Last night was a party the likes of which memories are made of.
We got to Maloney's in Tucson waaay early. About 5:30pm because they start carding at 6pm and we
had two minors we had to "sneak" in (I know, I know. I'm a terrible human being). Being in a training base,
we are restricted in several ways. For example, the soldiers who have been in a while can't hang out with
the trainees outside the work environment. Of course, Sergeants (such as yours truly) are not allowed to
associate or fraternize with junior enlisted, etc... etc... etc....
All that went out the window. It's basically our last free weekend here in AZ and so I wanted to have a dinner
with my squad which evolved into a huge, everyone-is-invited party. There were about 30 of us and since I was
the host, I had to give up my credit card. Cierra, our waitress, found me and told me that she was going to need a *second* card. By this time we were pretty tanked, so one of my cohorts gave up his card. More drinking and pool playing later, Cierra tells us she needs a third card because the tab is out of control. My roommate gave up his card and the party continued. There was some debauchery, of course. Anyone who knows me knows that where I go, the debauchery is nary far behind. By the end of the night, four credit cards had to be given up and when the numbers came in, my card called it quits at $703, my buddy's at $60, and my roommate's at $150 (thanks guys!
), the fourth? I don't know. Sometimes it doesn't pay to have good credit.
The joke was on them though. When they tried to actually run my card, it was declined. Woo!
I had to give up my actual debit card and ended up swallowing about $400 of the total bill (which was just under a grand). A few of the other higher ranking put in two to three hundred dollars here and there so we were all good.
After that, we went on our merry way to the Motel 6 where my roommate's blackness got the cops called on us after he told the security guard, "Fuck the 5-0," and various things of that nature. He and another buddy left as we were trying to sleep 6 in that room (and for your information, three grown men can fit semi-comfortably on a twin-sized bed).
With them gone, I was able to lay down and I realized two things. One, you have to be pretty damn black to get arrested at a Motel 6 and two, I was hungry. Since I was afraid the cops were gonna beat down the door and the COPS TV show cameras would be with them, I decided to walk my happy ass to the Waffle House on the corner. I figured my parents would be upset if I was to be shown on TV getting arrested at the Motel 6.
So I'm walking and I call my roomie and told him where I was going. He and two of my other buddies thought it was a good idea so we all went. While we were there, I got a phone call. Since this whole night was my idea, my phone was ringing so much I thought it would explode. Another guy, Steven, had arrived at the Motel 6 and asked what room I was in. "Two-twelve," I replied and I heard him say, "Oh shit." He told me the cops were at my door and they had just kicked out another of my buddies who had left the party early and was so fucked up that he didn't hear any of the shouting. I thought about how it must have felt to be woken up by the cops and told to leave when you had no idea and so I did what any good friend would have done. I laughed my ass off into the phone. He asked where I was and I told him, "At the Waffle House down the street." He told me he'd call back.
Five minutes later he called and told me that the room was in my name and that the cops wanted to talk to me. I apologized and said I couldn't go because my food had arrived and I was presently eating my hashbrowns which I had got "peppered." You could see the predicament I was in. I reiterated to him that I was at the Waffle House down the street and that if the cops wanted to speak to me, I would be there. They had already evicted us, what more could they need?
In the end, the cops never came to the Waffle House and we had to get a room at the Howard Johnson's, but it was a good night.
Ever since I found out I was going back to Iraq, I've been in this whole "fuck the rules" mindset. My life flashed before my eyes so many times that I feel like I'm being sentenced to death.
Oh man, this PTSD is killing me inside.
We got to Maloney's in Tucson waaay early. About 5:30pm because they start carding at 6pm and we
had two minors we had to "sneak" in (I know, I know. I'm a terrible human being). Being in a training base,
we are restricted in several ways. For example, the soldiers who have been in a while can't hang out with
the trainees outside the work environment. Of course, Sergeants (such as yours truly) are not allowed to
associate or fraternize with junior enlisted, etc... etc... etc....
All that went out the window. It's basically our last free weekend here in AZ and so I wanted to have a dinner
with my squad which evolved into a huge, everyone-is-invited party. There were about 30 of us and since I was
the host, I had to give up my credit card. Cierra, our waitress, found me and told me that she was going to need a *second* card. By this time we were pretty tanked, so one of my cohorts gave up his card. More drinking and pool playing later, Cierra tells us she needs a third card because the tab is out of control. My roommate gave up his card and the party continued. There was some debauchery, of course. Anyone who knows me knows that where I go, the debauchery is nary far behind. By the end of the night, four credit cards had to be given up and when the numbers came in, my card called it quits at $703, my buddy's at $60, and my roommate's at $150 (thanks guys!
), the fourth? I don't know. Sometimes it doesn't pay to have good credit.
The joke was on them though. When they tried to actually run my card, it was declined. Woo!
I had to give up my actual debit card and ended up swallowing about $400 of the total bill (which was just under a grand). A few of the other higher ranking put in two to three hundred dollars here and there so we were all good.
After that, we went on our merry way to the Motel 6 where my roommate's blackness got the cops called on us after he told the security guard, "Fuck the 5-0," and various things of that nature. He and another buddy left as we were trying to sleep 6 in that room (and for your information, three grown men can fit semi-comfortably on a twin-sized bed).
With them gone, I was able to lay down and I realized two things. One, you have to be pretty damn black to get arrested at a Motel 6 and two, I was hungry. Since I was afraid the cops were gonna beat down the door and the COPS TV show cameras would be with them, I decided to walk my happy ass to the Waffle House on the corner. I figured my parents would be upset if I was to be shown on TV getting arrested at the Motel 6.
So I'm walking and I call my roomie and told him where I was going. He and two of my other buddies thought it was a good idea so we all went. While we were there, I got a phone call. Since this whole night was my idea, my phone was ringing so much I thought it would explode. Another guy, Steven, had arrived at the Motel 6 and asked what room I was in. "Two-twelve," I replied and I heard him say, "Oh shit." He told me the cops were at my door and they had just kicked out another of my buddies who had left the party early and was so fucked up that he didn't hear any of the shouting. I thought about how it must have felt to be woken up by the cops and told to leave when you had no idea and so I did what any good friend would have done. I laughed my ass off into the phone. He asked where I was and I told him, "At the Waffle House down the street." He told me he'd call back.
Five minutes later he called and told me that the room was in my name and that the cops wanted to talk to me. I apologized and said I couldn't go because my food had arrived and I was presently eating my hashbrowns which I had got "peppered." You could see the predicament I was in. I reiterated to him that I was at the Waffle House down the street and that if the cops wanted to speak to me, I would be there. They had already evicted us, what more could they need?
In the end, the cops never came to the Waffle House and we had to get a room at the Howard Johnson's, but it was a good night.
Ever since I found out I was going back to Iraq, I've been in this whole "fuck the rules" mindset. My life flashed before my eyes so many times that I feel like I'm being sentenced to death.
Oh man, this PTSD is killing me inside.
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Have a safe trip.
I did go for boots and skirt in the end. That's my old reliable stage outfit. I was going to wear a ripped miniskirt with my stockings and suspenders showing, but decided I don't really have the guts to do that, which is just as well because I always get hassled by the drunkest, weirdest, oldest and most Welsh man who happens to be there. Tonight was no exception. My bandmates have started making jokes about it.