The Life of an Attention Whore

Friday, March 21, 2008

Drink-o-Meter

Drink-o-meter formula:

(rewards + deductions) x 100 = drink-o-meter score
total incidents
Thursday is my favorite night to go out. Clubs aren't over crowded. Lines exist solely for the ugly and unconnected. And thankfully the majority of the "bridge and tunnel" crowd remains in their respective landfills.

The downside to going out on Thursdays is that my drinking buddy "Kielbasa" has to work until everyone clears out of the restaurant where I used to work*. As a result, the Thursday routine involves me hanging out at my former job until Kielbasa is done, then catching a cab to Chelsea.

*If you've read my NYPD Eve story, then you know my life has been dominated for the past 10 months by my job. As of the present, I am no longer working there due to personal conflict with GM (the manager), specifically regarding his immature douchebaggery and transition from fun flirty friend/manager to tyrant with a rod up his ass the approximate length and girth of Peter North. Instances in which GM and I are in the same room involve a degree of avoidance rivaled only by the relationship between gay men and pussy.


When I arrived at the restaurant after midnight there were still a little over a dozen Malakas (that means "Greeks" for those of you who unfamiliar with the language) dining on the standard diet of feta and gyros. AM came up to me, gave me a kiss on the cheek and asked what I would be drinking for the night. (One of the many reasons I loved my former job) I jokingly mentioned to Kielbasa that if GM came around he'd probably try to make me pay for my drink. To which she responded, "He's been in the office with [friend] all night smoking. He doesn't even know what's going on."

Drink-o-meter: +1 (consumption)

Despite the fact that it was nearing 12:30 and the restaurant was supposed to close at 12, the band was still playing and one guy was dancing in a style that resembled a geriatric Johnny Cage attempting a bicycle kick, but failing miserably and landing in a Donkey Kong-esque ground pound. Fortunately, his primitive dance moves inspired the band to cease playing and the larger of the two remaining tables departed. And for the first time in months, GM did something nice for the staff...he turned up the lights on the floor indicating that we were closing and could get ready to leave. (Or maybe the dim lights were fucking with his drug addled mind) Unfortunately, the remaining table was immune to such subtleties and signaled for their waiter to bring them another round of coffee and desserts. What a bunch of mother fuckers.

At this point Kielbasa pointed out to me who was sitting amongst the table of assholes - the infamous the old maid of C6 hereafter referred to as 'cuntface'.

Cut back to six months earlier at my birthday party with my coworkers.

Kielbasa and her sister Polska along with 7 of my other coworkers threw me a birthday party which congregated at their apartment before heading into the city. Not long after we arrived we noticed a banging coming from the floor.

"It's the bitch from C6. She always hits the ceiling when we walk with the high heels."

Being the perfect angels that we are, everyone took off their shoes and we gently padded around the apartment in socks and bare feet like Jesus himself. Nonetheless, cuntface demon bitch from C6 continued to bang on the ceiling with her scythe. At this point Lucky tells Frodo to go downstairs, knock on her door and say that he lives in B6 and she's making too much noise. A few minutes later, there's a knock on our door, and it's Cuntface and Frodo.

"You're making too much noise. Me and the gentleman here from B6 can both hear you so you need to quiet down. I will eat your soul and unleash the demons of the fiery inferno upon Earth unless you are as completely still and silent as a dead baby."


At this point Polska pulls Frodo back into her apartment and tells Cuntface that he's part of our party - leaving her dumbfounded as Frodo sheepishly smiles and grabs his drink from the counter. Lucky then turns to Cuntface while flipping through a wad of cash, "Here's a hundred bucks - go away."

The hag attempts to bitch for a few more seconds before realizing she's been left speechless as Helen Keller, then slams the door and walks back downstairs - sans money. I guess the devil only takes bribes in the form of souls.


After realizing who we were dealing with, it was obvious that leaving anytime soon would be highly unlikely, so resigned to bitter defeat, me, Kielbasa, the rest of the staff, management and owner sat at the bar waiting for Cuntface & Co. to leave.

Drink-o-meter: -1 (time between drinks)

Around 1:30 Cuntface & co. finally departed, and as soon as the last person stepped out the door, Kielbasa and I jumped into my car and sped off towards Mansion. We arrived in the city a little before 2 and found parking right away. And being treated like the VIP's we are, we walked straight into the club bypassing all the suckers who were being forced to wait in the cold until they either gave up or conceded to buying a bottle.

*Note to those of you getting suckered into buying a bottle...the door person is essentially telling you one of three things.
1) We're packed and only letting people in that are going to spend a lot of money.
2) You're a group of guys
3) You're ugly and we really don't want you in here scaring all the pretty people

Seeing as we were none of the above, Kielbasa and I walked right in and headed for the table where PoleDance's friend was getting bottles.

