Happenings in bars
Yesterday was one of those 'fun' days we all have every once in a while. You know the sort; you wake up to the realization that your alarm is set in the wrong time hemisphere, have no clean clothes, and it gets worse from there.
Actually, in all fairness, my day wasn't that bad until I went into (get this, what a stupid name) the Slippery Whale.
Was supposed to meet someone there for a conversation and possible job offer. So, I'm sitting there, minding my own business, and what do I taste in my orange juice but phenobarbitol?
PHENOBARBITOL?! WHO AM I, FRANK SINATRA?!?!
Who the hell uses phenobarbitol these days?
My thoughts go something like this.
"Hmm. Someone's trying (badly) to drug me. I wonder who 'tis? I should probably play along until I can find out. If I don't take another drink of this, they'll know something's up."
I choke down a large gulp of the stuff and sit there for a few minutes, pretending to nod off while trying not to wince from the developing migraine. Pretty soon these three hefty guys come over to check me out. They're pretty drunk, of course, so they have no idea I'm not out until one of them grabs my shoulder and I break his elbow.
I then proceed to go under the table, since he and his buddies are exiting my normal route from the booth, and crawl away until I can stand up and get out of there.
So let's take stock. I'm in a strange bar, with a splitting headache that doesn't go away until about 2300, on my hands and knees (which means my skirt is dirty), with three drunkards who thought it might be 'fun' to drug some girl they saw in their bar. Next thoughts:
"I could scream for help. But I hate screaming for help. Besides, how'd they actually slip the drops in my drink? This place'll be no good."
About this time they start moving, so I get up very quickly and head for the door. These guys probably have bikes or cars, and I'm on foot. We're talking 'out the back way.'
Fortunately, there's a roof access ladder about ten feet away, so I'm up that in no time while these guys are breaking out of the front door, starting up their motorcycles, thinking I'll probably be running away. This means that I'm stuck up there for the next fifteen minutes or so, while one of them cycles the parking lot, then they head out to the street.
Not my best day.
Actually, in all fairness, my day wasn't that bad until I went into (get this, what a stupid name) the Slippery Whale.
Was supposed to meet someone there for a conversation and possible job offer. So, I'm sitting there, minding my own business, and what do I taste in my orange juice but phenobarbitol?
PHENOBARBITOL?! WHO AM I, FRANK SINATRA?!?!
Who the hell uses phenobarbitol these days?
My thoughts go something like this.
"Hmm. Someone's trying (badly) to drug me. I wonder who 'tis? I should probably play along until I can find out. If I don't take another drink of this, they'll know something's up."
I choke down a large gulp of the stuff and sit there for a few minutes, pretending to nod off while trying not to wince from the developing migraine. Pretty soon these three hefty guys come over to check me out. They're pretty drunk, of course, so they have no idea I'm not out until one of them grabs my shoulder and I break his elbow.
I then proceed to go under the table, since he and his buddies are exiting my normal route from the booth, and crawl away until I can stand up and get out of there.
So let's take stock. I'm in a strange bar, with a splitting headache that doesn't go away until about 2300, on my hands and knees (which means my skirt is dirty), with three drunkards who thought it might be 'fun' to drug some girl they saw in their bar. Next thoughts:
"I could scream for help. But I hate screaming for help. Besides, how'd they actually slip the drops in my drink? This place'll be no good."
About this time they start moving, so I get up very quickly and head for the door. These guys probably have bikes or cars, and I'm on foot. We're talking 'out the back way.'
Fortunately, there's a roof access ladder about ten feet away, so I'm up that in no time while these guys are breaking out of the front door, starting up their motorcycles, thinking I'll probably be running away. This means that I'm stuck up there for the next fifteen minutes or so, while one of them cycles the parking lot, then they head out to the street.
Not my best day.