I think he was just lost

I look over the security guards shoulder and see Snell get up, start running and spear Keith. He then gets up and is trying to punch him while Duncan is holding him back. He's raging!!!

Security: "That's it, I'm calling the police."

I run back to the group and try to rush them to the room. We have to hold Snell back the entire time. We quickly get back to the room and shut the door, so that security won't know where we are if he did indeed call the police.

Snell tells us that he had gone outside of the bar and they wouldn't let him back in because he was too intoxicated. Glad I didn't make that mistake when I was puking. He kept calling but no one would answer so he decided to go back to the hotel. He asked a bum for directions and somehow made it. In his drunken stupor, he thought that we were in the hotel room and that we were just not answering the door. Come to find out, he was knocking on the wrong door anyways, and some guy came out of a room and asked him what the hell he was doing. He then went back outside and sat next to the van and waited for us to come back while sitting in the coldness.

We laugh about his story then try to figure out the sleeping situation. Six guys, two beds. Luckily, Bob has brought a cot to sleep on. For some reason, Keith put his open backpack on Bob's cot. Bob picks it up and throws it across the room, shooting the contents of the backpack all over the room. Keith is unhappy, but he is so hammered that he doesn't do anything about it, then agrees to sleep on the floor.

We all pass out, until I wake up to Woj laying in the middle of the bed, trying to cuddle with me. I try to move away but there is not enough room. I start to punch him in the ribs. He doesn't move. I slap his face several times. Nothing. I yell Dan! Still won't move. I get out of bed and lift up one side of the mattress in an attempt to dump him on the floor. Still passed out, he reaches over and grabs the end of the mattress so that he doesn't slide off. What the fuck!!! This dude will not wake up. He is not human. I go to the bathroom to get a glass of water, with intentions of dumping it on Woj's head if he does not wake up. Luckily, he has flipped over and is facing the opposite direction. I can finally get some good, not gay, sleep.

Somehow, we all wake up and get ready before checkout at 11. We decide to try some Chicago deep dish pizza before we leave, which sucked and was overpriced. We then get on the road for for our seven hours of hungover driving to Minneapolis. At least I booked two double bed rooms there. Hopefully Minneapolis will be as awesome and random as Chicago.

Friday, December 07, 2012

The Minnesota Story (part 1)

This story starts off on Friday, in Chicago (A Very Random Night in Chicago) and now it is Sunday morning in Minnesota. Saturday was fun but not too crazy or random. Sunday was a different story. Here is the first part. I still don't have approval to release the second part. Maybe someday.

We wake up in the hotel room around 8:00 am, most of us still drunk from the night before. We pack up the van to head to the Bills vs Vikings game. We stop at a store to pickup a couple 30 packs of beer, then head towards downtown Minneapolis to see what type of tailgating they have for Viking's games. The streets are covered in snow, just like Buffalo, so Bob purposely makes the van fishtail down the street. I do not feel safe. We are unsure how the parking is situated, so we just head towards the stadium.

Unlike Buffalo, Minnesota doesn't really have too many huge lots. It's mainly a bunch of smaller lots in the middle of downtown, similar to a Sabres game. We see a reasonably priced lot, but it says no tailgating. We'll pass. Across the street is a more expensive one, but it looks like a party. Since we're splitting it six ways, it won't be too bad. Bob drives through the lot filled with vikings fans and parks at the end. We all have beers in hand when we get out of the van, yelling the Bills shout song. Aaaaaay yayyyy aaaayyyy yayyyyyy!!!!!!!! Vikings fans start yelling shit back at us.Clearly outnumbered, Woj resorts to our secret weapon, a bullhorn. He starts yelling whatever offensive things come to his mind, through the bullhorn. "Purple is for Faggots!!!!" "Brett Favre has a tiny weiner!!!!" etc...Vikings fans have no reply for this simple minded shit talking. We are victorious.

Eventually, groups of Vikings fans approach us, intrigued by the fact that we drove 16 hours to tailgate in 10 degree weather to see a team with a losing record and no shot at the playoffs. They ask us about our trip. We tell them about Friday night in Chicago. A vikings fan asks us if we like jager bombs. All of us reply: "YES!" The Vikings fan leads us over to his tailgate area, which is quite impressive. He's got a decent sized tent with a standup heater, some tables, and a giant chair. I dont think we ever find out what the giant chair is for. It is clearly too big to be functional. He starts to pour some red bull into these special jager bomb glasses, which are foreign to me at this time. We all do jager bombs. We then all do some more jager bombs. It is about 10 a.m. and we are all full of beer, red bull and jager. We are getting rowdy. We continue to drink and yell obscene things at anyone who walks by.

