This blog isn’t really about the night I acted with maturity and dignity, I just wanted to see what it would be like to write that instead of “the night I got drunk and pushed a man in a wheelchair down the stairs of a club”…
In summary… I’ve had a pretty shit night, but I figured ‘hell, somebody might find this amusing’ so I thought I’d post it here for you guys to laugh at my misfortune. The following is kind of a documentation of my night out. I just thought you might find some of this amusing. (Yes, I know, I’m immature to post drinking stories at the age of 21, but I’m Irish, and drinking is kind of the only facet of culture we have here – besides farming potatoes and hating on the English – so don’t blame me for being involved in it)
My night started at about 8pm, a late start for anybody who’s Irish, the natural time to start drinking in Ireland is ‘as soon as you fucking wake up’ any later than that and you’re not doing it right… Anyway, I went out to meet two friends, Mike and Bart (he’s german, hence the weird name). These guys are pretty good guys, but we’re a bad influence on each other. Bart is kind of a raging sex addict who hits on everything that moves and Mike is a sheepish kind of character who despite his feeble demeanor can drink a hell of a fucking lot. Myself? I’m kind of an easily led immature asshole who after about 7 pints can’t tell the difference between being funny and being abusive… I’m told I have an addictive personality. I like to think this means I’m a great guy to be around… But it really doesn’t… Needless to say, this threesome is not a good combination.
Anyway, like I say, we go out at 8, we head to our favorite pub: laveries. I say favorite. What I really mean is ‘the only pub in town that has both women and cheap drink that doesn’t smell of urine and isn’t filled to the brim with old men’.
So we start drinking, we go through one pint, then two, then three, then four, then… quite a few.
Anyway, Bart, being the natural sex addict he is starts hitting on women. He uses his usual line: “hey ladies, I’m German and I need help improving my English, will you talk to me for a while”. It works, as it always does, and we find ourselves surrounded by women. It should be mentioned at this stage that I am a bad wingman. I am a backstabbing asshole. I declare Bart to be gay and Mike to have just come out of a long term relationship. I am the center of attention after this proclamation and I am loving it – because I’m an asshole. It’s coming up to 10 and I’m pretty fucking drunk. We’re talking to a bunch of Canadian girls and things are going well. I’ve managed to get them to come back to our place. So we leave the pub. When we’re leaving a skin head approaches; hilarity ensues. The following is the actual conversation that took place between us and the Skinhead.
Skinhead: ‘Jennifer, what the fuck are you doing with these cunts?’
Jennifer (one of the Canadians): I’m going home with them?
Skinhead: But your my girl
Me: Awk look at the big angry skin head with his weee feelings (like I said, I’m an ass)
Skinhead: You looking for trouble?
Me: Not really, I was looking to get laid, what about you babes?
At this point I am punched in the head. Probably deserved it to be honest. Note to anybody who encounters a skinhead in future, DO NOT call them babes – they do not take kindly to it. Also to be noted, if you can’t fight for shit -like me- do not antagonize people.
It works out ok, because I get massive sympathy points from the Canadians and they start to make the journey home with us, and the bouncers kick the crap out of skinhead. (Which I obviously find hilarious)
Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had to listen to a Canadian when you’re drunk. But it’s kind of like having a thousand bees inside your head while somebody pounds on your face with a pneumatic drill… Or so I found anyway.
Don’t get me wrong, they were nice girls. but fucking hell their accents drove me insane. It was fine listening to them inside the pub, when they were drowned out by background noise and the shitty DJ who played Bob Marley all night long. But when you’re walking home with them, and there’s nothing to drown them out, by christ do you notice it… It drove me insane. The entire way home I had a voice inside my head screaming ‘SHUT UP, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SHUT UP!!!!’
We finally get home, after a brief pit stop to chat up some Christian girls who were offering soup and coffee to drunk people. (Yes, I’m aware that this was ridiculous, I actually spent half an hour talking to one of them about the Italian countryside – I have never been to Italy, and I know nothing of it’s geography or countryside, I bluffed my way through this conversation and lied through my teeth… At one point she started talking to me about art. Again… I have no fucking clue about art. I just smiled, nodded and pretended I knew of the people she spoke of. At one stage she said something about enjoying solitude, which somehow prompted me to tell her that I spent a year living in a lighthouse… – I was very drunk.)
