The Beach and the Hooker

What is it about Myrtle Beach that is just so trashy? There are some nice places to go, a few delicious restaurants, definitely some good golfing, but there’s something about it that is just a little off. If you’ve lived North of Florida or South of New Jersey, then you’ve been there. No matter how you got down there, you had an interesting experience while you were there. I was no different.

It was early in my college career, and like many other college students, I was broke. Spring break had come around and I just didn’t have enough cash to go on a trip to Florida or going skiing out west somewhere. So I just decided to take the days off from school and pick up some hours at the sandwich shop I was working at. About half of the break was over and I was pretty down about the idea that I wasn’t going to be doing anything exciting, when my friend (I’ll call him Ben) came to the rescue and told me to come crash with all of his buddies down in Myrtle Beach. None of us had a lot of money, but you can always find money for gas and booze.

So as fast as he had sprung the idea on me, I was on my way to the beach and imagining what the trip had in store. It’s not a very long drive from my little college town, so before I knew it I was already smelling the salt of the ocean breeze blowing in through my car windows. This state of euphoria was interrupted when my buddy Ben called me on my cell phone. Ben told me I should hurry, because a friend of ours had decided to purchase a hooker for the night. Now our friend was a pretty good looking guy, he had no trouble getting women, but for some reason he decided to go the risky route and listen to the cab driver’s sales pitch for the evening. For one hundred dollars the cab driver could have a woman at our hotel room within an hour. That strikes me as a little bit cheap for what I would imagine the going rate for hookers are these days.

I hurried to the hotel, not having a clue of what was in store, and opened the door to a room full of guys with the strangest looks on their faces. I guess they thought I might be the prostitute when I opened the door, but when they saw me it was a combination of both relief and disappointment. I walked into the room and said hi to all the guys, but the fact of me getting there was almost an afterthought. It was kind of like waking up on Christmas morning and having to wait to open your presents.

We all sat there on the hotel beds and chatted while we awaited the arrival of our “Pretty Woman.” Let me tell you, that once the knock at the door came, it was not Julia Roberts on the other end. If you can imagine the skinniest version of a trailer park girl, then that was her. Well at this moment, I had absolutely no idea of what was about to happen. We all just sat around and kind of looked at each other waiting for the other to make a move. Then that’s when the financier of the evening decided to kick us all of the room so that he could have fun with his lady of the night.

Imagine all of our disappointment when we realize that we’re not even going to get to laugh about what all he is going to. So the rest of us all grab a few beers and go chat on the porch. After finishing our beers and getting a good buzz on, we decide we want to go to a pancake house and get some late night food. We all go back into the room to find our friend just finishing up with…well whatever he was doing. And he says that he’d like to come with us to get some food. Now here’s the awkward part. The hooker doesn’t see where she fits in all of this and decides to invite herself to the pancake house with us. Now that’s kind of intimidating. How could you tell the hooker no?

Well the pancake house was full of funny moments of us trying to embarrass the trailer queen, but that’s not the moral of the story. Once we finally arrive back to the hotel it’s time for the prostitute to settle up the bill and get her ride home. She pulls out her cell phone, that she must have stolen from Zach Morris, and calls her mother to pick her up. You can imagine the field day I had with this poor girl. Let’s just say we didn’t take the time to “build her up.” Our friend, who’s idea this all was in the first place, senses the tension of the moment and decides to take her into the bathroom for round two.

This time, we’re actually in the room while all of this is going on. I must have giggled like fourth grade school girl for 15 minutes. Once we could hear that things were wrapping up in the bathroom, all of us guys thought that we’d pretend to be asleep so that we could distance ourselves from the awkwardness of the evening. Once they came out it was time to settle up the bill. She asked our friend for the 100 dollars, but there was a problem. He only had 40 dollars on him. What happens next, I’ll never really understand how it happened. This doesn’t upset the girl; she simply just pleads for 10 more dollars so she can pay her “manager” his portion. So our friend starts to ask us all for the ten more dollars, but we’re all pretending to be asleep. He gets louder and louder and starts yelling at us to help when in a collective motion we all start busting out laughing. Someone in our group felt bad and pitched in four more dollars.

The girl ended up leaving the room giving up double the goods and fifty-six dollars in the hole. At least she got a free breakfast out of it. Needless to say, we’ve never let this guy live the events of that night down.

