St. Patrick's Day 2009. It all started so nicely. Mike and I got there just as the evening singer was starting his first set. He began by playing my all-time favorite Irish song with one of the best lines ever written, "and we all got stone blind, paralytic drunk as the Old Dunn Cow caught fire." We even managed to get a seat. Unfortunately, after a few pints of green beer, the necessity to visit the facilities arose and it all went downhill from there. While waiting in line on my first trip, I was informed by the first girl coming out of the multi-occupied handicap stall that the toilet paper supply was nil. No surprise this late on St. Patrick's Day. I reached over and deftly grabbed a paper towel, to which the first girl replied "That's brilliant! What a great idea. Can I have one?" I gave her mine with the instructions to "put it in the trash can, not the toilet or we're all done for." She promised she would and I felt that particular satisfaction when useful knowledge gets passed from one generation to another. While waiting for the other occupants to emerge from the stall, a very drunk woman who was also in line suddenly glanced at the mirror and slurred loudly, "Gahhdammit. Alba got me. The bitch got me." It seems, Alba, the bar owner's wife, was responsible for the woman's suddenly green hair and she was none too pleased. I don't know how she missed someone coming at her with a big can of green hairspray, one more of the dangers of drinking to excess I guess. "I'vvve got a big gahdamn meetin tomorrow" she went on "thisss ssshit better come out." We all assured her it would. "You better be right! I gotta big gahdamn meetin' tomorrow!" I told her again that it would come out with one, maybe two shampoo, rinse, repeats at best. "It better. I cahn't show up to the gahdamn meetin like this. Gahhdamn Alba." Apparently, showing up to a meeting bleary eyed, hung over and reeking of booze isn't what puts a blight on one's professional demeanor, it is the green hair that takes you from competent career woman on the go to whispers in the boardroom with no hope of advancement. Lesson one learned.
On my second foray to the ladies room, I was blissfully surprised to find it completely empty. This was especially advantageous since the particularly greasy basket of chips had worked its magic on my delicate system. I took my position in the stall and decided, since I had some time on my hands, to check Twitter on my iPhone. Shortly thereafter a woman came and occupied the only other stall in the bathroom, which was unfortunate, since two completely hammered girls came stumbling in, one of them exclaiming loudly "Ohmygahd, Igottapee! I'mgonnaexplode! I'mgonnadie! Igottapee, Igottapee, IGOTTAPEEEE!!!!!" I guess her friend decided to take the bull by the horns and come to her distressed friends aid, since all of sudden I looked up from my Tweets to see her foot come bursting through as my bathroom stall door wildly flung open with a crash. Rest assured, I was in no position to receive visitors and quickly became very ill tempered. I believe I said something eloquent like "What the f#$*?" They then both sauntered in and just stared at me. When I informed them that I wasn't "going anywhere until they got the f@#* out," the one who kicked in the door looked at the one who had to pee and said "Oh, I guess we've got a bitch." (Insert long pause of shock and dismay) This is when I thought I would truly loose my mind, but I wasn't about to get up (for a good many reasons) and the only thing I had to throw was my iPhone and I probably wouldn't have hit either one of them since, thanks to the beer, my aim was probably not at its best and I throw like a five year old girl on a good day. So, I simply reverted to screaming and cursing until they sauntered back out. I knew then that I would sit there all night if need be because it would be a cold day in hell before I let either of those bitches come within inches of my now entrenched position. Sadly, the woman in the other stall finished up before the girl who had to pee could explode and find herself in a large puddle of her own shame, which is exactly what I was hoping for. They both wedged themselves into the tiny stall, whereupon the peeing girl, not having peeing on her mind anymore, began to expound on her feelings for Mark. "Ohmygaahd. I'mssoogayforMahhrk. I'mtotallygonnablowhimtonighhht. I'msooogayforhim." At least I was free to go.
On the way back to my table I passed one of the bartenders and the aforementioned owner's wife, Alba, and thought I would take the opportunity to tell her of my bathroom tete a tete. Thankfully, I got the outraged response I was looking for and hopes of a gleeful revenge sprang forth. I accompanied Alba to the restroom, pointed out the offending drunkards and quickly took leave before a near certain fisticuffs ensued with me in the middle of it. I jauntily walked back to my table with the assurance that justice would be done and excited by the happy ending to my wacky tale of woe. I took my seat, removed my shamrock tiara so I would be less noticeable to two girls seeking revenge as they were being very publicly hauled out of a bar and waited for satisfaction. So, you can imagine my surprise when ten minutes later they were both shakin' a leg out on the dance floor. Not only that, but some guy (who I can only assume was the previously slurred about Mark) was bringing them MORE BEER. I was outraged. I was pissed. And a little more worldly wise. Lesson Two: Cowardice will not bring you justice. If you want to see justice served, you can't just waltz away and hope for the best. You have to stick around and risk getting embroiled in a cat fight. And if you're not willing to do that, there is a single room bathroom with deadbolt at the 7-11 down the street.
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