The rest of the group goes to the van to "warm up." I figure the smartest thing for me to do is to wander around the parking lot of the opposing team, 16 hours from home, wearing my Bills gear. As I'm wandering around, I hear the Bills shout song. I'm pumped up. I have discovered another Bills tailgate. I give high fives all around.We all sing the shout song at the top of our lungs. They are playing the song on repeat. After the initial excitement of finding more Bills fans wears off, I am standing there awkwardly drinking my beer, talking to no one. I decide to continue my lap around the parking lot. Nobody is yelling at me or trying to talk shit. This is not like a Bills game at all. People in Minnesota are too nice. I do not find anything else interesting going on before I make it back to the van.

We are all obliterated by 11:45 when we start walking to the stadium. We are in the central time zone, so the game starts at 12. We get into the stadium and the atmosphere is totally different then what I am used to at a Bills game. The Vikings have an indoor stadium. People don't seem as drunk, and there is no cold air to sober us up in the slightest.

We all order our beers and head to our seats, which are only a few rows down from the roof. These are the steepest stairs I have ever walked up. I am getting winded. I contemplate sitting down to take a break but I push through and make it to my seat. I am sweating. It's a football game in December and I am sweating. This doesn't make any sense. I take off all of my layers down to a t-shirt and my C.J. Spiller jersey. Being indoors just doesn't feel right.

There is a pillar holding up the roof not too far to my right. I notice there are seats directly behind the pillar, blocking the view of the field. I feel very lucky that we are not sitting in those seats since I had no idea where the seats were when I ordered them. I can't even believe those seats exist. If the Vikings didn't suck and there weren't so many open seats to move to, what would someone do? I'd be causing problems if I got stuck in those shit seats.

Right from the start the Bills are doing good. Brett Favre gets hit and throws an interception. We all go nuts. Let's Go Buffalooooo!!!!! It is basically downhill from here. I begin to realize how drunk we are during the second quarter when I finally realize the Vikings QB is black. Brett Favre had been injured on the interception play in the first quarter and had been out of the game for some time. No one else around me had realized this. I'll blame it on how far away we are rather than how drunk we are.

I eat a hot dog and get mustard all over my jersey. I attempt to wipe it up, then head down to get some more beers. On the way back up the stairs a Vikings fan asks me what jersey I'm wearing. I tell him Spiller. He points at the Mustard on my jersey and says, "looks like you're the spiller." Very clever Vikings fan. Apparently, I am not very good at wiping mustard off my jersey.

I sit down and continue watching the game. A Vikings fan next to me wants to bet a beer that the Bills won't score a point on their next drive. The drive is starting around the Bills 40. Being confident that the Bills can at least score a field goal, I agree to the bet. The Bills go three and out and I owe this guy a beer. Rather than walk down those god awful stairs again, I wait until a beer guy walks up our row and purchase the owed beer. Feeling bad for me, the Vikings fan tells me if the Bills score on their next drive he will buy me a beer. The Bills go three and out again. Dammit! Come on guys.The Vikings fan buys me a beer anyway. Vikings fans are very nice.

We discover that beer is served until the end of the third quarter, unlike at the Ralph where they stop serving at the end of halftime. There goes the plan for someone to sober up during the second half enough to drive the first leg home after the game.Nobody seems concerned about this, since all 6 of us head down just before the end of the third to order more beers that we really don't need. I guess the theory was to get as drunk as possible, because whoever is the most sober would have to drive. This is an awful plan and really makes no sense at all but seems logical at the time.

After ordering our beers, two girls in Vikings gear walk by booing our group.We talk shit back to them. We'll call one Snookie because she is about 5 foot tall and loud as fuck. The other one we'll call Roseanne because she is fat and loud as fuck. Actually, I think her name really is Roseanne, or some other name a fat girl would have.

