**This will be an unusually long post, just to get the beginning of my story out of the way**
It was my night off from the bar and I had been on quite a few bad
dates lately, so I got dressed up and got my nails did. I literally was
thinking, “Tonight, I’m looking for trouble.” Because in my head,
trouble = fun. The more scandalous a story was, the better your night
went. (My friends and I may have been small disasters, I’m not denying
it…) So I messaged this guy that I wasn’t all that into, but knew he
would be down to go out. We met up at BWW and lo and behold the friend
he had brought with him was the hot guy I almost got to date in high
school. The friend and I literally were at a loss for words and
commenced in an awkward stare-down/ “Oh hey…” moment. That was my first
sign to turn around and go home. But I didn’t.
So then, we’re sitting there chatting and enjoying our beers, when
Date gets up to use the restroom. Which means that Awkward Friend and I
are sitting there alone. So we attempt to chat and I, well, I spill my
beer on him. – Now, I want you to remember that I am a bartender. I
serve drinks for a living. I DO NOT spill drinks for a living. Plus, I
like to think I was a graceful socialite. – So that would have been sign
No. 2 that the night should end. But I can’t just go home. I’m on a
mission, remember? A mission to find trouble.
So the awkwardness went on until we decided to move the party to a
martini bar. -A martini bar, that I literally found by bar wings in. A
martini bar where I kind of not really, but did date the main bartender.
And his best friend. Then his other friend (Pilot) became my friend
with benefits. Essentially, all of us were there frequently and had
established an odd relationship protocol where we were exceptionally
good friends that helped each other make horrible decisions. Because
they were fun and made for an excellent story the next day.- Well, we
get there and Bartender sees me right away and immediately makes my
favorite martini and hands me a shot of Patron. See? Good friends. Well,
I think Date was trying to outdo him and commenced ordering me all
kinds of tasty drinks.
Then he made the fateful suggestion of My Club. I can’t resist My
Club, especially when so few men are willing to go with me. It’s like
the most ghetto Mexican club to ever exist. Pilot used to take me, but
would also hide a knife in his boot and insist we were sober before
going in. But we’d always end up buying this drink they make &
illegally sell there (half vodka, half sprite – sold in empty water
bottles). G-H-E-T-T-O. There is just something so deliciously wild about
being the only white girl in a Mexican club that can dance the dances
and flirt back with the wanna-be vaqueros (perks of working at Mexican
bar).
But here’s where shit went from wild to ugly. I got pulled over on
the way. And after having been breathalyzed and being told that I was
twice the legal limit (damn bartender tolerance levels), I was
handcuffed and placed into the cop car. Scariest fucking thing ever. I
was literally shaking in my short shorts and tank. To make things even
better, I was shoeless because I had tried to pass the field sobriety
test barefoot.
Long story short, I spent the worst, most sleepless and freezing
night (and next day) of my life in jail. Like not just the holding cell,
but I was put in a cell with a woman that murdered a man when he
wouldn’t pay her after a night of prostitution. And another woman that
had violently assaulted a police officer with a knife.
They braided my hair while I cried and told them what a fuck-up I
was. looking back, they had been incredibly sweet to not slap me across
the face and say, “Oh, please.”
So that night in jail I pretty much resolved to not drink again for a
long time and was trying to make every bargain I could think of with
God to get me out of the cell. (I was not entirely sure my grandparents
would be willing to bail me out.) I had never been so terrified in my
life. But it definitely made me rethink my lifestyle
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