Slippening Bowels

Here is my submission for a Drunk on a Sunday. I'm kind of proud of this story because it almost landed me in jail and I am ashamed for the same reason.

One Sunday, in March (1996), I decided to go on a BarCrawl. I think everyone has done one of these, or at least heard about them. It's when you get a bunch of people together, get a map of every bar in town, pick a starting point and try to have a beer at every bar. I did this once in Washington DC and I think that I made it to 18 bars. Like I said, "I think" because I really don't remember the last 4-5 but I had them checked off on my map This time though, I went on a bar crawl by myself. I thought that it would be a great way to check out the bars of downtown Denver. I was there visiting my buddy from College. Paul was a doctor working at one of the hospitals in Denver. He had just called and said he was going to be at work all night and probably most of Monday and I should make myself at home and chill. I kind of felt like sampling the local culture and decided to head out.

I started at Old Chicago. I know, it's a franchise place that I detest, but
it was a bar crawl and I had to start somewhere. No one was in the place so I chatted with the bartender. I bought the first beer, then he asked me if I wanted to
play that game where you have to pull wooden blocks from the stack without knocking the stack over. The name of the game slips me right now, but the deal was, if the bartender lost, he would buy me and this guy sitting next to me the next round. I don't remember what I would have had to do if I lost because it didn't happen. I stayed there for 3 beers before I realized that I was on a crawl and had to get moving. I asked the bartender where the next closest bar was. He said "next door." Off I went.

The bar next door was an Irish bar called N'awlins. There were 5 people in the joint. It was around 2:30 in the afternoon. I don't know what you drink in Irish bars, but I drink Guinness. Guinness is the good stuff, too. I think at this point things began to get sketchy, and this was only the second bar.

I'm straining my brain right now but I know that I then walked to this bar next to Coors field. This time I had a brew in some sports bar. This place was huge and totally empty. I had my own personal bartender who seemed happy just to have somebody to talk to. I bought one brew and he gave me the second at no charge. At this point I had had 6 pints, one Guinness. I was definitely feeling fine.

I left that place and walked to this place called Dicks. They have them in Chicago. It's a place where the employees are purposefully rude, thus the name "Dicks." It's their niche I guess. My bartender was a woman who didn't seem to be all that rude but she did come off as a bitch. She seemed like she was having such an unhappy time working that she brought me down, and I was drinking!!!!! I drank two more beers and cruised. I know that you are only supposed to drink one beer at a bar but what can I say? I was drunk and my feet were starting to get blisters from all the walking.

After this bar I walked about 4 blocks to Herbs. Voss and LL know what Herbs is all about. It's a bar that is totally painted blue inside, but tastefully done. There isn't a single TV in the place. The two bartenders are absolutely gorgeous. At this point I knew that I had $20 in my pocket and I had to save something for a cab ride home. I ordered a Stoli martini with a lemon twist.

This was a huge mistake.

The owner of the bar was there, I've rapped with him before as he was the neighbor of Paul. I told him and Mallory (hot bartender and don't use the "where's skippy" joke on her, she's heard it) all about my exploits and how drunk I was. All I remember is that I drank that martini and became really drunk. Also, I didn't eat anything all day either. So I'm sitting on this barstool drunk as hell, got people sitting around me that I'm rapping with and this very urgent need to fart come over me like nothing that's ever hit me before. I was in so much pain that I had to release it immediately. As drunk as I was, there was no way that I would have made it to the bathroom without falling down.

So I sat on the barstool and farted one. It was quiet. I hoped that nobody noticed. But as I sat there, I realized that it wasn't just gas that I released. At first I thought that it was just a little poo-poo, nothing to worry about, that shit has happened to me before. But this time I could tell that I dropped a load. I guess the greasy Chili from the night before was coming back to haunt me. I played it off, hoping that nobody noticed, but then this terrible smell overtook me. There was no way that everybody in the place was not going to notice. I knew I had to get out of there fast so I threw down my last $20 and bolted out the door. I didn't have time to wait for change.

Now please understand, in Denver, the days of March are normally very sunny and warm, but at night, after the sun drops behind the mountains, it gets pretty damn cold. It's definitely over a mile to Paul's place but less than two, so I took off on foot. I made it about 6 blocks before I decided that I had to get a cab because it was just too damn cold. I flagged one down and hopped in. I was thinking about the crap in my pants and totally forgot that I spent all of my money. Honesty is a principle in my life so I explained the situation to the cabby (that I was out of money, not that I had shit in my pants) and he agreed to take me to an ATM by my house.

I walked into this 7-11 and tried to use my bankcard in the ATM. I was really drunk and I could not get it to work at all. I had no idea what I was doing. I walked out to the cabby and told him that I didn't have any money. At this point two police officers who were also at the 7-11 surrounded me. They asked me for my id and asked what the problem was. I tried to explain but got nowhere. All that's going through my head is that I have crapped my pants and am going to jail over a $5.00 cab fare and why in the hell did I go on a bar crawl by myself in the first place??? I told the officers that I would try again on the bank machine. I probably could have run at this point but they had my ID so it would not have mattered. I went back into 7-11, back to the machine and gave it one last try. It took every bit of concentration that I had to remember my code and read the screen. Karma came back and took care of me because somehow I was able to get out $20.

I walked out and paid the cabby, even gave him a ten for his trouble. The cops told me to head straight home, not a problem when you have a load of crap in your drawers.