TWENTY OOOOONNNNNEEE!!!

You're just a sad song with nothing to say

It's been a week of 21st birthdays, and let me just say now that one of them ended with nudity (not mine) and the other one ended with an irate Greek woman poking a bar manager in the sternum and calling him "little man".

I'm not entirely sure I have the physical capacity to become so inebriated that I can think to myself "Now would be a good time to divest myself of my clothing, and go sit on the couch where the birthday girl is sleeping". Never have I had to demand of someone "why didn't you stop me?!", nor have I ever discovered myself to be dancing to some phat beat without the intent of irony.

The story of Miranda's 21st began with a major aerial journey, included a famous Friday's Birthday Blow Job and some major rocking out to Wicked and My Chemical Romance, and was consummated with an unsuspected couch visitor sans vêtement. 

Jaci's birthday, however, is a tale of truly bad manners taking a turn for the worse.

I'm not certain where her birthday began, but I do know it involved a herpes-penis (or "spotted dick" as Mrs. Gianaris so aptly named it) cake. It eventually led to Two-Nine. You know, that little red door next to Potter's Place? We had some drinks, my first one was more Jack than Coke and utterly nauseating. My second one was a Miller Chill, which didn't taste as bad as beer normally does. This was, perhaps, helped along by the appalling Jack:Coke ratio. A third (or fourth, for some) round was bought as the cry of "last call!" resounded. A rude bartender walked out to the patio and yelled "Everyone get out!", which we assumed was sort of a joke. A few minutes later a nice bartender explained that they were, in fact, closing, but normally it wasn't this early and we technically had until 12:45 to leave. Mrs. Peterson said we'd be gone in 10 minutes, just long enough to finish our drinks. Less than 30 seconds later, a small man wearing an earpiece stepped onto the patio and yelled "Everyone get out now! The bar is closed!"

While it ended on an amusing note (Mrs. Gianaris poking the guy and calling him a little man), I'm honestly appalled at Little Man's behavior. We were not drunk, for the most part. We were definitely not loud, or obnoxious. I don't even think any of us were laughing at any volume when he came out to yell. If he had asked us nicely, said the bar was closing early tonight and if we could hurry up and leave, it would have been disappointing, but nothing major. But to be yelled at like that, especially after dropping a couple hundred dollars and being completely tolerable, if not model guests, most especially when we hadn't even had time to start, let alone finish, the final round of drinks, was uncalled for.

In addition to the inability to get wasted, I also feel I'm incapable of such petty jag-offishness. Despite the fact that unless you're getting paid as an ass-kicker you're getting paid to be nice, I've found that people tend to respond better and adhere to your wishes if you treat them with respect. You greet them politely, apologize, explain what is happening, and then kindly ask for them to comply. They will be much more inclined to do your bidding, out of respect for you. Little Man has a lot to learn, it seems.

I'm also evil,
Cathi