Earlier today someone asked me if I'd ever been thrown out of a drinking establishment before, and I responded no. Then I realized I was only limiting my answer to NYC, and that I have in fact been removed from a club before.
So, since I've been a lame ass this week and need to post something here, I begin my story...
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It was my senior year in college, and Jessica and I had finished our finals on the same day. Neither of us were leaving campus until the following day, so we said we would go out that night.
Except we were a little overzealous. In all the excitement, I declared I would drink until I couldn't see anymore, and Jessica followed that with pledging to drink until she puked. I want to say that qualifies as "foreshadowing", but really it was just us being complete idiots with an idiotic mission.
So naturally we started boozing at the house, and eventually hopped a cab to Pittsburgh's South Side. It was a random weeknight, so the bar was empty, and we just started drinking, doing a few shots. To be honest, the night seemed in danger of turning out to be a huge disappointment. Then Jessica noticed that it was some guys birthday at the other end of the bar, and bought him a shot. He was extremely grateful, and insisted that we put all of our drinks on his tab.
This is what we like to call The Beginning Of The End.
I have to admit, I wish I could recall just about anything after this point, because I'm sure hilarity ensued. Unfortunately, it's all a blur, although at some point we must have headed to this club called Have A Nice Day Cafe. (To this day I still have NO clue where this place is located.) I vaguely remember dancing with numerous strangers and drinking more, and more, and more.
At some point I decided it was time to relieve myself, and was still of sound enough mind that I should head to the bathroom. I'm smart like that, even when drunk. While standing at the urinal, I actually managed to pass out by leaning forward and resting my forehead on the wall in front of me, with my wang still hanging out of my pants. Pure class.
A passerby was kind enough to return me to a state of consciousness (I prefer to deny the more cynical argument that he just wanted to use the urinal himself) and I zipped up and headed out the door. No, I probably didn't wash my hands, get over it.
It was at this moment that my ability to say "No way, I've NEVER been kicked out of a bar, that's ridiculous" came to a crashing end. I walked out of the bathroom, and directly into a wall, face first. In front of at least two bouncers, who immediately asked me to leave the premises, and began escorting me to the exit. I attempted to defend myself by pointing out that the wall was painted black, and how could I be expected to see a black wall when it's night out, but they weren't interested.
Apparently not content to suffer my fate alone, I tapped Jessica and told her I was leaving on the way out, and the bouncers told her she had to leave too. I probably should have waited for her before I jumped in a cab and sped home, but instead left her crying angrily, yelling at the bouncers and the cashier "MY DAD IS THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY, HE WILL SUE YOUR ASSES!!!" (Sidenote: Her father is no such thing.)
And no worries, I was not the only one who accomplished their mission. Jessica spent most of the next day reliving her meals from the previous 16 hours, in technicolor. Shining moment for her was probably when she had to ask her mother to pull over on the side of the highway so she could vomit just one more time. Making our parents proud, eh?