Trying to talk your way into a nightclub when drunk

Its the 16th day of the month, you're paid on the 23rd... You're in that no-mans-land of financial depression and you're dying for a night of outrageous drunken debauchary and so, in order to save a few sheckles but at the same time transform yourself into an arc for alcohol; you trot along to the nearest off-licence (that now closes at 10pm; yet another cunning decision made by the current Irish government) and purchase a ridiculous 24 bottles of Miller and a Shoulder of vodka. You've bought these drinks at roughly 7pm and your plan is to hit the city centre before 11pm. First of all, THERE IS NO FRICKIN WAY you're going to drink anywhere NEAR that volume of alcohol but, the Cavan in you prevails as you assess the price of 10 bottles versus the deal on the crate. Then you spend the next 3 hours guzzling down as many bottles as possible attempting to justify the significant leap of stupidity you made earlier, by buying so much alcohol in the first place. Usually in my instance I gather a couple of friends and we end up in my house while a number of us take turns playing the guitar; I sink the bottles with such speed and aggression that I look like the lead actor in a porno entitled; 'Deepthroat; The Truth behind the Watergate scandal' -a film in which Richard Dickson must use any means necessary to keep a lid on his polictical wrong-doings. As the box of Miller gets more and more empty, soon enough we find ourselves singing all the pub-songs under the sun to the point where-by we actually close our eyes and go to that 'special place'. Once we've polished off an acceptable number of drinks, we call the cab; more often then not, making it wait outside for 10 minutes just for arriving early thus allowing us to finish the 3-part vodka, quarter part 7up that I have concocted. Have you ever heard the likes of it!? MAKING A CAB WAIT FOR BEING ON TIME?! Thats like returning a Dominos home-delivery for arriving within the 40 minutes! Then, once you've all clambered into the 'seven seater' you ask the Taxi-driver to turn up the music so you can continue the piss poor sing song you were having in the house; making his night just that bit more suicidal. Imagine the poor guy, he's just cleaned his cab from picking up some wilder-tart that drank herself into oblivion who chose his back seat as the basin to catch her carrots and now; he has to deal with a group of whaling Tomcats who sound like they're all riding eachother simultaneously. Fantastic. So we pull up outside 'Break for the Border' and fall out of the taxi, marching toward the bouncers in 'sober mode'. (Why does that involve holding your breath and narrowing your eyes?). As the que shortens and you near the top, one of you tell the rest to quiet down.
" Where are ya's coming from lads?" Asks the shorter of the bouncers, clearly taking the lead in order to broach his small-man syndrome. The elected spokesperson says;
"Blanchardstown" with a friendly and somewhat geeky smile, attempting to portray someone who isnt even capable of starting any trouble.
"Were yee drinkin' before-hand lads?". This is where the lying begins:
"Only a couple in the house...". The bouncer then turns to his larger henchman prompting him for a judgement and then he speaks ,sounding like Darth Vader when he points at me and asks; " Do you have ID?"... Of course the rest of the lads saunter on by while I remain outside with Jaws from Moonraker who is looking at me like im just out of the womb. "Yeah sure" - I reply, while I ruffle through my wallet for my drivers licence (which by the way, has been folded so many times it looks an origami bird made by Steven Seagal). I present it to him while making idle chat saying things like: "So... Is it busy inside?" - which he blatently ignores (Im not bothered, I just tell myself he probably cant speak English). He then hands my drivers licence back to me through his index and middle finger and gestures me to enter the club... However, once ive been kicked out for flogging a female terradactyl, I make it my mission to re-enter the club. I hang around outside for about half an hour trying to convince Darth Vader to let me back in for one of the following reasons; usually I start by trying to pull on his heart strings by telling him its a work night-out and its really embarressing for my colleagues to see me in this light. If that doesnt work, I tell him its my mates birthday, hoping he will give me the benefit of the doubt enough not to let me ruin HIS night; If that fails I reduce myself to simply begging him to let me in and that I promise I will 'behave'... If im not back in by then I reach for the ACE in my pack;

"Alright, I'll go home then, my jacket is inside, can I go get it?"... and BOOM!... 'INSIDE IM DANCING!'... ;)

Bottomline no7: Your pokerface doesnt work on all bouncers...Just the ones that dont think independent from the hive. But you wouldnt need a pokerface if.... Ah now we're catching on... :P

Next post: Keeping fit and Alcohol...

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