Once again, all true except the names.I worked at this gas station off of the freeway, and frequented the bar across the road. One night, I really wanted to go to the bar, but I only had $10 left, and I needed to put gas in my truck until I got paid. So, like any other red-blooded American with a money problem, I called my mom to ask for a loan so I could go to the bar. She agreed, and off to the bar I go.
Now, I only have $10 (mom’s gonna hit me up later), so I can only drink $10’s worth. I walk into the bar, and am greeted by Shane (unofficial bouncer, guy fuckin’ the bartender, Chloe). He tells me that Chloe has a running bet for anyone who can drink “whatever’s in this rocks glass” for $40. She holds up said rocks glass, which appears to be filled with brown liquor (probably like 8 shots or so). Just then one of the truckers at the bar pipes in that he’ll kick it up, and he’s joined by a few college kids, so now it’s up to $80. What a stroke of luck for me!
Chloe collects the money and hands me the glass. Shane makes sure I know I have to “drink it like a shot, or else it doesn’t count.” I take my seat at the end of the bar, next to the prettiest girl in the place, Jane. With the whole bar watching, I knock back this whole glass of what I now know to be Yukon Jack. Proud of my accomplishment, I take the $80 from Chloe, and smile at Jane, who is now packing up to leave. I’m guessing she knew shit was about to get stupid.
The following few hours were fairly uneventful, as bar nights go. I surfed my newly found street cred by getting offered free drinks all night, not having to spend any of the money I had come into. I was pretty sloppy when I left, hoping to get to the gas station I worked at to get beer for when I got home. On pulling into the parking lot, I noticed 2 girls way down at the end of the lot by where I needed to be, and they seemed to be fighting. A little aside on my housing situation at the time…
I had recently found myself homeless due to mouthing off to my jerk-off landlord, and relied on the kindness of one of my sisters best friends, Jose. Jose is a character in and of himself; 6’2″, Hispanic, athletic, super nice and very gay. His roommate bounced and stuck him with full rent, and he needed someone to take that half.
… When reaching the parking spot I needed, I realize that the fighting girls were actually fighting guys in dresses. And that they weren’t really fighting, they were just having severe drama issues, probably caused by too much meth (that’ll happen). Guy #1 (we’ll call him Trey), tells me that they’re having a party, and that I’m invited. I think, “Hey, Jose is having some people over, and it’s not like I’ve got anything else going on right now.” So I park, grab my beer and my guitar (yeah, I’m that guy), and follow what is very obviously 2 men in dresses up the stairs. But instead of going left into my apartment, we go right into theirs. Well, fuck it. It’ll be OK.
I get into the living room, and there are several men standing around in party formation, and a naked woman laying on the couch. Nobody is sitting in the living room, talking to the woman, so I think I’m in. But when it comes out that I’m not a pole-smoker, she grabs a blanket and covers up quickly. We talked for a while; I found out she worked with my ex-wife, so on and so forth. After a while I notice that mostly everyone has left, and it’s just me, Naked, Trey and Tranny 2. T2 is super pissed, and starts a physical fight with Trey, and they are throwing shit around the back of the apartment. T2 runs out of the apartment and slams the door. Trey comes out of the back wearing only a banana hammock, and (I swear to God) I say to him, “Dude! Where is your dress?” I had never said that to anyone before; Thank you, Yukon Jack!
I decide this is not where it is at any longer, grab my beer and guitar and go across the hall to my own apartment. Sobriety had reared it’s ugly head, so I needed alcohol or sleep. Just then my phone rings; it’s the guy on the night shift at the gas station, telling me that the new girl, Kristy is there, and wanted to see me. I head back out into the night (morning) in search of either enlightenment or pussy. Sadly, I got neither.
I did manage to somehow break the steering column on my truck, making it undrivable. I had to catch a ride with the newspaper guy, who I later learned was a real creep.
Again, no morals of the story, other than the standard “Don’t be a fuckin’ drunk all the time.”