After the initial shit talking, they start asking about our trip. I start getting bored. Being drunk, and not caring if I end up lost or alone, I turn around and start heading back to our seats. Luckily, Nate and Woj are thinking  the same thing and follow me. I walk up the mountain of stairs one last time. This is by far the toughest time. My legs are burning and ready to give out. I can tell they are going to be sore later. The three of us sit in our seats and watch the fourth quarter. The Bills lose, miserably.  This was actually a really shitty, boring game. It wasn't close since the interception in the first quarter when Brett Favre got hurt. And since we drove this far to see Brett Favre play the Bills one last time and he only played about 5 minutes, we should have been more disappointed. But we are so wrecked that we don't really care and it seemed like a great game.


Bob, Snell, and Keith never come back. Nate, woj, and I sit in our seats in the nose bleeds while the rest of the stadium clears out. We wait to hear back from one of them so we can determine our next move. Workers are starting to clean the rows around us when I finally get a text from Keith. It reads the name of a bar next to the stadium. We head outside in search of this bar. I have no idea what direction to go. I ask a Vikings fan who says to go right. Wanting to confirm this guy's directions I ask another fan who says to go left. What the fuck Vikings fans? We just lost miserably, help us out. I ask a third person who also says to go left. Majority rules so we head left.

We find the bar and discover there is a line to get in. After waiting in line, we finally get into the bar, which is crowded as fuck. I don't see any of them so I send some texts asking for their locations. No one replies. We take a lap and still can't find them. Keith finally replies saying that they are now at a hotel bar on 5th st and 3rd st. We head outside and see that the streets are numbered. We find 3rd, then 4th. Then the next street that should have been 5th had a name instead of a number. We keep going further and all the streets are named now. No fifth street. No one is replying and it is still 10 degrees out. We spot a building with beer signs in the window. We start walking towards it and discover that it is a Japanese restaurant. O, well. The Japanese like to party too, right?

We walk into the dimly lit restaurant and sit at the bar. No one else is there at the moment. I guess a japanese restaurant isn't the biggest post-game party bar. The Japanese bartender grabs us some beer. I start to talk to him about sake, since I have never tried it. He gives us all a chilled shot glass of sake to sample. Not too bad. He tells us that some people like it hot so he also gives us a hot shot glass of sake to sample .Not too bad either. It's tough to describe. I'd say it kind of tastes like a wine with a light tequila tinge. I could be way off though, as I am hammered. We finish our beers while watching some of the later football games. We decide to head out again in search of this hotel bar.

We start walking up the street, still having no idea where we are heading. During the search for the hotel we get sidetracked by signs for a museum. You don't see signs for a museum in Minneapolis after a football game and not go in. THAT would be a mistake. We walk into the museum drunk and wearing Bills gear. It is some sort of train museum. We are being loud. We look at some sweet trains before checking out the gift shop. I find a moose puppet! I can't not buy this. While paying for the moose puppet I decide to ask the cashier for directions to the hotel bar. He gets out a brochure with a map on the back of it. He circles the hotel in red and draws specific directions to get there. It looks like a treasure map. It's kind of far but we can walk. Too bad there is no treasure at the end, just Keith. We thank him and head on our way.

Looking at the map, the reason we had problems was because Keith told us 5th street but it was really 5th ave, which runs the opposite direction. We weren't even close to going the right way. Stupid Keith.

We walk for about ten minutes before we see a bar. It is too cold out to not stop there. We walk in and it's all Bills fans. Even though the Bills lost, we're still starting Let's Go Buffalo chants. I text Keith and tell him our location. We drink some beers and notice the bar is starting to close down. It's 6 o'clock and the game has been over for nearly 3 hours. The bar starts to kick everyone out for close. One of the Bills fans, who is from Canada, asks us if we want to go to the strip club with them. I advise him that we are not in the proper attire. He tells us not to worry, he will take care of everything. Can't say no to that. We follow this guy and a group of Bills fans to the strip club. The Canadian dude pays our covers and buys the first round. What's with everyone buying us stuff on this trip?

This is probably the nicest strip club I have ever been in. I forget to tell Keith that we left the previous bar. He is blowing up my phone. Not knowing the cell phone rules of this club, I do not want to take my phone out and get booted out to the cold. I eventually go to the bathroom and text Keith the name of our new location. I head back to my seat. The Canadian dude is sitting there getting a lap dance at our table. After he is done, he asks me when my birthday is. I tell him December 23rd. He says, "well, its December! Close enough! Get this guy a lap dance!!!" I cannot stop laughing at how random this is. I wonder if the other three are having as ridiculous an experience.

