Lear Jet’s Story #2

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Scott: “Dude, take another fucking shot and a hit. Then you’re gettin’ our asses in for free, nigga.”

Me: I take the bottle of Jagermeister from Scott’s grasp and take a very generous chug from it. I immediately follow the shot with an extended inhale from a left-handed cigarette that I’d been wondering about all night as to where the hell I got it from. I opened the car door and stepped out. I was fucked up, but it was a good fucked up. I was nearing that mischievous stage of drunkenness. That stage of being drunk where you suddenly think that it would be funny to take a piss in your friend’s clothes hamper or haul off and punch some total stranger for your own amusement. We walk into the front door of The Lear Jet’s Night Club.

Clint: (Clint is a bouncer as well as my boss. I was working at Lear Jet’s at the time, but I had the night off) “Hey Cox, you’re looking like a sack of drunken shit tonight.”

B.J.: (B.J. is another bouncer) “Hey, go talk to Nate. He’ll hook you up with some free drinks, and bring me a Bud Light too.”

Me: I walk over to the bar. Nate comes up to me with a big smile on his face. He could obviously tell that I was sloshed.

Nate: “What’ll it be young man?”

Me: “Revelstoke and Coke, sir.” Revelstoke and Coke was my favorite drink at the time. I was only 21 then and hadn’t come to understand what constituted as a quality drink yet.

Nate: “Nope, you’re the man of the hour, and the man of the hour only drinks Long Island Ice Tea’s while sitting at my bar.” He turns his back to mix a Long Island Iced Tea that I knew would be three times stronger than the normal regulation Long Island Iced Tea. Nate turns back around and hands me a drink that is in a glass that’s bigger than my friggin’ head. “Enjoy! And try not to puke in here please.”

Me: I take a sip of the drink and it suddenly initiates my gag reflex due to the absurd amount of booze in this dirty dickwater drink. “Holy shit!” I announce just before I turn the glass upside down and chug it.

Nate: “Welp. Let me mix you up another one. Just remember not to pace yourself.”

Me: Nate hands me another drink in another enormous glass. I look around to find the people that I came to the bar with and fail to find anyone that I know. I’m sure that I probably knew about 80% of the people in the bar, but my brain was beginning to go into autopilot in order to save itself from becoming retarded from swimming in alcohol. Just like the idiot that I am, I chug the entire drink again. Nate almost immediately hands me another one.

There’s a huge scuffle just a few feet away from me near the pool tables. The bouncers around the dance floor and the doormen all run over to the scene to break it up. There are fists flying everywhere and then the crowd begins to back away, clearing in the middle to reveal some guy laying flat on the ground with blood pouring out of his face.

Nate: “Luke, go get the phone and call 911!”

Me: I stumble behind the bar and into the back room where the phone is. I pick it up and dial 911.

Operator: “Hello this is 911, what is your emergency?”

Me: “I’m not sure what happened, but I’m at Lear Jet’s and there’s some guy laying on the ground. I think he needs a bambalance ma’am.”

Operator: “I’m sorry sir, but did you say a ‘bambalance’?”

Me: “Straight representin’. You know I said send da bambalance.”

Operator: “Well sir, do you know why the man is lying on the floor? And is he showing any signs of consciousness?”

Me: I don’t know why, but I sort of panic because I can’t remember why this guy is laying on the floor. I look over at the guy and notice that girls are screaming because he has begun to twitch in an almost seizure like fashion. “Yeah he’s having a seizure. He said earlier that he didn’t take his medication because he knew that he’d be drinking tonight…and now…and now he’s having a seizure.”

Operator: “Alright sir, we have an ambulance on the way. Would you please stay on the phone with me until they arrive.”

Me: I hang up the phone and walk back to my place at the bar. Nate already has another drink waiting for me. I sit down and chug one drink after another. I fail to realize just how extremely drunk I actually am until I see the paramedics come in and take the knocked out guy off on a stretcher, and I have absolutely no idea why the paramedics were there or why they were taking that guy somewhere.

This is where the night gets kind of hazy. The last thing I remember from inside the bar is Nate and Clint arguing over the fact that Nate had given me seven of his “special” Long Island Iced Teas without cutting me off.

