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| 3/31/2005 |
| The Shame and the Glory: Purple Rain part 1 |
A Feature
by Wes Bennett
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I stagger to my car and attempt to pull out onto the narrow street. I feel like the street is getting smaller and smaller. I accelerate and the horrible scraping noise of metal against metal, makes me realize that the street is actually a narrow staircase that turns into a sidewalk. In my confusion, I notice that my left sideview mirror has been ripped off by a rail. I am left to wonder, how did this happen?
The legendary fake metal band “Spinal Tap,” once said, “there’s a fine line between clever and stupid.”
There is also a thin line between outrageous behavior, that normal people occasionally lapse into, and that which officially turns you into the people that I refer to as sketchy. (An example of completely crossing this line might be something along the lines of soliciting a prostitute). I’m certain that the events of a Thursday night during the Summer of 2004, might have pushed the this subtle distinction to the very brink of its natural limitation.
It was certainly not the most crazy night of my life, but in terms of life after college, excluding major holidays, sporting events, New Years and ever since after I got kicked out of Motley Crue, it would have to at least crack the top five.
It was one of those nights that you shouldn’t write about, because you don’t want most of your friends and certainly your family to read about what took place. In other words, its certainly not something that should be preserved in writing.
But on the other hand, it was an incredibly outrageous night that deserves to be discussed, if for no other purpose than to let others learn from my mistakes and to entertain my fellow man.
The night started out innocently enough. I decided to check out Volapolooza, one of the free outdoor concerts on campus, sponsored by the University of Tennessee. They had booked the explosive, tour de force, duel-attack cover bands “Appetite For Destruction” and “Zoso,” the excellent Led Zeppelin cover band from California. Coming into the concert, I felt like I had a score to settle...
I always found that the nights when I really get into trouble, at least in terms of alcohol, are almost always fueled by violent feelings of anger from recent traumatic events.
In order to understand what happened on Thursday, we have to analyze the events of the night before. At the time I was working in a nightclub-like establishment called “Fairbanks.” We were hosting a Sorority Formal.
During events like this, my job is fairly simple. I will wait at the door, until two enormous buses pull up around 10 pm. At this point 400 absolutely hammered college students get off, resembling a group of Manchester United soccer hooligans and attempt to enter the club as quickly as possible. Myself and one other poor sucker, must attempt to check IDs and place one of two wrist bands on them. On this particular night, we had an additional man attempting to check the hooligans for booze.
On any given night after a sorority or frat party, the floor of Fairbanks will be littered with tiny empty bottles of Jack Daniels, Captain Morgan Rum and Stoli Vodka. Sometimes these containers are traded in favor of a flask or a larger bottle of Jack.
During many of the formals, the cunning youths went as far as to attempt to steal a full bottle of booze from behind the bar. This even happened right under my nose. Several weeks prior to this, there were two girls hitting on me, under 21, trying to get the coveted “over 21” bracelet, which would allow them to order drinks instead of just getting them from their friends.
As they were begging me, I had to make a difficult choice: did I break the law, risk possible imprisonment, the loss of my job and my integrity as a worker? After a few minutes of deliberation, I ended up doing the right thing and gave them bracelets. After all, they were both really hot. It was right around this time that the owner informed me that a bottle of Dewars Whiskey had been stolen.
Using my best Columbo skills, I noticed close to a dozen guys cramming themselves into the men’s room that was built to accommodate one. I opened the door to discover the group of men downing alcohol like Ted Kennedy on Saint Patrick’s day. They immediately scattered like a flock of tiny birds, leaving behind only a small pile of various empty whiskey bottles including the stolen bottle of Dewars.
This kind of behavior was not entirely unprecedented. During the first frat party we had hosted, there were no less than two couples who were caught having sex upstairs around the DJ booth. Even worse was the when I went up the stairs to check the DJ booth and discovered a girl who was urinating at the base of the stairs while talking on the cellphone.
What kind of a conversation was she having? “Hi, yeah the formals going great. My date, oh wait, I have to go, I’m urinating in a stairwell and an employee just walked in. I’ll call you later.” Who are these people? |
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| "We use words like honor, code, loyalty. We use these words as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide, then question the manner in which I provide it." |
- Jack Nicholson
A Few Good Men
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Distributed Beers
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| 5 |
Sierra Nevada Bigfoot |
| 4 |
Guinness Draught |
| 3 |
Newcastle Brown Ale |
| 2 |
Bass Pale Ale |
| 1 |
Samuel Adams Boston Lager |
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