The next few hours involve moonshine, searching for bob and snell, searching for woj and Keith, a possible gun, a gay bar, long periods of freezing outside, paying for a taxi with a stolen ipod, more strip clubs, and trying to get back together with 5 out of the 6 phones being dead.

Thursday, December 06, 2012

A Night of Mayhem

It is around 10 O'clock and dark out. I walk up the long driveway back to the bonfire behind the garage, beer in hand. As I pass the cars parked in the driveway and I can start to make out people standing by the fire, everything brightens up. The fire is suddenly about 10 feet in the air and dark black smoke is rising into the trees. I stop, not knowing what is going on. I see someone spinning around with a flaming shovel in hand. I stand back, not knowing if he knows I'm behind him. The shovel stops flaming and he stops spinning. It's Bob. I begin to realize that this could be an interesting night.

I grab a seat on a racing tire and join the rest of the group who have been sitting around the fire and drinking some beers. We sit and talk for a while. Bob continues to pour highly flammable race car gasoline into shovels and proceeding to light them on fire. He also proceeds to tear down pieces of his old tree fort in order to keep the fire going.

We begin to talk about cooking some food when someone comes up with the idea that we need some sort of grate to put in the fire to cook on. After some brainstorming, we agree that the best place to get a grate would be off of a grill. A place that is full of grills is the park. We decide to form a team to go with us to help procure the grill from the park. Bob is highly intoxicated and overly enthused about this idea

Joel starts the process of assembling the team by calling people to come over. He calls Matt. Matt gives a lot of excuses and sounds like he's probably not going to come over. The phone is then handed to Bob for a second talk off so that he can attempt to peer pressure Matt into coming.

Bob: "dude, you gotta come over. We're going to the park to steal the grates off of the grills and then we're going to cook tons of food."

Apparently, that is all the convincing he needed and Matt decides to come over. After we have six people there, we drink some more beers, plot our plan of action, and then get into the car to head to the park. Paul is sober, but very low on gas. He decides to drive his car anyways.

We drive through the park once to make sure there are no cops lurking. After we see that it's clear, we spot a grill and Paul decides to drive into the grass and park next to it, making it obvious that we are up to something. We walk up to the grill, only to realize that the grates do not come off, they are attached. After trying to rip them out, we decide that this may take some time and we will need to move the car. We all get back into the car and park in the driveway to some random garage. Four of us then run back to the grill. Bob and Joel start rocking it back and fourth until the post and the block that it is cemented to come out of the ground. We try to lift it and realize that it is very heavy and will most likely not fit in the car.

All of a sudden, we see some headlights over by where Paul is waiting in the car. Everyone scatters. My thoughts are that it is a cop and it has stopped to talk to Paul. I plan my escape route and begin thinking about whether anyone would narc if they got caught. The car begins to drive. It pulls into the grass, shines it's headlights on us, and we realize that it is Paul. He has the car sitting in the grass, supplying us with light from his headlights. I thought that the moonlight would be adequate enough, but apparently Paul was getting bored and decided that we needed to draw more attention to ourselves.

Everybody comes out of hiding and gets back to the task at hand. I flip the grate and start kicking it, trying to get it to break off. I let Bob take over because he is strong, drunk, and determined. The grate does not get much more loose, but the grill itself begins to come off of the pole. Bob twists the grill back and forth and the whole thing finally breaks off. Me and Bob grab the grill and run back to the car. We throw it in the trunk and everyone gets in.

Paul attempts to start the car and it doesn't start. Shit. He turns the key again. Doesn't work. I'm thinking that he has run out of gas. What do we tell the cops we're doing when they see us sitting in a car in the grass next to a grill post with no grill? He tries again and luckily it starts and we head back to Bob's to create some culinary masterpieces.

We get back to Bob's, take out the grill, shovel some hot coals and a few pieces of wood into the grill, and the cooking begins. Bob throws on about two packages of hot dogs. When they've been burnt to a crisp he starts taking them off and handing them to me. I hold the hot dog buns and pass the hotdogs to anyone who wants them. I no longer have anyone to hand them to so Bob start to place the hot dogs on the buns and into my hoodie pocket. He has to make room on the grill for the burgers and the sausages. I eat way more food than I want to and begin to feel sick.

