Matt – Balls 6-8
5:45 P.M.
It’s been a long day, and it’s about to be an even longer night with nothing but the repulsive yet titillating idea of going to Balls from 6 to 8.
My only preparation included throwing on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, because who gives a fuck? It’s Balls. It’s also crucial that I gathered my crew of friends who have similar expectations of blacking the fuck out and smoking enough cigarettes to give an elephant emphysema, and we headed out just early enough to be the first alcoholics in line.
As soon as the door opens we simultaneously bumrush the bar as if the place is packed, yet we’re the only ones here. Rock (only rookies don’t know his name) has our drink order memorized, so it’s no surprise that it’s only been 15 minutes and I’m five drinks deep. Wait. Does my watch really say it’s only 6:10 pm? Fuck me.
The drinks are still flowing and the crowd has gone from 8 to 80 in a matter of seconds. There are people everywhere.
A small Asian girl next to me is trying to add me to her Snapstory, while the guy sitting next to me has a hat on that he must have been squeezing for about 4 years to make the bill as awfully coned and shitty-looking as possible.
I look at my watch again, and it looks like hieroglyphics. When the fuck did I get a watch that reads time in hieroglyphics? I need to get out of here and I need to urinate. Maybe no one will notice if I just unzip my pants right here at the bar…
NO. No, you’re better than that.
It’s time to get the fuck out of here.
I ask the bouncer at the door what time it is right before I walk out.
“It’s 7:15.”
I wonder if Daniel and Jake ever made it out?
Daniel – Grog
I knew going to mid with Jake was a bad idea. Seriously, he’s actually the king of Facey. He knows everyone. Now I’m stuck trying to yank him away from all the facey hoes and disgracey bros he keeps stopping to talk to. That would make a great party theme. Adding it to my list.
There’s no way he knows that group of guys doing orgo review inside Tijuana. Like they’re obviously freshmen. Whatever. I just want to finally get to Grog so I can sing “Ignition (Remix)” three times in one night.
Oh, look, I know people in the window at Balls. Now Jake has to wait for me. It’s like when you put customer service on hold. Alright, let’s go.
One-in-one-out? Bullshit. Let’s go to the back.
Sees crying girl on the side of Flaco’s.
She should get some plantains, they fix everything.
These stairs are gonna collapse on us. I really don’t understand how drunk girls walk up and down these rickety ass stairs in heels, or sober girls at that. They deserve medals.
A $7 cover for under? Oh please, child, I wish you knew how much I was about to spend. Sleeves down. Leggo.
Alright, Jake’s getting two pitchers, no cups and I’m gonna take a lap. Hipsters at the center table. Ratchets in the front by the DJ and overly excited girls on the platforms. Frat stars along the bar. JAPs in the booths by the windows. Typical.
Got my pitcher. Let’s go be creepy.
“AY! MUST BE THE MONAYY!”
What? This girl wants to dance with me? First try. Okay. I’m going with it.
“Running my hands through my fro, bouncin’ on 24s.”
They really only play white-people-shouting music here. I should be focusing on this girl, or at least my pitcher. I’m just sick of “Talk Dirty to Me.”
I think I know this girl. Maybe I had class with her, or maybe she’s just always here too. Who’s that? My crew just showed up! Sorry, ma’am, nice grinding on ya.
Whoops. Bouncer saw my Fruit Stripe band when I was giving bro hugs (two pats on the back with your right hand. Duh.)
At least it’s early enough that the Pizza By the Slice line will be empty. Good thing I still have my BOGO coups. Best night evah.
I’m out. Good luck, Jake, wherever you are…
Jake – Grog
Is that Daniel getting kicked out by security? The last time I saw someone removed from Grog it was because they took a shit in the urinal. I think to myself, “He looks way too constipated for that to have been the situation.”
Yep. It is. We give each other an awkward high five and he tells me to go fuck myself. “It’s too early to consider that,” I yell back.
The bartender regrets to inform me that wells are no longer free. I ask for six vodka sodas, pour some Mio in it for my boys and wink at the shawty next to me who is clearly impressed.
I hand the bartender my card, hoping they don’t take Discover. (I get a lot of free drinks for this reason, thanks Discover!)
He tells me it’s a $10 minimum and my tab is only at $1.50. I tell him to go fuck himself and he tells me “It’s too early to consider that.” We fist pound and he’s my boy.
I head over to the middle tables to play a quick game of thumper. Every girls sign is the handjob motion, the first game ends immediately and everyone drinks. I look around and find myself surrounded by sixth years and baby DGs. I get it now.