So we’re finally home, we have 3 Canadian girls and a Christian who expects me to be able to entertain her with witty banter regarding the Italian countryside and art, but jesus, we’re home, it was a long trek and we’re finally home. I lye down on the sofa, light up, and the whole world dissolves around me… I am completely at peace, the Christian isn’t impressed, but fuck her, I love smoking… I am at peace… Until the Canadians start speaking… I can’t take it… They’re ruining my vibes. I could get laid tonight, but fucking hell, can I really bear fucking something with that accent? What if she says some weird Canadian/American thing like ‘tell me who my daddy is’ during sex? What if she says something worse? Like ‘tell me who my daddy is, EH?’ Or calls me friend or some weird shit like that… God I can’t take it, they have to go home. They have to leave. I cannot listen to anymore inane dribble about Quebec anymore. Bart is really digging one of the girls though so I can’t send them home… It would be bad wingmaning. But then again. I’ve always been a bad wingman, because I’m an asshole. Fuck the moral dilema! They’re going home!
Me: ‘Everyone who isn’t God fearing, OUT!’
Canadian girls in unison: What? (they try to laugh it off, they think I’m joking)
Me: Look, you’re real nice girls, but it’s late, I’m tired, and I can’t take the shrill cacophonies that resonate in this room as you speak… you girls kinda need to fuck off now.
Two of the girls leave, one stays
Me: You’re staying?
Canadian: Um… Yea (this one massively wanted to get laid by Bart)
Me: Just … Don’t use words, for the love of God, stop using words. Just stop speaking. It’s driving me insane.
Needless to say the Christian girl is not impressed by my behavior and promptly leaves. The Canadian stays and fucks the hell out of my friend Bart. Mike is not a happy camper at this stage; nor should he be, I just threw 3 easy lays out the door over an accent. So I decide to make it up to him. I take him out to a night club called Thompsons.
Now, anybody from Northern Ireland knows, Thompsons is a dreaded hole of a place. You walk in and your greeted with a haze of condensed sweat that smells of a mixture of Es and rohypnol. You could get date raped on the fumes alone in this place. It is a horrifying club and ending up in Thompsons is a definite sign that it’s time to go home. But we stay, we start talking to a group of girls and we’re doing great, they’re from here, we don’t have hideous accents to contend with. Plus it’s pretty late, so they’re clearly desperate to not go home alone. So it’s easy game.
Enter the gay friend.
Now, I should say, I’m not homophobic and I’ve nothing against gays, really I don’t. But Jesus Christ, this guy could out gay a gay pride parade that was being led by Graham Norton. He was the gayest man I’ve ever met. Gayer than Elton John. Gayer than pink feather bathing suits. Gayer than an all male dogging orgy. Gayer than musicals. This man put the gay in gay.
I’m trying to chat to these girls and the entire time I have a gay man hanging on my shoulder, grabbing my ass, pinching my cheeks, stroking my face… I cant take it anymore. I’ve told him I’m not gay and I want to fuck his friends like a hundred times already and he’s not getting the picture (he’s off it on E’s – so I kind of understand). I have to go. I get up and leave, on my way down the stairs I bump into a man in a wheelchair (completely accidentally, I really didn’t mean it, I was rubbing my eyes at the time) and send him flying down the stairs. Drinks go everywhere. Women are screaming. Men are shouting. The Dj stops playing. Everyone looks at me. I have just turned into the guy who pushed a man in a wheelchair down the stairs of a night club…
At this point I realize the night will not end well for me… I promptly leave, as fast as I can. (I of course apologized and helped the man up and bought him a drink, I’m not a complete dick, well, I say I apologized by this I mean laughed later on, and by bought him a drink, I clearly mean, bought myself a 6 pack on the way home)
I got home and retold the events to my flat mate Stew. Who found it hilarious. I guess it might be one of those things where you had to be there. But I felt like sharing tonight. I’ve never had such a woeful night in all my life.
Oh and in the end Mike came home with a couple of girls so everything turned out ok. But still. A fight with a skinhead, being near raped by a gay man, and pushing a man in a wheelchair down the stairs in a club… Not a good night.
Anyway, I thought some of you might take some delight in my misfortune, so I thought I’d post this for you. (Yes I’m aware I’m an ass)