5 Nights in Tampa

This is coming to On the Rocks a little late. But quite frankly, how do you reign in the immensity of such a historical event with only a keyboard? Such a temptation of the apocalypse (or is that an apocalypse of temptations?) as me bringing my drinking prowess onto TJ’s home turf?

Three weeks ago I flew to Tampa (or as I now refer to it, “My Freak on the Side”) on a business trip. Never before have work, play, alcohol, beautiful women, perfect weather, and financial irresponsibility blended together into such a rich and finely-woven tapestry. Now if only I could lay that fine work of art out before you, and allow you to gaze upon and feel each of the delicate folds…

…But this is the paradox of alcohol. It provides such unequivocal release of stress, tension, and worry, while creating these wonderful experiences for us, its loyal subjects; and, simultaneously, it severely decreases the likelihood that you will be able to save this magic in your memory banks. I know that, for every fantastic story that I can pull from my mental archives, where I and/or my friends have engaged in a nearly cinematic escapade, there are another two tales, as good or better, that have been erased from my mind forever. It’s the sad plight of a novelist who writes his masterpieces with a blowtorch.

Given the limitations of my recollection, as well as the need for appropriate editing (this page, after all, has a specific theme; and, more often than not, things such as conversations with coworkers during a break, or sleeping alongside a beautiful exotic dancer from Wisconsin—hi, Sage—just don’t fit the mold), I have decided to simply give you some of the many smaller episodes that contributed to each of the chapters of this novella.

• The Monday of the conference was St. Patrick’s Day (the official one). The organizers held a reception that evening, and decided to use a St. Patty’s theme. This meant green beer. As a matter of protocol, such events are never open-bar; not only that, but the prices are outstandingly high (ex.: $6 for a Heineken, where as the Tampa average is about $4). Some glorious individual, however, had decided to make the green beer complimentary. It’s enough to make you start humming “Oh Danny Boy.” Many of the conference attendees were from other nations and cultures. They viewed the green beer as a strange novelty, and sipped at their cups cautiously. The large, uncouth Americans such as me, however, tossed them back like Dixie Cups of water along a marathon route.
• At a second reception that night, my ex-boss and his wife were in attendance. His wife is a fun, spirited older woman, who my coworkers and I love to hang out with at these events. We often share innocent jokes, but I was full of green beer and managed to stupefy her with this:
  o Her: “So what have you been up to lately besides work?”
  o Me: “Drinking.”
  o Her: *shocked pause* “Anything besides that?”
  o Me: “What else is there?”
• I packed for the trip like a lobotomy patient (I left the day after St. Patty’s in Pittsburgh, sooooo…), and needed TJ to take me to a mall so I could buy myself a pair of jeans. Sage came along, and as we left the mall she jumped on his back for a piggyback ride through the parking lot. I trailed slightly behind them, and suddenly had the notion that her bottom needed a firm reminder of who I was. Telepathy is an amazing thing; just as I stealthily approached to deliver the palm of my hand, TJ instantly stopped in his tracks to add emphasis to the smack. The sound resonated throughout the quiet parking lot like a gunshot.
• That night, TJ took me to his private oasis, i.e. "The Club". The place is full of a cast of characters; and I love all of them like family now. Which would make “S-Money” the hot distant cousin that makes you think, “hmmmm…” She bartends at "The Club," but on this night she was off-duty and had been out celebrating the holiday. Hard. When TJ introduced me to her, she enthusiastically jumped up and hugged me with her legs wrapped around me. The exact thought that went through my head at that moment? “I love this place.”
• The bottoms of a couple more dancers were introduced to my palm as the week went on. The girls seemed to like it, and management didn't care. A girl who can't sit down isn't wasting company time, I guess.
• We ended the night kicking it at TJ’s. Sage prefers herbal stimulation to the kind that comes in fifths, but didn’t have a bowl. Weedheads are always creative, though; a weedhead can make a bong out of a paper clip, a roll of toilet paper, and two onions if need be. But TJ’s apartment didn’t yield any good materials. She decided to knock on the door of his neighbor, who he had never met before. A 20-something, five-foot-nothing girl answered the door. When Sage asked if she had an apple, she said, “No, but I have a bowl you can use.” I guess weedheads always know one of their own.
• Tuesday, one of my company’s larger customers had a large party at Hattricks, an Irish hockey bar. The max capacity of the establishment, however, was about 100 people; the party consisted of about 200 people. I got TJ, Sage, and some others in, and all of us took advantage of the open bar. Makers & Coke doubles, baby. At one point, two waitresses were standing near us at the bar, somewhat bored, when they decided that they needed to do shots. TJ and I were recruited to join them, but he balked because the shots were Irish Car Bombs, and he’s afraid of beer.
  
• My ex-boss and his wife were at the party, too. Early in the night, she told me she was going to keep count of how many drinks I had, to make sure I behaved myself and didn't have too many. A couple of hours later, when they were leaving, I looked at her from across the bar and held up five fingers; she laughed and shook her head.
• By the end of the night I was hammered, and found myself reclined in the passenger seat of TJ’s car getting a shoulder massage from Sage, who was sitting in the back; next to her was Codi, a fellow dancer, who was ordering McDonalds from a drive-thru window. I thought about this scene as I sat in a business luncheon the next day, and the dichotomy almost made my head explode.
• Thursday was my last night in town, so we did it up to the best of our abilities (and our wallets’ limits). We started with a few pregaming drinks in my hotel room (Makers on the rocks for me, Parrot Bay on the rocks for TJ). Next we hit 5 Guys for a quick dinner, and then moved on to the Hard Rock Casino. I spent a grand total of 20 minutes at the poker table (embarrassing, to say the least), and then we went to "The Club" so I could drown my shame in beautiful women and more Makers. S-Money was behind the bar, so the Makers-to-Coke ratio was righteous. I considered the very real possibility that she was my soulmate.
• One of the dancers, Lexi, has a unique and phenomenal talent. Standing straight on one leg, she can lift the other into the air 180 degrees; while talking to her by the bar, TJ suggested that she put her foot next to my head. She did, with a simple shrug of her shoulders and an evil smile on her face. I considered the very real possibility that a man can have two soulmates.
• As an early birthday gift, TJ bought me a dance from Erin, a beautiful brunette. She waited until a two-for-one special was announced on private dances before she led me by the hand to the private room. I sat with a glass of Makers & Coke, while she plied her trade with graceful perfection. A soulmate harem, perhaps?
• As closing time approached, the club DJ, his girlfriend, S-Money, the manager, and TJ were all trying to convince me to move to Tampa. The DJ’s girlfriend showed me pictures of the apartment that they had just moved into on the beach in Clearwater, noting that there were still a couple of units available in their building; the manager and S-Money told me about “hurricane parties,” when everyone gathered together in one secure location during a storm and drank themselves fearless. By the time I got back to my hotel, I couldn’t remember why I don’t live down there.

Now if only I could get my harem up to Pittsburgh.