Spring Break, Part 1

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What follows is the first installment of my 2007 Spring Break. I traveled with a group of 6 brothers and one pledge that spring to New Orleans on an alternative spring break. Five of us, including myself, made the trip via Honda Civic, and it made for an interesting road trip. Below is the first half of the trip.

Around noon on Saturday, our driver, Pickles, picks up Roy, Muffin Skinny T and me. Our plan was to do about half the trip to New Orleans, find a hotel in a city still to be determined, and then finish the trip Sunday. Because it was St. Patrick's Day, we placed a high priority on a big city where we could go out and drink. As we enter Tennessee, and realize Memphis is out of the way and out of the question, we settled on Chattanooga, exited the highway, and stopped at the first Days Inn we came across.

Skinny T and I went to secure the room for the night while the other three went out to pick up drinks for the pregame and to find a good bar. Unfortunately, although we had heard of Chattanooga, it wasn't for its night life. They returned to inform us that the place dies after nine and barely has a pulse on the weekend. That left the Days Inn Hotel Bar as our only option. So, we downed a 40 a piece and headed over to the only option in town.

The place was straight out of a southern stereotype. Country music playing softly from a juke box, guys who hadn't left their stools in 12 hours and a bar maid that wasn't securing any Coyote Ugly auditions any time soon. To complete the Hollywood cliche, in we come, loud, lude and ready for a party, only to be stopped in our tracks as this scene unfolds and every eye in the place looks us up and down. We settle down and in to table in the center of the room, the furthest away from the regulars hugging the ring of the place.

So, the bar maid comes over and asks us what we want.

"What's on special?" I ask.
"6 bucks for pitchers," she says as her voice cut through years of abusive menthol cigarrettes.

So, there's five us at a buck a pitcher, let's get nuts. Eventually, the place starts to empty out, and we inquire about closing time.

"Oh, I'll be here till 3 o'clock, sweethearts. Take your time."

Pretty soon, it's just us and her. Pickles goes off to bed to get some sleep for the next day's drive. Since she's the only chick in the place, we start to talk up the bar maid. Turns out she's from Georgia, was passing through Chattanooga and decided she liked it so much she'd set up shop. She asked us about "the North" and what we thought about Tennessee. The conversation went on like this for about 15 minutes until another group settled into a table in the corner and she went off to take their order.

So, after she leaves, we begin to wonder how much our tab is, and seeing as how we've been drinking for about three straight hours, we have no idea how much we've had between the beers we ordered and the shots she offered. So, the conversation then turns to paying for the expected monstrosity. Roy and Muffin, both with girlfriends at the time, begin to debate if either Skinny T or I could sweet talk the bar maid into giving us a price break. It is quickly decided that Skinny T should be the man for the job, since he loves to boast about all the girls he can bed (although actual figures are difficult to come by). So, we send him up to the bar to work his game and settle our debt.

While all this was going on, and unbeknowest to us, another group has followed the first in, and they have begun quietly bickering back and forth across the bar. But, things quickly escalate, signaled by Roy's sudden stricken look.

"Guys, don't turn around," he said to Muffin and I, who had our backs to the bar and were facing Roy. "There's a knife out."

"What the fuck..." I begin.

"These guys are about to rumble, lets get the hell out of here," Roy says.

"We can't just leave Skinny T, he's right in the middle of all of it," Muffin points out.

At this point, the barmaid has lost the starry gaze in her eyes that Skinny T has produced and turns her attention to the animosity right in front of her.

"You all ain't doing this shit in here!" she screams. "Get your hick asses out of my bar and do your bickerin' on the street!"

So, the two groups head out to brawl else where. Crisis averted.

Once order has been restored, we call Skinny T over, learn he is making decent progress, and hand him a credit card to pay whatever the tab ends up being. He goes back to work, and we head over the to all-night diner adjacent to the hotel bar. Hell of a Days Inn they have in Chattanooga.

As we're eating, Skinny T comes in and tells us our tab is $145, and he's talked her into knocking $25 off.

"That's not enough," we tell him. "Get back in there and hook up with that Swamp Donkey and get it down."

"All right," he drunkenly grins, and heads back to the now closed bar.

Fast forward about an hour. We've retired to bed and are shooting the shit, when I suddenly realize its 4:30 in the morning and Skinny T hasn't come up to bed. Just then, we here a knock on the door. I was closest, so I get up, dressed only in boxers, and pull the door open. It's Skinny T.

"Where the hell have you been? How much did you get off?"

"SHHHH!" he says. "She's standing right here."

So he staggers in, and in follows the slampig bar maid. My mouth agape, I fail to say anything to improve the situation, but she surveys the room, seeing four guys in two hotel beds, and utters the immortal words I shall never forget.

"Am I about to get gangbanged, y'all?" she asks, grinning, as if she was hoping we'd all say yes, hogtie her and throw her in the bathtub.

My mind went numb from shock, and I could only see Skinny T's reaction in the failing light, but it was somewhere between horror and humor. He turned, shoved her outside and closed the door behind her as he bid her good night.

"What the fuck did she just say?" Pickles asked, still not exactly sure what was going on as he had only gotten pieces of what transpired after he left from our drunk trio.

"I believe it was, 'Am I about to get gangbanged y'all?'" Roy snickered as we all doubled over in laughter.

Skinny T then describes the experience of hooking up with said swamp menance.

"Well, after you all sent me back in, she was waiting by the door and grabbed me as I came though. She pulled me behind the bar and started to do what can be best described as eating my face. Then she dragged me into a room behind the bar, up against a couch and started ripping her shirt off."

"How were the tits?" someone asked.

"They were terrible. The worst things I've ever seen. I thought she couldn't possibly get uglier, but these things were awful," he grimaced. "They were like pancakes, but then it was as if they had a scoop of ice cream on top."

At this point, we had lost it. We had sent our friend in to hook up with this random woman to save us a couple bucks, and not only had he succeeded, but he had discovered a new kind of breast; the pancake ice cream scoop.

"So, how much was the tab?"

"46," he proudly stated.

$46. He had saved us almost a hundred bucks. Unbelievable.

And thus ended the craziest St. Patrick's Day I have ever experienced, yet it was so fitting for what was yet to come in the Cresent City.