It was Friday night. We had no plans. Hardly any friends in Florida. I came home and slept. When I awoke at 9PM I was hungry. Hungry for sushi. But my roommate wasn’t feeling it. Let’s just drive until we find something good he suggested. That was good enough for me so I accepted.
We drove down 4th street towards St. Petersburg. Nothing seemed appealing. Finally I saw something that looked happening as I passed. I utilized my Florida U-turn skills and within moments I was in the parking lot. It was an Irish pub. I thought I was burnt out on Irish pubs from excessive partying on Bardstown Rd. in Louisville but why not.
We walked in through the back onto a deck where a hostess was ready to greet us from the rear. She acted awkwardly as if she expected all of her guests to be accustomed with the standards and protocols of this establishment. Finally she looked at me and asked do you want to drink or eat. Eat I replied and we followed her to a booth on the wraparound deck.
As I was following her I couldn’t help but notice her style. She wore tight clothing and resembled something I would find in an independent coffee shop on any given day. The fashion statement was nothing in comparison to the hair. She was actually rocking a 1980’s David Bowie haircut. I actually found myself attracted to this outdated doo. What does that say about me?
We sat at the booth and began to review the menu. Immediately we knew the price was more than we had anticipated paying for the night but what could we do? The vegan chili sounded pleasing but not completely filling so I decided to compliment it with the sirloin burger. I knew that it would leave me stuffed and probably be a bad decision in the long run, I just didn’t know how bad of a decision it would turn out to be.
I ate most of the chili and passed off the remainder to my roommate. My stomach was at 80% capacity but I knew I had to keep trucking through the burger that was on its way. When the burger finally came I was only able to eat about a quarter of it. I took a final bite and announced that this was the last bite I intended to take. My stomach was already expanding beyond its normal means at this point.
Our waitress came and brought us the checks. I slid my credit card in the plastic container of the bi-fold and handed it back. While I waited I knew my body had exceeded maximum capacity for ingested food and that this food would soon be exiting my body in some fashion or another.
The waitress returned with the bill and my card in the bi-fold. I opened it and wrote her a 20% tip. I tried to use my index finger and thumb to grasp my credit card but my attempts were futile. I decided to reattempt my grasp and rearranged everything within my hands. As I did so the credit card slipped right down the bi-fold and onto the ground.
Dammit I said to myself. It was dark near our booth so I slid out and tried to use what light I could to see where my card had fallen. It wasn’t there. What the hell? Then my mind had come to the realization of what had happened. The outside deck was built of wooden 2X6’s and somehow in one simple motion my card had slid from within my grasp through one of these narrow passageways and into neverneverland.
My mind switched into frantic panic mode searching for a solution like the engineer buried deep within me. The waitress could see that something was wrong so she came to our assistance. She provided no support and only informed us that this wasn’t the first time that this had happened. Beer me I said.
She brought us another round of brews and as we drank them we tried to reproduce the incident that had just happened. My roommate had an expired Subway gift card. We proceeded to drop it on the ground several times. Not once did it come close to falling through the cracks. Just my luck. I finished my beer.
I am going to throw up I said aloud. Not waiting for a response I hastily made my way towards the restroom. Once I was through the door I moved directly towards the stall and like the pureness of Ray Allen’s three point shot the vomit was already in full motion. Except it wasn’t pure like Ray Ray jumpshot. The throw up went everywhere. All over the toilet bowl, on the floor and even on my jeans.
I tried my best to clean what mess I could but there was only so much I could do. I cleaned my face up some and readied myself for an immediate departure. As I was walking back to the table I passed my roommate who was making his on restroom visit.
“We need to go now” I said more confident than any other statement I have ever made. He didn’t listen and proceeded to make his own visit to the pisser. I breezed by our table, swooped up my to-go box and rushed towards my jeep where I waited eagerly to flee the scene.
When he finally arrived he looked at me and laughed. Do you need me to drive he asked? No let’s just go I say. We pull out of the parking lot. Precisely at this time our waitress had just clocked out and was hoping into her beautiful Jeep. I only mention this because I have a thing for chicks who drive Wranglers. We smiled and I gave her the Jeeper’s wave. Fortunately for her she will never know the beautiful piece of artwork I left in the men’s bathroom of Three Bird’s Tavern.
At this point in the night there was only one acceptable solution to make all things right, a beerrun. We pulled into the Racetrac gas station to buy some brews. I walk towards the refreshments where I immediately notice a sign. “Dude, when can I buy beer here?” Underneath was a listings of times when you could buy beer in the state of Florida. Friday night only ran until midnight. I look at the clock. 12:03AM. Of course.
Kentucky Fried Bucket List 