The other night I went out to TheBar with a few of my buddies. I had been pre-gaming at the apartment for a while and thus already had a pretty good buzz by the time we arrived. It was the usual, atmospherically subdued Saturday night. Mostly regulars a few random people. After a few beers I decided to spice up the night.
“Double shot of Jameson, Coke back.” Let’s get this party started.
I’m going to pause here and explain something to those of you who don’t know me; Jameson is my prodigal mistress. Beautiful and soft-spoken, warm and alluring, comforting, sensual. On our first meeting, I immediately fell in love with her. Our love took a turn for the worse when I discovered much to my chagrin that beneath her seductive facade she is a treacherous harridan, who desires nothing more than to beguile me into doing things I would normally avoid like a syphilitic, Taiwanese whore.
Despite my rocky relationship, like a battered wife I keep returning and even with the knowledge that no good could conceivably come of this, I continued to drink. A lot.
As the night progressed, I became more intoxicated than I realized. Judging by the reactions of others I was slurring rather badly, or speaking Sanskrit, I couldn’t really be sure in my drunken stupor, but either way, communication was breaking down rather quickly. This is always bad times as it leads me to become increasingly angry with the people around me and their inability to adapt to my new vernacular. I become electively isolated and am forced to find ways to amuse myself, and that’s when I get into trouble.
My buddy, TheBartender who knows me rather well has become an expert in recognizing the coming storm. Realizing the impending incident, he suggested that I go home. If by suggested I mean demanded. He told me he would get me a cab and pay for it. I was insulted by his insinuation that I was no longer in control and in a vain attempt to salvage the remaining shreds of my dignity, I insisted that I didn’t need his charity. I informed him that I would instead take the Brown Line home. Which would have been fine, if the Brown Line were running. Or went anywhere near my apartment. TheBartender, tired of arguing with a drunken idiot, rolled his eyes, did the responsible thing, walked me out side and hailed a cab. He shoved me into the back of the car, and gave the driver a fistful of cash and my address.
Increasingly more resentful I began grumbling and complaining, announcing that I was not an amateur but a seasoned veteran. Only I am entitled to determine when I have had enough. In order to prove this point, to no one in particular, I told the cabbie he could keep the money if he dropped me off at the after hours bar up the street. Despite the fact that I was speaking the ancient language of Drunk and his native tongue seemed to be from somewhere in the Middle East, he nodded and we proceeded to the Stop & Drink.
When I arrived and looked quizzically at the bouncer, who requested my ID, he examined me and said “Keep it under control, or you’re gone.” I slurred something at him, nodded in compliance and stumbled inside. I ordered a beer and watched passively as the haze descended upon me and the night deteriorated before my eyes.
I’m not sure exactly how it happened but I suddenly became involved in a loud argument with a man much larger then myself. When it turned into shoving, one of the bouncers, who had apparently been keeping an eye on me, intervened and escorted the both of us out of the bar.
Once outside, it would seem as if neither of us noticed the occupied cop car just down the street. Upon being released by the bouncer I hurled obscenity infused insults at the other guy. I don’t really understand my logic as I mentioned earlier that he was much larger than myself. He reacted quite unpleasantly, put his head down and charged me like a line backer making an open field tackle.
I didn’t have adequate time for my booze soaked brain to assess and react to the rapidly unfolding progression of events and this lapse allowed him to connect squarely. My lack of preparation, my intoxication and the force with which he hit me hit me caused something unimaginable to occur.
I don’t really understand the biology behind it but I immediately crapped myself.
He literally knocked the shit out of me.
Laying in a pile of my own feces I momentarily lost consciousness.
………………………………………………………………………………………………
Somewhere in the distance blue and red lights flashed and unintelligible voices filled the air. My head was pounding as if there were hundreds of tiny monkeys inside of it alternately kicking my skull and my brain. Lying still, I glanced around, trying to decipher my surroundings and piece together what had just happened. One of the cops, with the assistance of a bouncer, had the other guy against the car, palms down on the hood and was patting him down. The second cop was leaning over me yelling something.
As my head began to clear I realized he was asking me to identify the rather pungent odor that was now enveloping me. I swallowed my pride and tried to explain that the surprisingly forceful impact from the other gentleman’s assult had caused my bowels to release and regretfully I had defecated upon my person, but I imagine it came out more like “I shit myself.” The cop looked doubtful and confused as he helped me to my feet. Once I was standing I could tell by the look on his face, that he now knew I was telling the truth.
After slowly backing away and consulting with his partner. I was finally allowed to “get the hell out of here.”
I waddled around the corner and hailed a cab. Getting in I mused that for once I would not be the one complaining about the odor.
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