I made the decision that I should probably take a cab if I was going to be drinking. I made the decision after I got drunk (drunk is putting it lightly) in a bar, and had to stumble (stumble is putting it lightly) back to my hotel, which in that capacity I just did not know where it was. For the first time in my life, I was ‘that guy’, the obnoxious drunk guy who can barely walk who is out showing his pretty face to the world. I was surprised that a cop didn’t stop me or something, because I was walking like that one broken shopping cart at the store that simply doesn’t want to go straight, but rather zig-zag in a random pattern. I’m surprised I didn’t try and stick a cigarette in my mouth the wrong way and light the filter. I sat down after sobering up to calculate what felt like the world’s longest walk. The world’s longest walk was six blocks it turns out, not exactly a very far distance. I do remember being briefly trapped in my elevator. It was one of those elevators that didn’t work unless you put your key card in. For a few moments, I just kept hitting three and shouting cuss words at the elevator. This of course probably made me look like quite a fool to the staff in the lobby while the doors were still open. Luckily they are strangers and I never have to see them again. Then I remembered and had a hell of a time trying to slide the card. Every time I slid it in, it wasn’t reading. All I wanted to do was go upstairs and lay down, and possibly puke. For you see, not only was I completely hammered, I had eaten a large quantity of sushi for dinner prior to. I have a new rule that I will be keeping with the rest of my ‘Rules For Life’ and that is this: Don’t eat large quantities of sushi if you plan on getting really drunk. This is probably the best time to offer my sincere apologies to the cleaning staff of the Hotel Max in Downtown Seattle, Washington, for I just barely missed the toilet. Sorry gang.
I’m not a big drinker, or a drinker at all for that matter. If I do enjoy a cocktail, it’s usually one or two, max. But since I was on vacation and in a strange city where nobody could judge me, I decided I was going as far I could go. Outside of that one night, I had only been that wasted on my 21st birthday (and some of you remember how that turned out). I collapsed in bed fully clothed, shoes and all. I told myself I just had to sleep it off, eat a greasy breakfast in the morning, and remember to take a cab next time to avert having to repeat that walk. That was the tiny little rational piece of my brain that was still operating normally. Fifteen minutes later, I’m dancing to LCD Soundsystem like a madman in my hotel room, minus several articles of clothing I had shed in a fury. Yeah, I was acting crazy.
I feel foolish sitting at bars, being as such I’m not a drinker. They come over and ask me what I’m drinking, and suddenly I realize I have absolutely no idea. I had never really ordered anything at a bar before, and tried to think of something that wasn’t beer. I can’t stand beer. So, by pure chance, I end up with a vodka and cranberry. It’s all I ordered the whole time I was there, and when somebody asked how old I was, I told them 21, they said “That’s a very 21 year old kind of drink you have there.” I felt foolish and admitted that I didn’t even know why I ordered them in the first place, it was just the first thing that popped into my head. By the way, the person who told me I had a very ‘21 year old drink’ also said I had ‘the heaviest Midwest accent ever’. What the hell!!??
While exploring the Seattle nightlife, I happened upon a gay bar (one of the many that they have there). How did I know it was one? It was called Purr, had a neon cat on the sign and was full of men. I simply said “This is either a gay bar or a cat fan club and all the wives are using the bathroom” The first seemed more likely. I had a lot of fun there, and that’s probably all that needs to be said about that.
One night I randomly ended up at a jazz club that was only accessed down an alley. It was really nice, but everyone there was at least 45 and older. There was one person my age though, sitting at the table next to me. He was very obnoxious. I overheard him say that he had never been to see a jazz show before, that he mostly went to punk rock concerts, which was very obvious. It was obvious because he kept shouting at the band, who were all in their seventies it seemed. And he had this desire to be the first person to clap, so he would begin applauding whenever he thought the song was about to end. He was wrong more than once, and just had to sit there with the embarrassing fact that he had just clapped really loud in the middle of a song all by himself. Tool.
After spending each night drifting around the city, I would finally convince myself to go back to my room and force myself to get into bed and stay there and try and squeeze out five hours worth of sleep. And I started every morning as a lifeless zombie, walking haggard into the Starbucks right next to my hotel, sitting down with a coffee and a book and just spend an hour reading and watching people walk past. And then I was good, and I could go on walking all over the city and see what else was going on.
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