Matterhorn is always boisterous and loud on a Saturday night, with a live band and a packed dance floor. On Brewski Saturday, though, the atmosphere jumps up a few notches. There’s twice as many people, and most of them have been awash in beer for the previous four hours (at a minimum; we had been drinking for about eight hours by then). This infusion of overboozed, excited people can manifest itself in different ways:
- Beer muscles — T.C., J Sun, and Dupa sat down at a table, each of them placing a beer and a Red Bull and Vodka in front of them. A random middle-aged guy (RMG), though, decided that this particular table was his. He began vehemently protesting their supposed trespass, even going so far as to grab one of Dupa’s drinks as though it were his own. Dupa, in response, reclaimed it. LRG, who had been standing nearby watching everything, grabbed Toe and I. Suddenly the small table and RMG were surrounded by guys half his age and BAC. A couple of RMG’s friends finally came over and diffused the situation by apologizing for him.
- Dance fever — With T.C. and J Sun calling it a night early to sate any jealous accusations of abandonment from their spouses, the remaining six of us found ourselves situated around the dance floor. Dupa, LRG, Chappy, and I all sat in chairs positioned along the edge. Girlfriend, noting our seating arrangement, struck upon an idea. As she explained the following day: “All of the boys were sitting in a line, and I thought, ‘This is my chance to live my dream!’ So I started dancing like in ‘Flashdance’ [where Jennifer Beals performs for the judges at the dance audition], going all the way down the line.” That’s my baby—bashful as ever.
- Bad decisions — One member of our crew was being hunted. And, slowed by the aforementioned cloudy vision, he wasn’t going to get away. The predator was feline, but I hesitate to call her a “cougar.” Cougars are usually lithe and beautiful in motion. This hunter was anything but lithe and beautiful in motion. We tried our best to deter him, but he wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t listen. Destiny’s song was playing just too loud for him to hear anything else. Just when we thought he may have heard us, he announced, “She’s going to walk me back to the room, but that’s it. We’re not going to do anything [sexual].” He and Hunter left, and the rest of us already knew he was a goner.
When we got back to the room, the door to the balcony side bedroom was locked. We had brought back pizzas, so we ate while we took turns yelling words of both encouragement and derision for the ears locked away next door. When we heard a rather loud group of people out in the hallway, we opened the door to find a guy, a blonde booth bunny from Brewski, and…the brunette Peroni girl.
We invited them in for pizza, and they accepted. Peroni, who had seemed personable during Brewski, was downright fun when not behind a beer counter. We informed her of our friend’s doings behind the locked door. Girlfriend told her to pretend to be our friend’s wife, “Lisa” [he’s not actually married], and to knock on the bedroom door. Peroni, without a moment’s hesitation, went over to the door and pounded her little fists on it.
Peroni: “[friend’s name], YOU SON OF A BITCH!! THIS IS YOUR WIFE LISA, YOU ASSHOLE!! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME??”
The rest of us were nearly in tears of suppressed laughter. I was hoping against hope that Hunter would come bursting out of the room (fully-clothed though, for the sake of my eyes and appetite), apologizing to Peroni and yelling at our buddy as she made a hasty exit. Unfortunately, though, she hung tough, and Peroni and her friends left a short while later.
Hunter eventually left some time after that. Upon arriving to our hotel room earlier, she said to our friend, “I can’t stay here all night.” “That’s fine!” he readily replied. Now, a few hours later, she said to him, “I have to go…unless you want me to stay.” “Well,” he reasoned, “You did say you couldn’t stay, sooo…” She then waited for those of us in the other bedroom to go to sleep, so that she could sneak out stealthily. Girlfriend and I, therefore, turned off the lights in our bedroom and pretended to go to sleep. We heard the telltale smack of lips as Hunter and our friend said goodbye in the hall; though none of us feigning sleep could see each other in the darkness, I’m almost certain we all cringed at that sound. Once he had closed the door, we flipped the lights on and began a verbal assault that would last until…well, it really hasn’t ended yet.
The best kick to our boy’s pride, by far, came from Girlfriend, as some of us ate lunch the next day. “At first I was worried,” she said as she moved food around on her plate. “I thought, ‘They look like they’re related!’”