(I started telling this story a few days ago at My Night in Corvallis.)
Where was I? The girls showed up? Cool.
And then the girls showed up. I’m not sure what time it was or how long I’d been in there at that point, but I do know that I hadn’t stood up in nearly 45 minutes and needed to use the bathroom. It wasn’t a pressing need, just a feeling I didn’t know was there until I had broken my steadfast concentration on finishing my booze.
The bartender was friends with the girls. Why not? It’s a college town, everyone knows each other. The girls tell me their names which I’m sure were wonderful and invite me to sit with them at a larger, godfather-style, three-quarter round table. I leave to visit the restroom and immediately stare into the mirror and boldly declare in a mouthed hush, “They totally want a threesome with you.” And I’m sure they did. Maybe.
I head back to the waiting ladies and follow them down to the table, which is set lower than the rest of the bar, and was probably used as the front row for small bands or solo acts. While we didn’t get bottle service, the owner wanted to make sure I was taken care of.
My tab was already fairly high and he wanted to make sure I didn’t die so I could come again but apparently wanted me to come as close as possible that I’d never forget their place. Drinks were made available quickly. I had switched off the Red Bulls and vodka by then, but whatever I had definitely wasn’t a virgin drink. We sipped, we chatted and we eventually made it to dares in what felt like hours but may have been about ten minutes.
Dares. Yes, one of them dared the other to kiss me, then the other one dared me to kiss the first one and boy, did we get into it and then I heard yelling. More like snarling, and it was very close. While surprised, I didn’t startle – and turned to face him. In words I was told later, I said, “Get your own, man. How about you worry about your own shit? If these girls want to take me home with them, that’s their call so SHUT THE FUCK UP.”
That did it. The girls told the guy to go away and tried to admonish me but then ran off to talk to the dude, who had, for some reason, walked outside. I went to play pool.
What seemed like hours later, it was really two beers while waiting for a game, so more like 25 minutes on the high, high end, the less attractive girl said it was time for us to go because it was closing time. Holy shit, time flew. Well, I wasn’t going to turn that down, so I followed her out the bar right into a small group of people standing around the prettier girl and the guy who had yelled earlier yelling at each other. Something about kicking his ass and whupping his ass and beating his ass, so I yelled, “You know you love yourself some ass!”
In my defense here, I was pretty drunk and filled to the absolute brim with Red Bull. You see, my body loves stimulants. I run better on them. I felt like I could have nut punched god.
So this one guy, who I assume was talking about me, wouldn’t have been a match for me. Sure, I hadn’t been in a fight in years and had never fought a stranger while hammered, but fuck it man, I was PUMPED. Problem was, the dude was a few inches shorter and somehow skinnier than my 175 lbs. Beating on this kid would make me look bad, so I didn’t rush the fight prep. He kept talking smack about his boys while his now-I-know-to-be ex girl told him to leave. Then he broke past her, ran up and shoved me.
I was ready for it and shoved him back. That’s when the cars showed up. Four of them. Maybe 3, but four people definitely got out. His boys.
Fuck, I was screwed. I don’t know how to really fight! I was thinking maybe I could land a few hits on him and call it a night. I didn’t really want to fight anyone because I wanted to get laid by two chicks! Hesitant to turn my back, I backed away a few steps while the dude and his boys bumped chests and tried to pretend they weren’t all attracted to him.
It was about to get ugly. After quickly taking stock of what I could use as weapons, I determined my best approach was to kick them with my Doc Martens repeatedly. Perhaps I’d take down two of the four and at least I’d have something to brag about. I was hesitant to do any wrestling, as I really liked the pants I had on, so kicking, pushing and maybe even elbowing was in order.
My attack was planned, and I was ready. Then I felt a tug on the back of my shirt and boobs pressed against my back. The female bartender whispered, “Come with me (if you want to live?)” and I followed her back toward the bar.
