After offering my expertise to the mediocre staff of Taco John’s on Friday night, I went on to do what I do best: chugging booze. Not of course before spending some quality bonding time with Jake “Faggot” Andersen however. What a good man. About an hour and a half before work, I get a text from him that says “Bring booze to work.” I did not have any, so I could not. I show up to work at 4.
“Did you bring any alcohol?” Jake inquires.
“No, I didn’t have any!”
“Ah. We really dropped the ball on this one.”
“Yeah, we did,” I say.
“Well…the ball is in Target. …We could go get the ball.”
About half an hour later, Jake goes, “So Becca– do you have any money?”
“Oh, you know, just making conversation.”
Jake leaves and purchases us a jug of vodka. He returns and we sneakily make zesty mixed drinks in the back while forcing the other poorly trained employees to man the store. After heckling Stevie and getting shoved by Seth, it was finally time to leave, so we clocked out and went about our business. I headed home and washed my greasy body while Laurel and Emilia made their way over. I shanked my foot on the plastic siding of a suitcase and bled all over the floor, creating a giant bloody ass footprint. This is irrelevant.
Rich, Jamie, Laurel, Emilia and I leave around 11 and go to Dane’s birfday celebration where we throw down like it’s going out of style. At some point in the night, some freak ginger kid with freaky white eyelashes enters the apartment behind a couple of our friends. Everyone exchanges “who the fack is that” glances, but continues about their business. Eventually, however, we realize that this character is in no way related to anyone at the party, and that he had simply come out of the woodwork and joined our gathering without invitation or any acknowledgment of any kind. Dane and James become angry.
“Dude, you need to leave. Who do you even know here? Get the fuck out.”
Big Red: “Dude, calm down, be cool–”
Dane: “It’s time for you to leave. Seriously get the fuck out.”
Ugly Ginger: “Dude it’s not a big deal, chill out.”
Dane shoves the man. Ugly Red hobbles over to the beer pong table and starts chugging our beers. What the fuck. Dane again grabs the man by the back of the shirt and forcefully shoves him out of the apartment. Victory is ours. Moments later, however, we hear a large explosion at the front door of the apartment. We open the door to find an extremely smoky hall, which we deciphered was clouds of baking soda from a fire extinguisher. The entire hallway was filled with baking soda, and the fire alarms were now going off. Vision was limited to five feet at most, and our lungs were drying the fuck out with every gulp of “air.” We realized that Gingerbread had done this in retaliation and called the cops on us for booting him out of our very exclusive drunkening.
Everyone evacuates the building, rushing outside to meet a couple of cop cars and soon two fire trucks. James demands that the cop checks out the “smoke bomb” that some hooligan threw at the door, while the cop insists that there were more important matters to be addressed: “So is there underage drinking going on up there?” James, Dane and Zach are straight forward with the man and tell him there is. At this point, I have scurried past the commotion and was on the brink of escape when I realized I had left my purse in their apartment. My priorities were a little jacked at this point, and I decided it pertinent that I go retrieve it before the cops do. I attempt to mosey past the policemen like it was no big deal, but Officer Buzzkill stopped me. “Where are you going?”
“…I ah…I forgot my bag upstairs.”
He tells me to quickly go get it. I am pleased.
Jamie and I bolt up the stairs, coughing our brains out from the stuffy atmosphere. I grab my bag, and we shuffle out into the hallway again. It dawns on me that we have a much better chance of escape if we exit the building from a different door, as the cops and firemen were already occupying the main door where our friends were held up. We scamper through the building, and find ourselves on the second floor, stationed at a window where we could observe the goings-on. We see fire trucks pulling up and cop cars with their swirling lights, and Dane, Zach and James looking disgruntled.
Jamie announces that she has to take a serious piss. We realize we obviously cannot return to the apartment, so I tell her to piss in the hallway. She gallops up the stairs and takes a huge pee right in front of the door to the third floor. We laugh hysterically. Shortly thereafter, that door opens, and two Mexicans appear with blankets over their heads. “–You guys can go back to bed– there isn’t a fire, we’re just drinking underage.” The Mexi’s don’t believe me, and argue that they would like to talk to the firemen because of the alarms. I again try to talk them out of it, 1) because it’s a waste of their time, and 2) because they were about to step into a pool of Jamie’s urine. They ultimately decide that they are indeed leaving the building. They walk through the piss puddle and into the great outdoors, for no reason. Jamie and I laugh again. Silly Spics.
Soon, two firemen come walking down the steps, again also walking through the pee pool. We make small talk with them, acting like we don’t know what’s going on and that we were just curious about all the commotion. I later realize that we had been pretending to just be hanging out between floors by a window. Why would anyone ever be doing that? Haha. Anyway, we chat with them for some time and make friends until they continue on their way. Richard calls and informs us that they are back in the apartment and that we could return, and also says that he had run into the same firemen and said that he was looking for two drunk girls. The firemen then reply, “Oh yeah, a blonde and a brunette? They’re back there.” hahah. We were not as sneaky as we thought we were.
Anyway, we return to the room, learn that nobody got a single ticket or infraction which is awesome, and pass the F out. Good times, great oldies.
In the meantime, I am going to continue plowing through this pumpkin pie. Speaking of which, I am not totally convinced that pumpkin pie is actually even made of pumpkin. It certainly doesn’t taste like it. Just some food for thought.
…no pun intended.
“Alright, the baking soda I get, but what the fuck is up with the shrimp cocktail?”