Suddenly I felt a hand grabbing my waist.


"A drink for a dance?"

A short guy had propositioned me and was already moving in for the second condition of the proposal. Had I been drunk I would've taken the drink. Actually I probably would've danced with him without the $15 drink. Since I was sober, I declined the two-for-one to get roofied and groped for free. Stupid Me.

Drink-o-meter: -1 (declining a drink)

Being a good friend, Kielbasa grabbed my hand and pulled me towards her removing me from the dancing Danny DiVito at my side. As I got pulled through the crowd, I tripped and was caught by a kind gentleman. After catching me he immediately proceeded to grind with me as I desperately looked around for Kielbasa and PoleDance to come to my rescue.

"Sorry," I said smiling and pushing the guy away, "I don't dance."

Guy: Do you want a drink?
Me: No, I'm okay I'm driving tonight.
Guy: Just have a drink. Help yourself to anything on the table (he gestures to a table with several bottles of Johnny Black)
Me: No I'm alright. I'm working on behaving myself.
Guy: It's just one drink. Help yourself to whatever you want.
Me: No, it's alright, I don't drink scotch it makes me sick

"That's fine, may I please buy you a drink," he said taking my hand and starting to pull me toward the bar. One drink turned into three or four and we left and headed to his car, and we drove away some place real far.

Oh sorry, I got carried away - at the point where this guy started offering me free reign on the bottle or to buy me drinks, the classic Sublime tune started playing in the back of my head ('Date Rape') and I realized as much as I like drinking, I'm not a huge fan of GHB or transparent ploys to get me drunk and take me home. After being repeatedly shot down, he finally wandered away and I was left free to enjoy the company of my friends.

Drink-o-meter: -1 (declining a drink)

Left to our own devices, Kielbasa, PoleDance and I started dancing with each other and PoleDance's friends who looked like the offspring of PeeWee Herman and Kanye West - in a good way (strangely enough, I love a man in suspenders). PoleDance also told us that she had seen our coworker TheOne earlier. Almost on cue, TheOne appeared, and seeing me empty handed dragged me to the bar insisting that me being sober was making him uncomfortable. Returning with a drink for me and a drink for Kielbasa, dancing resumed and I started talking to TheOne's friend who was also Greek.

Drink-o-meter: +1 (consumption)

He joked with me about working in a Greek dominated location, and I responded that it was actually a lot of fun, and that the Greeks were growing on me. (That doesn't mean I'll be taking it in the ass anytime soon though - sorry Malakas) I also shared the vital phrase I had learned "Eme methezmeni" - or "I'm drunk". I had also learned how to say "Nice shoes...wanna fuck?" but was sober enough to refrain from saying that. As a result of my first phrase, Friend and I started dancing.

Drink-o-meter: -1 (executing good judgement)

Not long after that, my friend (hereinafter refered to as DateRapist) started wandering back to our table, and I immediately switched from dance mode to the head bob in an attempt to deter DateRapist. At this point I had finished my drink and was once again standing empty handed.

DateRapist: Have a drink.
Me: No thanks. I'm fine
DateRapist: I want to dance with you
Me: Sorry, I don't really dance
DR: Have a drink you'll relax
Me: No I'm good ...
DR: Have a drink. I want you to get drunk so I can take advantage of you

So much for transparent ploys...on the bright side, at least he was honest?

Drink-o-meter: -1 (I think the machine just exploded)

The rest of the night was pretty uneventful. Kielbasa, PoleDance, TheOne & Friend and Kanye Crew continued to dance all night and get drunker and drunker, chugging Black Label straight from the bottle. A good portion of my night was spent having awkward sober conversations with drunk people and dodging DateRapist and another promoter who kept trying to make out with me.

At around 3:45am, PoleDance gathered the masses and decided we were all going to Suzy Wong in honor of the fact that I'm asian, and we all headed out the door. In the process, of leaving, Kielbasa and I got separated from PoleDance and TheOne & Friend ended up staying at Mansion. By the time we got to Suzy's it was 4 and sadly enough we weren't hot or connected enough to bypass the closed doors so Kielbasa and I headed home.

Drink-o-meter score:
(2 + -5) x 100% = -42.86%
7
As the results indicate, the sample exemplified an overall negative drinking experience. The score exhibits a level of sobriety in which subject was able maintain judgement and have alertness to the of motives of others. Additionally, this score is subject to no margin of error due to the fact that records were accurately recalled, indicating a level of sobriety in which there is no memory loss. In conclusion, subject can drive home.
And that my friends is the point of the drink-o-meter.

1 Comments:

At 1:33 AM, Anonymous Kerri said...

Great work.

 

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