Big City Nights

My team at work hit our revenue goal last year, so we were treated to a night out in DC. The plan was to leave at 2:30 PM, rock a happy hour for a bit and then roll to the Improv for some comedy, but you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men. That phrase always struck me as odd. I seriously doubt that mice have plans and if they do, there is no way that they are best laid plans. It’s not like mice sit around and work out detailed instructions on how they are going to get the cheese off of the trap, or maybe they do, what the fuck do I know about the plans of mice?

Anyway, it was a rainy afternoon as we rolled out of the office, and before we hit the happy hour we made a pit stop at one of my co-workers pads that he rents from friends of his parents. From the moment we pulled up to this high-rise tribute to the glitz of 70’s excess I knew the inside would be spectacular. The place was a perfect hybrid of the Jefferson’s apartment building and the interior decoration from the hotel in The Shining. Long gone were the days of key parties, disco music and copious amounts of chest hair, but the stench of cigarettes and bad cologne was etched into the vibrantly patterned carpeting.

After pounding a few beers, we rolled downtown and met up with the rest of the crew. As the drink orders came around I ordered my chardonnay and I could feel the douchy looks, so the next go round I took off my skirt and ordered a Jack and Coke. (Sorry Andy, I know I should be drinking Evan Williams) I’m not a big whiskey guy, but after numbing my taste buds with the first one, the others when down easy, like Drew Bledsoe after 3 seconds in the pocket.

Once we were all liquored up I somehow ended up walking several blocks arm in arm with our order processing chick, who was stumbling like a newborn deer. Once we got to the Improv, I was ready to get my ha-ha on. I ordered another drink and some quesadillas, and as I took my first bite the drama started going down. “Everybody get your stuff we have to go”. WTF? Apparently, the manager felt we were all too intoxicated to be served. So 30 of us got up and emptied out about a third of the joint.

Dude, this is a comedy club with a two drink minimum. Ok, maybe I shouldn’t have been on stage dancing, and yes, maybe taking off my shirt was a little gratuitous, and when I grabbed the microphone and called everyone in the audience a bunch of pussies, I may have gone a tad over the line, but c’mon people have a sense of humor. As a comedian don’t you want your audience to be a little sauced? And as a business owner do you really want to just write of 3-5k in sales for a Thursday night? So what should have been a win-win-win situation turned into a long walk back to the original bar where they were glad to serve us. What a gip!

Well, that’s about all for now. The 70’s just called and they need me to return the mirror and razor blade I procured from George and Weezy’s pad.