Wing Bowl is a fat man’s event. Honestly. It’s Wing Bowl. A bunch of fat dudes compete to see who can eat the most wings in a certain period of time. Only in America. Even worse, the event starts at 6 AM. It’s hard enough to force down twenty wings at 6 PM during a football game, but these dudes suck down 300 at a time when most people are still sleeping. It’s gross. And even more gross, 20,000 people pack into the arena to watch. And I got a free ticket. So I was going to be one of those people.
On a normal day, you won’t catch me awake before noon. But on this day, I woke up at 4:00 for one reason: to start drinking. Wing Bowl is pretty much a drunk-fest. There are drunk guys everywhere and tits being shown left and right (I can’t wait to have a daughter). If I was going to fit in with this crowd, I needed to start heavy consumption early in the day. I did just that.
The time came for us to go in, but instead of doing so we decided to hang around and drink some more free beer. We were going to wait until right before the main even started; no point in paying for our beer. When that time came, we found ourselves in another dilemma: we had a way to get into the bar across the street before they opened. So now we had options. Option 1: Go into Wing Bowl, see tits, and pay a lot for beer or Option 2: Go into the bar early to get good seats, pay less for beer, and wait for those drunk girls to make their way across the street to the bar when the main event was over. We chose Option 2. And we were satisfied with it.
Not only did a small amount of girls show up to the bar, but an astronomical amount of guys showed up; it was a complete dick fest. Great if you’re one of the few chicks at the bar, but terrible for us. So after a while of being surrounded by sweaty, drunk penis, we decided we would definitely see boobs today, but we were going to have to pay for them. We were going to the strip club.
Leaving the bar and getting to the strip club was a little blurry. I don’t really remember anything until I was sitting on a chair in the club with some girl dancing on me (once again, can’t wait to have a daughter). The rest of the day was a complete blur. I remember getting several dances, but I could not for the life of me remember what any of the girls looked like.
The next thing I remembered, I came to in a restaurant. I hit the wall. I had no more urge to drink. I didn’t have any thought of sobering up. I really didn’t even have the motivation to walk. I was done. So I called my friend for a ride. Lucky for her, she didn’t have to drive all the way to the city to pick me up; her dad was already in the city. So he had the burden of listening to me slur in my speech for the ride home. I’m just lucky I made it home. If it weren’t for him, I was looking for the closest alley. That was it for me for that day. I was in bed by 7 PM. That’s still a very long day. But I was happy that I made it home.
I woke up around 12:30 in the morning. I couldn’t be happier after realizing, once again, that I was in my own bed. I looked next to my bed to see my pile of clothes lying next to my hamper. They didn’t quite make it into the hamper, but I somehow managed to get them off of my body. Not too bad. My next move was to grab my phone. I wanted to make sure no one else ended up in jail. I looked; no one did. Looking good so far. Next thing: look at my account balance. So I open my bank’s app on my phone, type in my information, and then cry. Literally cry.
Somehow, I managed to spend $710. No typo, $710. I looked at my bank statement and saw the gruesome details. The first was an ATM withdrawal for $200. I remembered this one. It was the money I took out in the morning. I took out $200 thinking I wouldn’t need that much, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. The next, $210 at the strip club. Don’t remember this one at all. It wasn’t an ATM withdrawal. I actually had the receipt in my pocket for this one. The card was run for something. I somewhat remember mention of bottle service, but I honestly cannot remember if that was what this money was for. Next: an ATM withdrawal for $360. Holy hell. I sort of remember what this may have been for, but I can’t be sure for certain. At one point in the night, I remember getting very handsy with one of the strippers. She had to stop me, but made sure she said, “You can have me by yourself in the back for $___” (I can’t remember how much she said).
My response was, “What can I touch?”
She said, “Anything you want.”
Sold. That did it for me. So I agreed. I won’t get into too many details, but I will tell you she did let me touch anything I wanted. But she wouldn’t do anything to me. Bullshit. For $360…come on. Also, I know I was blurry so I can’t be sure this is right, but there is no way I was back there for an hour. If I was, I guarantee I would have fallen asleep.
After all was said and done, and tips and other little charges came out, the total for the night ended up being $808. I didn’t complain or cry too much more. The initial shock was all I needed in order to want a sharp object near my neck.
So I didn’t even go into Wing Bowl, but just hearing about it makes me cringe. I am usually very stingy with strippers. I hate strip clubs and this is further proof of why. Those girls saw my drunk ass stumbling in the door and took full advantage of me. I felt like death the entire next day, and it was not because of the hangover; it was because of my empty bank account.
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