After the seventh time hearing “Semi-charmed Life,” I can no longer find my friends. I go ahead and close my tab. I’ve ordered a drink for at least ten different people who are all blacked out, I’m so fucked. My tab is at $8.00, and I quickly consider applying for a bullshit masters program so I can do this for one more year.
I order two kamikaze shots for the girls next to me and close out. The bartender asks if I want to stick around and take these two girls home. I look him in dead in the forehead and say “Dude, they’re both wearing Von Dutch hats. He swiftly replies, “So, what’s the problem?”
Jesus Christ, I wish Debora could have witnessed that exchange. That bih is probably studying.
Debora – Library West
If Cantina plays “Clarity” one more time I will lose my mind. I’ve been drinking coffee almost nonstop for the last 12 hours, and I can no longer be held accountable for my actions. Sanity starts running low after you’ve made four trips to Starbucks and been coincidentally forced to wait behind people ordering from their “secret menu.” If you wanted dessert you should have gone to Krispy Kreme. Order the pike roast and get the fuck out of my way.
After buying my aggressively mediocre cup of coffee and settling back into my seat, I become hyperaware of the sounds everyone around me is making. The basement is so quiet sometimes that silence becomes loud and you can basically hear people blink their eyes.
I can now point out every mouth breather, every gum chewer and every asshole with a cold who forgot to bring tissues. Please blow your nose before I punch you in the eye, your sniffling is driving me up the walls.
I’d do unmentionable things to no longer have to study. I’d do even worse things for a drink.
Oh. My. God. CHICKEN CURRY? CHICKEN FUCKING CURRY? Who brings curry ANYTHING to the library inside a Tupperware container bigger than their laptop? Pretty sure there’s a sign out front that mentions something about this, and if this kid doesn’t put his curry nightmare away, I’m gonna grab that sign and hit him over the head with it.
Oh, and that just makes me realize I haven’t eaten anything in the last 15 hours. It’s only a matter of time before my stomach begins making noises similar to those emitted by a motor engine. Then I’ll be the one who has to ignore glares from people who value absolute silence.
Okay focus on your paper, idiot. The sooner you bullshit through these 12 pages, the sooner you can buttchug a bottle of Barefoot. (Only the finest for mama.)
Let’s go. You can do this.
“The oil wealth of Nigeria has led to a decline in liberal democracy, destabilization of the currency, corruption and suicidal thoughts in my brain because I can no longer stand to be in this godforsaken library fuuuuuckkkkmeeeeeeeeeeaorefsdfnjdqosda123.asda3…………………..”
I wonder if Cafe Risque is hiring.
And where the hell is Kelli? I thought she had an exam tomorrow too…
Kelli – Rowdy Reptile
I’m using the stair master at Southwest in my heels next time to practice for this place. This should be an Olympic event. Summer or winter? It’s definitely harder in the winter. I’ll take it up with the IOC in the morning.
Wow, is that entire group of guys cutting the whole line? Who are they? That one’s in a bathing suit. EXPLAIN YOURSELVES! Screw this, I’m cutting too.
Really? No one said anything? I better write down that I can do this in case I don’t remember tonight.
Yes. I see it. The front door…
Wait. There is literally no room in here. Is this a fire hazard? Is this a bar for ants? I really need to stop doing the Zoolander voice when I’m drunk.
Good thing I know like half of the people in here… or wait, is that a bad thing? Whatever. Personal space is a daylight thing.
I’m about to burst. I have to break my seal. And is that really a thing? That means waiting 30 minutes due to the line of girls waiting for the SINGLE female restroom. Like, girl, it’s a single men’s bathroom too. No one’s judging. Also, why do girls fill toilet paper to the top of the toilet? Maybe they’re working on a papier-mâché sculpture.
Man, girls really love writing their sorority symbol all over things when they are drunk. But who wrote this thing about Destiny’s Child being the worst band of all time? Relax. Not the forum for this.
I need to ask someone, anyone…why is that basketball hoop thing right there in the middle of this place? Is this Chuck E. Cheese?! Yeeeahhh, def gonna have to show my skills for a sec while I wait in this ridiculous line. Does Chuck E. Cheese serve alcohol? That would be a solid Sunday Funday.
Maybe I should head over to Cantina? I can usually find Molly around there somewhere.
Molly – Cantina
Look at yourself in the eyes. Pick up your goddamn head, ignore the vomit-painted sink that’s hanging on its hinges, and tell yourself you got this. It’s time to leave the bathroom.
You got this, Molly. Now get out there and take a lap, you drunk bitch.
Shit. Why did I look down? I haven’t worked at Cantina in over a year, but the bathroom floor paste of toilet paper, tears and vodka sodas will apparently never quit. Just like the token blacked out girl eating someone’s orphaned queso, or the Tinder success story grinding to #Selfie.