While we're cooking and eating all of this good food, Paul pulls out a pre-packaged rice krispy treat and begins to eat it. I say to him, "what the hell are you doing? We go through all the trouble to steal this grill and you're eating that? You better throw that on the grill and put that thing in a bun!" He thinks this is a good idea and puts it on the grill. Joel uses the spatula to flip it to make sure it is grilled to perfection. It has some nice grill lines on it. Paul takes it off and eat it. He does not, however, follow my orders of putting it into a bun.

We sit by the fire and talk for a while. I stop drinking because I have a headache from playing hockey earlier in the day. This makes me the sober one and the one who has to drive when we come up with our next brilliant idea.

Bob decides that we have to do something to Erik's house because he's not here with us and he's fun to mess with. He suggests putting up for sale signs in his front yard. Seeing how none of us could be creative enough to come up with a "good" plan, we decide to do this. But first we must go get more beer.

I drive the five of us to Seven Eleven. Dan goes in to get beer and Bob goes with him to get food. Bob comes back with this ridiculous Elmo cookie.

Dan cannot get the beer because his ID is expired, so I have to go in to get it. I do so and head back to the car when a car pulls up next to us. Bob wants to say something to them because he sees girls but then realizes there's three ghetto black guys with them. A dude with a red do-rag gets out of the car He must think we're talking about him or maybe he is just trying to be hard because I hear him yelling something at us. I have my window rolled down but the only thing I can hear is, "Y'all got a car full of guys. Where's all ya bitches at?" I reply, "You're right there!" We then drive away because that's how bad ass we are.

On the way to Seven Eleven we had seen a for sale sign that would look good in Erik's front yard. I drive back to it and Bob gets out to get it. Bob puts the sign in the trunk and doesn't come back into the car. He goes back to where the sign was, gets back in the car, and says, "dropped my cookie out there." That idiot went back for the stupid Elmo cookie.

The trunk on my car will not close with the sign in it, and I think that this is not very smart. Driving through the city at 2:30 in the morning with the trunk open and the posts to a for sale sign sticking out might bring the attention of the police. I pull onto a side street and we move the sign into the back seat on top of the three who are sitting back there. We then head to Erik's. On the way, we see another sign. Bob grabs the sign and puts it in the trunk. I start driving because he claims that the trunk is closed. Bob is a liar. We drive down back streets until we get to Erik's house, looking out for cops the whole time.

We get to Erik's house. Bob gets out and takes the sign out of the trunk to put in the yard. The guys in the back seat are having trouble getting the sign out so I get out of the car and take the sign out. Instead of taking the sign from me so that I can get back in the driver's seat, Bob gets back into the car, so that I have to run and put the sign in the yard. While I'm doing this, Bob jumps over the console and decides that he needs to make things more convenient for me. He drives the car up the 30 feet to pick me up. I get in and drive down back streets to get away.

Bob finally decides to open the Elmo cookie and eat it. It tastes like playdough, so Bob throws it out the window. Good thing he wasted time going back for it earlier.

My head continues to ache so we head back to Bob's house to get some aspirin. The trip has not ended. Bob comes back with a hand full of pills and asks, "anyone else want some?"

Bob also comes back with an egg. One egg. He claims that it is hard boiled, but he still wants to throw it at the house of a neighbor of mine, who we both hate. We pull up just past the house. There's no lights on in the house but all the lights are on in the garage so it looks like they might be doing something in there. Bob gets out and attempts to throw the egg. It doesn't work right. He claims that it broke in his hand, but how does that happen if it's hard boiled? I determine that he is just a drunken idiot.

We head back to his house and he grabs some more non-hard boiled eggs. These eggs are distributed to several residents throughout this great city. One is thrown at what we believe to be the apartment an ugly stripper. Another is thrown at random truck that apparently should not have been parked where it was. And the last one was inadvertently thrown onto the roof of my car. When the eggs are gone we head back to Bob's and call it a night.

While what we did could be considered childish by some, it is one of the few ways to entertain ourselves in this area when everyone isn't 21. And it was a pretty damn good time. Hot dogs taste so much better when cooked on a stolen grill. I still have pieces of hot dog bun in my hoodie pocket the next day and about ten aspirin pills floating around my car.