A long time ago, my friend, roommate and band mate, Joe started a relationship with someone he worked with, a woman named Valerie. Val was a bit different than most of the other semi-hipster women Joe had dated, not only did she have have Tasmanian Devil mud-flaps and fringed boots, but also a husband and two kids. Her and her husband were going through a fairly contentious divorce and it had made it's way to him that Val was dating someone, but he didn't know who it was.
One of the first things I did with the new couple was go with my then-girlfriend out to a bar near where we lived in Montgomery County, Maryland. Just our luck, out of all the sud parlors in all of MoCo we happened to pick the one where Val's soon to be ex was drinking with his friends. We took a table on the other side of the bar from where he was sitting and hung out with no problems.
Until Val ordered the Jager shots.
It really is one of those thing you should really only have one of a night, but she ordered two. I demurred at first, but then Val impugned my manhood. That usually doesn't work for me, but the first shot made me predictably susceptible to peer pressure. I downed the second shot and the liqueur started fighting with the beer and soft tacos in my stomach like it was the Gaza Strip.
Before we left, Val said she had to go to the bathroom, which would take her past her husband, who at that point had no idea we were there. Before we could stop her, she was gone.
Sure enough, he had seen her, and us. As we left, my girlfriend drove Joe's car, she was sober at that point. Joe got in the front with her and I got into the back seat with Val, making it look like I was the new boyfriend. I couldn't rub enough brain cells together to figure that out, though; I left the bar holding my stomach like I would actually be able to stop the inevitable.
I made it to the parking lot, then I let loose with a green tinged torrent of nastiness that my stomach tried to keep down. Getting my bearings, I noticed a pair of feet on the shore of my toxic lake. I apologized, thinking that this was some dude just getting to the bar and that I might have gotten some on him. It was Val's ex coming to kick my ass with a friend he was drinking with. I was in too much of a nauseous daze to realize what was going on, I heard later that the ex shouted to Val,"You've got enough problems tonight!" and backed off.
The next morning in my sobriety I turned to my girlfriend and asked,"I got real close to getting my ass kicked last night, didn't I?"
She answered," Uh, Yea you did!"
1 comment:
Great story. Well told, too. Although, I hate to say it would've been even better had you actually gotten your ass kicked. Sometimes you must endure pain, Pete, for posterity's sake.
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