Thanks to a vague reference by one of my best friends on a
facebook post, I have been fielding messages regarding one of the most
ridiculously stupid, humiliating nights of my life. So here it is, laid out
there for everyone to see. The whole story. The story of the night I beat the
living hell out of myself.
It happened a while back, maybe 7 or 8 years ago. My good
friend Wendy and someone else we worked with at the time whose name is also
Wendy, and I left work and headed off to a hole in the wall bar where the drinks
are strong and cheap. It was hot that day and I gulped down three screw drivers
right off the bat. I admit, this was stupid, but I was thirsty and it was happy
hour. This means that the drinks that were normally $2.50, already an amazing
deal, especially since the drinks were heavy on cheap vodka and light on orange
juice were now $1.25. I mean the drinks are so strong they’re translucent. After my initial thirst quenching binge, I was
averaging about four an hour. The price was right and I was just in the mood to
drink. Feeling that I was nearing the point of no return, I handed Wendy my
wallet for safe keeping. You may be wondering why I did this. Let me explain.
Apparently when my brain is swimming in liquor it believes that I am a very
wealthy person and everyone is my friend. I am a bartender’s dream. Being the
good friend that she is, when it appears that I am channeling my imaginary
trust fund, Wendy holds my wallet. She’s awesome like that.
After several hours, I noticed that Wendy is missing. Apparently
the party was moving to a different bar and I was riding with fake Wendy, but I
was unaware of this. I turn to fake Wendy and ask her where Wendy went. She
looks confused.
“Umm. I’m right here.”
“Noooooooo, fake Wendy. Where’s MY Wendy.”
“Oh, we’re heading over to Rodeo. She just left.”
Here’s where I panic. I know she has my wallet and I also
know that if I arrive home without it, Dewie is going to murder me. I run out
of the bar just in time to see Real Wendy getting into her car. As I step down
out of the doorway my flip flop gets caught on the metal grate door mat thingy
and I fall face first into the concrete. I actually knock myself unconscious. When
I come to, the owner of the bar is kneeling over me. He was a biker type fellow
with long, gray, wavy hair, and the porch light was shining through his hair creating
kind glowing halo around his face. In my barely conscious, drunken state I
looked him in the eye and muttered, “Oh my God, was I wrong? Are you Jesus? Am
I dead?” To which he laughed hysterically and continued to hold a wet towel to
my bleeding mouth. Meanwhile, fake Wendy is horrified and real Wendy who is
barely visible behind Weegie (the bar owner) has fallen to her knees with frenzied
laughter. My head slowly clears and I realize what just happened.
Fake Wendy says, “Maybe we should just take her home.”
To which I stupidly reply, “Nah, I’m fine. Who’s driving me?”
To which real Wendy says, “Go get in my car. I got this.”
I slowly get up and
head in that direction. On the ride over
to Rodeo it suddenly dawns on me that I can’t feel my teeth. Thinking I left
them on the front stoop of the bar, I turn to real Wendy, smile really big and
ask her if I still have all my teeth. She recoils, which scares me until she
says, “Don’t bleed in my car.” And I realize that the face was a reaction to my
BLOODY teeth, not missing ones. We
arrive at the new bar and real Wendy turns to me before we get out, hands me a
napkin and says through giggles, “You still have blood on your face. Oh and fix
your hair.”
As we walk up to the door, real Wendy is walking a few steps
behind me. The door is glass, but blacked out with some sort of tinting which
my stupid swimming brain registers as “open.” It was not. I walked right into
the door. I don’t mean I bumped it. I walked into it with all the confidence of
simply walking over a threshold. With my face. I vaguely remember the bouncer
snorting with laughter before I once again, you guessed it, lost consciousness.
I had managed to knock myself out twice in one night. Real Wendy is actually
shaking with laughter and can barely stand as she “helps” me into the bar and
parks me at a table.
I remember very little from that night after that point,
other than there was a strange step up into the bathroom that once again caused
me to bite it, but that time was physically unharmed, not that I would have
noticed an extra bruise or two.
**RIP Weegie. We miss you.**
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