As I sit here on Sunday afternoon enjoying several of my five hundred and eighty six hangovers my mind wanders back to yesterday.
Yesterday morning I woke up at home in my parents place in good old north Mayo. I did not have a crippling hangover and food was merely footsteps away. Far better situation than this afternoon. I woke up at 3.55pm which usually I’m fine with but I had a lot to do today, now it’s too late, curse you Past Steve and your drinking ways!
This sort of irresponsibility is very unlike me which can only mean one thing. I must have broken rule number one of “Steves Drinking Rules”. Now rule number one reads
“Rule number 1. Steve shall never ruin the craic by drinking shots”
I don’t remember drinking shots at all and I would remember as people always try to make me drink those little portions of devil juice. So while piecing the night together a few minutes ago I looked deep into the subconscious of Past-Steve, that younger and sexier version of me holds the answer…I’m sure of it.
“Reveal to me your secrets” I screamed at the handsome man in my mirror. “Look at your wrist old man” said Past Steve. Noooooooooooooooo!! I broke rule number two and three of my drinking rules.
“Rule number 2. Steve shall not attend a nightclub”
“Rule number 3. Steve shall never pay hard earned money to enter a pub/club that offers nothing more the pub next door, which quite likely has a live band.”
It all came flooding back. Karma nightclub Galway…the 457th circle of hell.
Did you see that pint of beer? Yes, I assure you that was a pint of Heineken and not something flat like cider of a mineral. You will just have to believe me on this but I assure you that was what I was served. Imagine this in another way for a moment. Imagine going into a bakery and getting a cake. You get home and grab a knive and attempt to cut a slice of cake for yourself only to discover that it was filled with concrete? Imagine opening up your mail in the morning only to discover the envelope is filled with live scorpions? That is a fair comparison I think.
I suffered through the first flat pint but complained after the second one. The guy behind the bar looked at me like I had told him his mother blows sailors for heroin money on Wednesday nights. He grudgingly poorer me another pint which as equally, if not worse than the original! FOUR attempts later he got it right…by pouring me a Carlsberg instead, it wasn’t great either but I was sick of looking at his stupid face. That unemployable fuckwit really got to me. His job is to help his customers right? A lot of people that work in these places don’t really give a crap about people they serve and somehow believe they can treat you like crap. I understand they have a lot of rude drunk people annoying them but that doesn’t cut it with me. Just because you hate the people doesnt mean you can act like a dick. Try dealing with arrogant old women all day pal…it will ruin your mind. “Yes, bags ARE 22c. It is not shocking and his been in law for 10 years”. Anyway, back to the story about me going to nightclub.
How did this happen you ask? I was at a work party and everybody else was going in. Disaster. “But Steve if everybody else jumped off a bridge would you do it too?” Yes of course I would. Everybody in the world dying would amuse me, making me happy. When Im happy I cannot function correctly in my perpetual misery and apathy towards life. With all of my enemies dead I would have no reason to live…forcing me to jump of said bridge. #SteveLogic. (in this fantasy Kanye West landed on a jagged rock underwater and was impaled, prolonging his already slow death. Hundred of people bounced off his badly beaten body making his death all the more painful. Drowning is too good for that prick. Yes, I brought the Kanye hate back, I know you’ve missed it.)
So I know I have already went off on a rant on this magical blog so I won’t do it again. I will simply highlight what these hellholes are actually like when viewed in the cold light of day. This is a video Past Steve took on one of his dozens of trips to the bar last night. My “Shit, why am I in a nightclub?” tactic is the stuff of legend. I developed it over years of being dragged to nightclubs by my ex girlfriend who would then proceed to hang out with her mates for the entire night leaving me on my own bored in hell. It is genius in it’s pure simplicity. Bar…Smoking Area…Bar…Smoking Area x 456. See, it does the job.
Now here is the video. This is what nightclubs sound like. It is around two minutes long and I don’t think many people will make it to the end. There’s nothing in it really, it’s just black all the way through so nothing to look forward to visually. It is just what these fuckholes sound like. It is a matter of endurance which represents my struggles in a nightclub. 2 minute video, 2 hours in a nightclub…see what I did there. Believe.
See, that was awful wasn’t it? Did you make it through to the end without screaming “KILL IT” and throwing your laptop or phone at the wall? Well if you did you are a braver man/woman/spaceman than the rest of us. Would you actually go to these places sober?! Seriously now! That is what I imagine the inside of a serial killers head sounds like.
I like cake,