Gather ’round, gather ’round, kiddies… it’s time for another one of Uncle Sean’s drunk stories… this tale is includes everything – intrigue, comedy, romance, adventure, tragedy… at least the way I remember it does…
Saint Patrick’s Day is one for the textbooks, here in Detroit, and over in Chicago… maybe some places in New York City, and definitely over in Ireland (or wherever in the world an Irishman may own a pub). But this story doesn’t take place on St. P Day. It happens a few days before, but in the spirit of the inebriated hullabaloo, it may have well been.
It was the first trivia tournament my team and I partook in. It was hosted in the day by a night club I had not previously visited, and we were all pretty nervous going in. We drove in one car and had the intention of letting Uncle Chris worry about getting us home since he is wont to be a teetotaler. A few drink specials and missed trivia questions later, we were many sheets to the wind, and came the closest we ever will to winning the grand prize of $1000. (More importantly, we were thisclose to each getting a mini-fridge.) All we would have had to do was bet zero points, but I digress.
As per usual on any trivia night, all the other teams up and left, except for the first place team, and another team we befriended through the season. All the TJ’s (trivia jockeys) were still there, and soon enough, the owner of the trivia company was buying everyone shots.
Flashes of highlights:
- Intrigue! We played trivia… We could have won… Mini-fridges!
- Comedy! A team of Miller Lite marketers descended upon the place, adorned in their green belly shirts and skirts. The day was turning to night, so the night club atmosphere was developing. A thought popped in my head and I lead a friend from the other team over to the gathering of emerald ladies. “Excuse me,” I began, “my friend Richie would like to take a picture with you all.” He was embarrassed, but he stood there like a champ as the bevy of beauties surrounded him on the short staircase. I backed up, and took another step back, sizing the photo op up. I raised my fingers and mimicked a camera. “Click,” I said as I pantomimed pressing a button. The liquor squad did not like that one bit and they scattered from his side. His jaw dropped. One of those departing chimed, “Did you get a good mental picture?” No, but I got a good laugh. (I wish I said something about having a photographic memory.)
- Romance! I know the Cupid Shuffle, and I did not know that I knew it.
- Adventure! I got sick and managed to stop myself twice, but one time I couldn’t, and it ended up under the table. I proceeded to leave, and got sick again immediately upon reaching the cold air, a few more times. I found Uncle Chris waiting outdoors as well. He was equally as sick as I. We tried to head to the sports bar next door to get some food, but it was too hot in there. So we walked to Aunt Venessa and Jess’ home. About 4 to 5 miles away. In about 4º to 5º weather (it probably wasn’t that cold, but for literary purposes, it works).
- Tragedy! Chris is a drunk klepto (did I not mention the drink specials and free shots?), but he doesn’t take anything other than glasses from bars. He had one in each of his cargo pants’ side pockets – one from the night club and one from the sports bar. On the long walk, we passed a taxicab company and knocked on the window. They told us to call, but neither of us had our phone. During the trek, he stumbled and fell a few times, and didn’t break the glasses somehow. Yet upon reaching the park next to the final destination of home, he removed the glasses to look at them, and somehow dropped and broke them.
Okay, it’s not an altogether classic story, but it left me with some good mental pictures!
MORAL OF THE STORY: Always carry a spare roll of film for your brain.