A Night at Fat Daddy’s

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Scene opens up with Emma waiting impatiently in a long line outside of local bar, Fat Daddy’s. 

The Line

Obese Father’s. Overweight Patriarch’s. Pudgy Papa’s.

Ooh, Pudgy Papa’s, I like that one.

There’s nothing to do but come up with creative names or complain that my feet hurt while I stand in this ridiculous line.

Why am I even wearing heels to a place with arcade games in the corner?

I can’t believe I’ve been waiting in line for 20 minutes outside this bar. A year ago, this place didn’t even exist, now people are fighting – literally – to get inside.

Do I really want a slushy this badly? It’s hard to look attractive with a bright blue tongue or stained red teeth.

Do I really want to hear Shaggy played excessively loud? Well, yeah, I kind of do.

Please tell me the infamous Ryan Lochte and company is not about to skip this whole line.

Wait…girls still hound him for photos? There’s no way.

Whatever, I’m close enough to the front. I scan the line behind me, no sign of Luke.

I wonder if he’s already inside…

(Cut to Luke)

Slushies

I can’t feel my face.

This Daqcuiri has ruined everything I once cherished in the world.

With the straw at the bottom, I get nothing but liquor. Anything higher, and my brain becomes a shining ray of hope for environmentalists that the glaciers have not yet melted.

I want to leave, but must finish the beverage.

I can’t.

The pain on my brain grows stronger the faster I drink, but time drags on as I stand back to back with a girl I hooked up with sophomore year and face to face with a kid from my freshman writing class who still thinks it’s okay to discuss the professor’s unfair grading policies.

I can’t bear it much longer.

It’s awkward, embarrassing and cold enough to rival a Russian winter.

I tell myself I’ll never be here again but know I’ll be in the same situation next week.

Is that Matt over by the video games?

(Cut to Matt)

Games?

Why did I even bother going out tonight?

I should have stayed home; I wouldn’t have spent the $5 to get into this freaking place.

Well, since I don’t plan on talking to the NINE different groups of girls with 21st birthday signs around their necks taking tequila shots at the bar and all my friends are still in line…I might as well drop a dollar into this punching bag looking machine. What the hell is this thing even doing here? Am I in Chuck E. Cheese right now?

I want at least 100 free tokens for getting an A in Financial Accounting; I deserve at least that much for that bullshit.

Great, my friends just got here and now this stupid punching bag is hanging here, I guess I have to be THAT kid at the bar now.

Jake is laughing at me, what an asshole. I guess I’ll go latch onto him to make myself not look like I don’t know anyone here…

(Cut to Jake)

Last Call

God dammit, the “Ignition Remix” just came on. I can’t not sing this song.

I turn to the girl on my left and give her a real smooth “now usually I don’t do this, but umm…”

She gives me a real smooth “fuck off” smile.

One more shot of Jäger.

(♫ but hey pretty girl I’m feelin’ you, the way you do the things you do, reminds me of…?)

I put my head down and mumble that last part.

One more shot of Jäger.

Swallow it, you fairy.

Alright, Jake, try to close. Hmmm…the blacked out birthday girl? The freshman from my Human Sex class? The chick that was telling me how much she loves Avicii?

Bingo.

I’m picturing Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction yelling “PLAY LEVELS AGAIN! I DARE YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I DOUBLE DARE YOU!”

Fight through it, Jake. You’ve tolerated worse for a hand job.

I walk up to her and panic. Shit. Hurry, tell a joke, tell a joke, oh god.

“So, this guy is standing on the street, right? And he has a giant peach for a head…”

She walks away. Nice going.

I’m faded.

Is that Gytis trying to push the Pita Pit door open? Dude, just pull it.

I squeeze my phone out my pocket and desperately mass text: “be with meeeee.”

(Cut to Gytis)

Drunk Eating

This door won’t open… Damn.

Should I just go to Relish? Should I go through the Relish door and walk to Pita Pit?

Do I even want to eat?

I want a Cuban. Oh yes, I want a Cuban.

I walk over to Flaco’s.

Two Cubans? Seems crazy… crazy enough to work.

I read the description of the “Cuban Gator.” My God…

“One Cuban and one Cuban Gator please,” I tell the cashier.

I justify my decision to buy two sandwiches by saying I’ll keep one for later…

I know that won’t happen.

I stumble back to my humble abode, sandwiches in hand, wondering what the hell I’m going to throw on Netflix.

I look down at my phone. A text from Bruno: “After party?”

I’m not about it. Netflix it is.

Do I try to start “Lost” again? Bad idea. Last time I tried to do that after the bars, I almost had a brain aneurysm from confusion. Save that for a rainy day.

Before I know it I’m in my room, Cubans unwrapped and ready for consumption. I don’t even make it to my laptop before I pass out on my bed with both sandwiches on my chest, a bite taken out of both.

Successful night at Fat Daddy’s? I think so.

 

Image Courtesy of: Fat Daddy’s