A Night on the Town

“Bar crawling” is something I never thought I'd find myself doing; going from bar to bar on foot, getting progressively drunker down the line. I did, however, have my first bar crawling experience recently in Boulder – home of one of the big party schools in Colorado, though I can't say I got drunk enough to forget it.

The first bar we went to was pretty quiet, since it was still early in the evening, but still had quite a few people tilting and stumbling as they walked. A pair of these, two college guys - football players by the look of them, approached me before I'd even made it to the bar for my first drink. The shorter of the two, walked up to me, leaning closer than he would have without the assistance of alcohol, and goes “Hey...what's your name?” To which I responded, as anyone would, with my name. He instantly scoffed and said “Eugh, never mind.” As though merely my name offended him?

I returned to the area where my group was standing with a new drink in hand, apparently in the wake of the short football guy, who had asked the people I was with; “Is Katrina always that rude?” And after figuring out both halves of the story, we all decided he was way drunker than he needed to be, and laughed about it while throwing darts vaguely at a wall.


Well, we didn't quite get down the actual rules, but I can safely say this is yet another sport that alcohol improves.

At one point in this particular bar, I went to the restroom, and it was a sight to behold. First, there was graffiti everywhere stating things in English, and drunklish – and the part that got me, was someone had gone through these writings and corrected a lot of them in red pen. Another thing that caught my attention, was the handles on the toilets were backward, facing the bowl instead of the wall. It took a moment, as the alcohol was sinking in, but I eventually deduced the handles were backwards for easier vomit-flushing – clever bar-bathroom design, must be a college town.


The red corrections didn't show up with the flash, but this one did...Not quite as drastic as the red marker, but still amusing.

The next part of my part of the story takes place in what I would imagine was a pseudo-dance club? I'm not sure exactly, only it had loud music and what looked like a dance floor on one side of the room, and a pool table area on the other, which is where we parked. This bar had the most interesting people, and I'm glad I'm not one to get drunk enough to forget them.

First, the area we were standing in had a small room behind glass near us, what was presumably a smoking room when smoking was still permitted in bars – where two guys were sitting, tapping on the glass at us. I'm sure they thought they were being clever, but communicating through solid glass is difficult, especially with loud music, and they slightly resembled caged, drunk, zoo animals.

While playing pool, ignoring the glass-guys, there was one particular guy that was interested in our game. Now, I must describe this guy, because that's probably the best part. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, with khaki shorts, and hiking boots, and had the hair, face, and build of Rick Astley in his prime – leaving me mentally Rickrolling myself in a bar.

He was drunk beyond anything I have ever been, and the proof of this was in his attention span. He changed topics or wandered off every few words, and every time I responded or asked a question he'd disappear, then come immediately back.

He was sporting two different drinks for whatever reason, maybe he forgot he had one in each hand. But as he was talking, he would move his hands, spilling alcoholic beverage all over his legs, the floor, other people, and his shoes. Another bar-patron directed his attention to the fact that he was raining, and the following few moments reflected his spilling;

“What will they think of me in Salt Lake City? Showing up with my shoes all wet.” he shakes his head “They're brand new, too! Oh well,” then he leans closer to me, and arranges his face to appear deadly serious “They're waterproof.” And he nods to me, reassuringly, before wandering off to spill his drinks on other patrons.

On the car-ride home, after much fun was had, and we recapped much of the night, one more fun quote was shared. Earlier in the night, I had ordered fries from one of the bars, and they arrived covered in entirely too much salt, and equally as much Pepper. I was very disappointed in this, and really just wanted to stop someplace to get normal Fries on the way back, when it was mentioned that the apartment we were going to had pasta.

The passenger in the front seat leaned back to me and said; "Well, pasta is kinda fries." which I, and everyone else, laughed at - much harder than was probably necessary, and that is the important part. By the time I got home, I had an arm-full of writing just in case I forgot anything (though, upon reading it, most of it was illegible anyway,) and my first bar-crawling experience under my belt.

Now imagine me, only writing "Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down" on the bathroom walls.