Me: I’m stumbling around outside next to the dumpster. I have nearly zero coordination at this point. The ground is moving from side to side so I decide to look up at the stars instead. I’m taken aback by the fact that the Earth is apparently spinning at about five times the speed of its normal rotation.

Me: I open my eyes and find a large crowd of people standing over me and staring down at me. I’m laying on my back in the parking lot, only about twenty feet from the front door.

Male Bystander: “Somebody call an ambulance. This guy’s O.D.’ed or something.”

Me: I’m not sure if people can understand me, but I try to speak anyway. “Dude, don’t call a fucking ambulance. I didn’t O.D. you dipshit.”

Male Bystander: This fuck head is angry from me calling him a dipshit. “Call the cops, they’ll take care of him.”

Me: “N-o-o-o-o!!! Do not call the fucking cops. The cops are the reason that I’m laying here in the first place for God’s sake.”

Female Bystander: “What do you mean?”

Me: “We were trying to get into my friend’s house with a crowbar because his roomate locked him out, and a cop drove by and saw us. He shined his spotlight on us and we panicked and ran. The cop got out of his car to chase us so I decided to tackle the cop so we could get away. I smeared that fucking cop across the lawn and then when I was running away he shot me in the back. That piece of shit fucking coward ass pig shot me in the back. I’ve got a God damn nine millimeter hollow point mushroomed in my fucking back! Do not call the cops, I’m fucking innocent!”

Female Bystander: “Don’t worry, I’ve already called 911. They said they’re right around the corner.”

Me: “Jesus fucking Christ! I’m shot and drunk and now I’ve got to deal with the fucking fuzz. You fucking assholes.”

Female Bystander: “Tell me what you were drinking so I can tell the paramedics when they get here.”

Me: “Updawg. I’ve been drinking Updawg since noon.”

Male Bystander: “What’s Updawg?”

Me: “Not much, what’s up with you?”

Male Bystander: “No seriously, what’s Updawg.”

Me: “Like I just said, not much.”

Male Bystander: “I’m being fucking serious, what the fuck is Updawg?”

Me: “Nothing is fucking up with me, what the fuck’s up with you?” This guy isn’t that drunk, he’s just too much of an inbred fuckface to realize that I’m screwing with him.

Male Bystander: “How did you end up in this parking lot?” He says as he suddenly changes the subject.

Me: “I time travelled here you big fucking maroon! This parking lot didn’t even exist when I left. I never should have touched the purple button!” I grab the guy by his shirt and pull him close to me. I whisper in his face, “Why did I have to go and push the purple button?”

Male Bystander: He hits me in the face and pulls my hands off of his shirt.

Me: My nose is bleeding now. “You motherfucker! I used to fuck guys like you in prison you fucking faggot! If we were back in Vietnam you’d be M-I-A motherfucker!” I can hear sirens in the distance and they sound like they’re coming closer. Then out of nowhere a car nearly runs over my head and then slams on the brakes.

Scott: “Cox! We gotta get you the fuck out of here dude! The fucking cops are after you, get in the car!” Scott picks me up by my shirt and throws me into the passenger side of his car.

Female Bystander: “What’s your name?!” She shouts to me in a sort of pissed off way as I close the car door.

Me: “They call me Purple Pantalones bitch!” I yell as Scott speeds us away in his car.

Scott: We drive down a few streets and I have no idea where I’m at. “Dude, you’ve gotta get the fuck out of my car dude.” He pulls up to my apartment and pushes me out onto the lawn.

Me: I awake to birds chirping and the sun shining on my face. I am once again lying on my back, except this time I’m lying on Second Avenue. Second Avenue is the busiest street in Kearney Nebraska, or at least as busy as a street can get in a town of thirty thousand people. I can hear cars driving all around me. I stand up and see cars swerving to avoid me on the street, and then I see a police car coming with its lights on. I run inside my apartment and lock the door. I couldn’t figure out what that horrible smell was until I looked to see that I had covered myself in vomit during my drunken slumber in the street.

Aftermath: I’ve done some stupid shit in my life, but this night was one of my worst. I know that I’m extremely lucky to have not been arrested, or more importantly that I wasn’t killed that night. I’ve grown up some now and I no longer do such retarded things. I think the moral of this story is that if you ever meet a bartender named Nate, do not order the Long Island Iced Tea.

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