There is bad judgment and then there is....

So I was out one night with a friend. I don't remember where I was or who I was with. It is not crucial to the story. But we wrapped up our evening fairly early and went our separate ways. My way being the path straight to hell. I wasn't feeling totally finished with my evening (this is bad, see Tiki Ti) so I decided to stop off at one of my favorite watering holes, Tom Bergins. Please note it is a fav due to the close proximity to my home. Stumble stumble. So I play this little game with myself. I tell myself that if there is parking out front, I should go in (again Tiki Ti). This usually leads to disaster. There is parking, I go in. I order my usual. Bushmills neat with a water back. That's bartender talk for those of you who have never served the swill. I feel that this drink selection sets me apart as a person who knows their booze and can hold their liquor. Why I find these things important I have yet to understand.

I sit at the bar and quickly strike up a conversation with the drunks around me. Drunk people are so easy to talk to. It is starting to get pretty late and people are straggling out. That is with the exception of the drunks I was chatting with. Apparently, I learned that night, there is the after 2 crowd at Bergins. I am talking with these two guys who work together at a restaurant. One is the chef and the other is the manager. They mention the name of the restaurant. I had heard of it but never been there. It is one of those pricey hip spots. I only go to cheap hip spots. One guy, the manager guy, is starting to put the moves on me. Once I realize what is happening, I kinda take a personal inventory. "Am I drunk?" "How drunk am I?" "Can I maintain a vertical stance to at least 2 minutes without bobbing and weaving" Hmmmmmm. Houston...you know the rest. It is apparent to my would be suitor that I am what is typically called inebriated. But lets call a spade a spade, I was shit faced drunk. Mr Manager offered me a ride home. That would be great, I slurred. Before I proceed let me tell you that this is the Gods honest truth. I remember standing up. I remember walking to the door. Then......nothing.

There is bright light beating on my eyelids. I crack one open and survey the room around me. I have never seen this room before. I take note that I am lying on a couch. An ugly couch. I am naked. I have a condom stuck to my leg. There is some sort of smelly blanket covering me. I shut the eye and take inventory. What day is it? Do I need to be at work? No, I think its Saturday. I am in the clear on that one. Next, remove condom from leg. Gingerly. Trying not actually touch much of it. Do I have bruises or cuts? Nope. Do I feel as though my hoo-hoo has been abused? No. Okay. I have clearly done a bad thing and now is the time to cut and run. I am naked. I prop myself up and see that I am in some pseudo condo that some guy has made an attempt at furnishing, but got caught at Pottery Barn and never made it out. There are stairs. There are my clothes!!!! There is my purse!!! Hot dog!!! I roll off the couch and snake my way commando style through the condoms on the floor. Thank god there were condoms. I pull on my pants, socks and shoes but there is no top. Fuck! I glance up the stairs. HE is up there. I do NOT want to go up there. Fuck! I creep up the stairs. I am very good at this by the way. I have been sneaky since way back. There is one bedroom. I inch open the door and spy my top on the floor. He is sprawled on the bed. Sleeping. I am able to retrieve my shirt and scamper back down the stairs. Success!!!!!! I let myself out of the Pottery Barn Den of Doom. I am hightailing it down the hall when I think to look in my purse for my car keys. GONE! Holymotherfuckershitshitshit! There is only one place they can be. Back in the Den of Doom.

There is no option. I contemplate breaking in but this is a fairly new joint and pretty secure. I go to the door and ring the doorbell. Avon calling! I ring it a lot. Come on Mr. Dirty Manager! Wake up! He comes down and answers the door. Needless to say, he is confused by the sight of me at his front door. Not passed out on his ugly roll arm sofa. I pull myself together and with the very last shred of integrity I have I say "Hi, Sorry to wake you up but I think I left my keys here last night." He is clearly perplexed. Thinking to himself, "you never left"??? Uh hold on, he says. He returns with my keys. Lord knows where the hell they were. "Thanks a bunch. I gotta run. I see you later!" I practically sprint down the hall. When I go out the front door, I look back. He is still standing at his apartment door in his boxer shorts, scratching his head.

I am now on the sidewalk. I look at my cell phone, it is 7:23am. Ugh. That's nasty. I begin to look around for my car. I walk back and forth, up and down his block. It is 15 minutes before I remember. My car is at Bergins. I am not. I am far away. FOR THE LOVE OF PETE, cant a girl catch a break? Apparently not. I begin what will become the longest walk of shame I have ever had to tread. As I come around the corner many many many blocks later, I see Bergins. With my silly car parked out front. Safe and sound and ticket free!!!

I hop into my car and set my purse on the passenger seat. My bag falls over and out tumbles a men's watch. A really nice men's watch. I have a vague recollection of people showing off and trying on watches. I don't wear a watch. I hold it in my hand and consider returning it......for 16 seconds. Fuck that!!!! I may be a slut but I am not going back to that guys place. Enough humiliation for one day. (My sister later gave that watch to her boyfriend. He wears it to this day. She didn't ask where it came from.)

And that my friend is the story of Table 8.