I’ve been debating in this crusty bathroom for too long. I gotta make a move. Front or back?
The front is uncomfortably intimate. But I could perch myself on the back of a booth, along with the 27 other jorts-clad wasted girls, until last call. It’s also prime people-watching real estate.
Via: 101cantina.com
Damnit, I forgot to take a lap. And I think I’m too hammered for anything but pretend socializing. If I go out back I’ll just be convinced that I’m “not that drunk,” take six more mystery Kool-Aid shots and a take few more laps for good measure. All in that order. It’s predictable and I like it.
Oh my God. They just started playing “Clarity,” I fucking love this song. I could definitely stay out a few more hours.
Wait, there’s no way it’s already 1 am. I wonder if Gyt still has a table at Salty?
Gytis – Front of Salty
It’s not “Salty.” It’s “Dog.”
If you really want to get crazy it’s “The Derg.” That’s just crazy enough to work.
I’m stoked. Beer’s a’flowin,’ my confidence is a’growin’ and my speech is a’slowin.’ I can’t stop thinking that I should’ve taken a nap after happy hour, but thoughts of the past are futile at this point. The only thing on my mind right now is “make it out of this crazy credit card game without putting myself $50 in the hole for buying all of my friends zipperheads.”
Besides the fact I need that $50 to help pay for Bonnaroo supplies, I probably don’t need the zipperhead at all anyway. I’m sloshed.
Sloshed, soaked and dancing, that is. I make my way through the cig smoke-filled gaps between people and pool tables to get the jukebox.
The jukebox is serious business around these parts. Kool and the Gang, Skynyrd, anything that rocks and grooves is acceptable. I can fucking dig it. Any Bieber bullshit gets turned off in seconds. There’s always room for a couple of sing-a-longs. I’m not going to get pissed off about the guy that’s about to throw on “Piano Man” or “American Pie” to get this whole place singin’.
“Wagon Wheel”? Damn… Again? I hope Morgan didn’t put it on.
Morgan – Back of Dog
I was one “Mama rock me” away from spiraling into banjo-driven insanity, and without fail, someone threw it on again. Not that I have anything against “Wagon Wheel.” Hell, in a place like this I’d probably be dismembered by the pastel/plaid mafia if I said otherwise.
Dear God. It smells like Old Spice and failed financial accounting exams in here.
Are there any free barstools? Of course not, just shoulder-width gaps between bearded men, and I don’t really feel like sandwiching myself between a pair of sweat-soaked polo shirts for a few swigs of vodka soda.
What about booths? One. But shit. Am I confident enough to make that move?
People are practically jammed into the other ones. And they’re all laughing and playing quarters like they’re competing for a role in a Bud Light ad. How does it look for me to just roll two deep into a fucking booth like I own the place? I can’t subject myself to that kind of scrutiny. This pressure is too much. I’m going to pretend to fix my makeup in the bathroom.
One stall? One fucking stall? And no mirror? What is this, Hess Express? Everyone in this line looks like they want to kill me and compliment my shoes at the same time.
God. Am I smiling too much? Do I look sincere or bitchy? I can’t tell. I need another drink. NO. I need food.
Courtney – Relish
It feels like it’s been an hour since we’ve been standing outside. When is everybody going to get their asses in gear? Oh gosh, don’t look. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look…
“Courtney, are you staring at Relish again?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
I quickly make moves over to the red sign illuminating the fresh burgers that patiently await me. It’s like I’m a bug staring into the light, except this one won’t bring me to my death. This Relish burger will be my resurrection.
I can’t remember the last time I ate. With the way I feel, it must have been weeks. Probably closer to a month.
“Hi, um, are you in line?”
The line can’t be this long. Don’t they know that I’m practically famished? That I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life? It’s okay Court, focus on the menu. Eyes on the prize.
The question remains, do I get a double patty or a single? A fried egg or avocado? And wrapped in lettuce? Definitely not getting that. I’m no amateur.
And the fries…oh, the fries.
There’s no time to be distracted by the suspicious people wearing costumes in the back. It’s my time to shine.
“May I take your order?”
Sheer and utter panic.
“Single burger with cheese,” I blurt/slur.
“With lettuce, tomato, tomato relish, pickles, banana peppers, avocado, and… that’s it.”
My burger has arrived. It’s my moment and no one else’s. And it all makes sense now. This is why I dress up, pregame before the pregame, go to the pregame, pay a ridiculous cover at Midtown, lightly socialize and stumble around in high heels.
I do it for the Relish.
If you’re wondering why we skipped good ole’ Fat Daddy’s…we’ve been there, done that, got the hangover.
