Heyy LumPRGF M”IT’S THE LENIN SISTYERS
‘Gilbert what’re ya starin at
By the time my 21st birthday finally rolled around, it had been pretty well established that I was something of a problem drinker. To put that in perspective, it was my junior year in college. If a bunch of college kids think you’re a problem drinker, that’s saying something. But I was looking forward to turning 21, because that meant I could finally really start to drink the right way — the way God intended me to.
However, a big birthday blowout didn’t seem to be in the offing for me.
It seemed like my buddies sort of wanted to blow it off totally, because I had long since acquired the aforementioned reputation, and God only knew what kind of disgraceful episode a night of free drinks at bars for yours truly would entail.
Fortunately for me, there was a guy in our group who wasn’t so much in college as he was in the Navy. And Mark wasn’t just in the Navy — he was on a submarine, and I guess those guys are known as extra psycho. This guy fancied himself quite the dignitary at one of the local nudie bars, and once he realized that my upcoming Big Day was being met with anemic response, he stepped up and insisted that I mark my 21st as his very special guest at Pacers, on Midway Drive across from the Sports Arena, in the shitty Loma Portal section of San Diego. Nudie bars and naked-lady stuff in general had always fascinated me, so while I was a little leery of what this guy’s VIP treatment might entail, I was pumped to go along.
A couple of the stoner buds in tow, we headed out for the big night. Keep in mind also that there had been considerable “pre-gaming” going on that afternoon. I don’t know whose idea it was, but it seemed like a good idea at the time to stop off and load up at Arby’s on the way to the nudie bar. If I recall correctly, Arby’s had some kind of promotion going to compete with the concurrent “2 Big Macs for $2” deal at McDonald’s. The bottom line is I probably loaded up with 4 or 5 pounds of processed reconstituted glop, inhaled hastily in the back seat of my roommate’s ’82 Civic.
I don’t know how long we actually lasted at Pacers. I do know that Mark’s idea of really doing it up right for a guy’s 21st included forcibly pouring into me a lot of alcoholic drinks that even I considered questionable. The kinds that featured a lot of watermelon liquer, and that you set on fire. And they all had porno names — there was the Screaming Orgasm, the Pussy Lips, the Throbbing Boner, the Money Shot, the Double Penetration…I’m sure there were others.
After a couple or 30 of those, I somehow made it to the men’s room, where all of the Chocolate Fetishes — along with the 5 pounds of Arby’s salinated meat-product agglomerate (with zesty cheesy BBQ sauce!) — promptly wound up on the floor of one of the stalls.
I take it I emerged from the men’s room around the time one of the bouncers, with a kind of resigned annoyance, took Mark aside and said “Man, you gotta get your friend outta here. He’s scaring the girls.”
These days, I’ve managed to steer clear permanently of the watermelon liquer. But I’m still working on the scaring-girls thing.
From: Business Services, Helpdesk
Sent: Thursday, September 29, 2011 3:50 PM
To: [gov’t office] -All Users
Subject: Building Restroom Cleaning
Business Services has received a number of complaints, from the Department of [redacted] housekeeping staff, concerning *** staff’s disregard for the closed sign during restroom cleaning (various floors). If the closed sign is up and housekeeping verbally requests that you find another restroom, please, go to another floor to use the facilities. It is disrespectful and discourteous to bypass the sign and use the facilities while they’re in the process of cleaning.
If you have any questions, please contact the Business Services Help Desk at xxx-3100.
Thank you in advance for your cooperation!
insulting someone’s intelligence right off the bat, whether playfully-intentioned or not, is neither coy nor funny; it’s a turn-off. just fyi. while i agree that “humor is subjective” (and i think actually i have a pretty good sense of humor), but you might want to make sure any future attempts have a bit more universal appeal.
also: no matter how engaging your “opener” is, it means crap if the other person is simply not attracted to you. you could use any one of those generic, lame opening lines, and if a girl found you attractive, she’d reply. i hate to sound shallow, but those are the basic rules of attraction.
also: admitting to reading those cheesy internet dating how-tos? kind of pathetic.
One of the most unpleasant things about my stints at in-patient rehab places was knowing that I was highly unlikely to get any actual medical care should I wind up needing it. Actually, I thought that under any other circumstances I would certainly see a doctor to find out whether the abdominal aches were symptomatic of liver or some other organ damage, and why my feet now felt sort of numb all the time. But I dared not say a word, lest I incur the wrath of the vindictive, embittered sober miracles on staff at such places, who seemed to be salivating for me to accrue enough write-ups such that I could be “excused” (e.g., kicked out) or the program.
I spent 10 days in a “detox facility”, which was a rented 3-bedroom house in residential tract in one of the more run-down suburbs around here, staffed by a couple of tweakers who had glommed onto sustenance jobs in “the industry”. My first night there, I started to have withdrawal seizures, to which staff and other residents reacted with equal parts annoyance and bewilderment. Finally, someone called 911, much as someone might have had they found me unconscious in the bathroom at a house party. An ambulance came and got me and took me to a hospital about 10 minutes away, where I stayed overnight. In the morning a staffer from the detox place came and picked me up and brought me back to the facility.
A couple months later, I received a bill for around $3000 for the ambulance ride and the hospital stay.
Interestingly, about a week after the trip to the hospital, when such time was approaching that I would transfer from the detox place to another in-patient place, I was taken to some county-run clinic where I was given a test for tuberculosis. However, I got the sense that this was part of the established routine there, and not looked upon as an inconvenience or aberration.