-Costanza

So first a little background:

At my university, every year at Homecoming each fraternity teams up with a sorority to make floats for a parade. Seems pretty normal. Well basically everyone in the parade is hammered every year and it turns into a huge shit show. My house got teamed up with Chi-O for the parade (defiantly not our first choice, or even second choice for that matter… they would have been about fourth or lower on the list). The girl who was in charge of making the float for from Chi-O is being a huge bitch to all of our pledges that are making the float (no actives are involved). Also, I should mention that this girl has very large breasts, but this is most likely due to the fact that they match her sizable gut. Before the parade, the girl is drinking heavily as would be expected and during the course of the parade falls off the float and gets partially run over by the trailer. Hence her name for the rest of eternity, “Curb Check”. (She didn’t get hurt though for all of you that care)

On to the interesting part of the story…

We are having a work session at the House which that particular evening consisted of alternating between the pledges getting worked and then cleaning. During the time they were being worked, the actives would fuck up the house in any way that we could think of, thus creating more work for the pledges during their cleaning break. Well somehow, Curb Check is able to get in the front door of the house during a clean. She walks in and is a huge mess, drunk as hell and only wearing jeans, shoes and a zip-jacket done up about ¼ to ½ of the way with no shirt on underneath. So Curb Check walks up to my friend and tries to kiss him and is telling about how much she likes him. He proceeds to grab her arm and remove her from the building. She comes back in a few minutes later, (we didn’t have a workable lock on the door) and tries to go after another friend with similar advances. She keeps saying how she knows what is going on in here (the pledges) and she doesn’t care. After she is removed a second time, this time with ever more force, I am picked to be in charge if she does happen to come back in. As someone who is not particularly a good hazer, I don’t mind this. Hey some of us are built to fuck with and tweak out on kids, others aren’t. When I see here trying to get back in I go outside and walk her down to another sorority house down the street. She is crying at this point and the girls from the other house seem me with her and assume that I have done something wrong. I explain what is going on and Curb Check demands to see her friend in the house we are now at.

After about 20-30 minutes of waiting with her, (I can’t take the chance of her coming back to our house) her friend finally comes out and they talk for a little bit. They decide that I should walk her home, which I agree to do. On the way home she is blabbing about this and that and all I can think about is how to get this drunk, topless, ugly-ass girl home without anyone I know seeing me. Oh yeah, she made me feel her boobs more times that I care to count or remember. One thing I thought she said that was particularly funny was that her grandmother always taught her that men should walk on the outside of women (the side closer to the street) when walking down the side walk. She made me do this for about a block and then abruptly made me switch sides. Kinda odd, but she was hammered and ugly, so I didn’t want to take this time to ask many questions. We see a few deer on the way back to her house and I know at this point that I am going to have to deal with this girl for longer that just dropping her off. She tries to kiss me several times and from there I know it’s over.

We get back to her house and she takes me inside and we make out for maybe 20 minutes (hey I hadn’t gotten any in a while, give me a break). Another of her sorority sisters is also making out with a guy in the living room pretty much right next to us.

She then leads me downstairs because it is against Chi-O rules for guys to go upstairs. (I think this has to do with Ted Bundy and his killings at the University of Florida Chi-O house). She sits me down on a couch and then proceeds to give me a very drunken and almost painful blowjob. As soon as I am finished, I stand up and she sits on the couch. I think that she was assuming that I would reciprocate. There was noooooo way in hell that this was going to happen. I walked back upstairs to be greeted by the girl who had been downstairs earlier. She said in a somewhat accusing, but also jokingly manner, “Did you go upstairs at Chi-O?” With the quickest response that I think I have ever given, I said “no” and hauled ass for the door and home.

So I think that I have gotten away with it, and I do, for a while. But because girls talk like they do, everyone finds out that I was the one that took down the Curb Check.

For most people, the term hazing usually triggers a mental image of college boys yelling and screaming at puny little 18-year-old boys, forcing them to chug concoctions of toothpaste, meatloaf, pickle juice, and other substances which a girl could not come up with if she tried. Yeah, that’s what I used to think of until my friend pointed out to me that I haze cab drivers with ridiculous demands. When I tried to claim that it was just a one time thing, she started rattling off all the times I hazed cab drivers and so I decided I had to put this in writing.

So you get in a cab and tell the driver where you want to go, they drop you off, they give you a fee to pay, you pay it and get out, right? Wrong. That is not how it works with me, not when late night dance parties, cigarette-smoking, late night food, and being short on change is involved.

As I started reminiscing about all of my cab ride experiences, one particular time came to mind. It was about 1AM when my friend and I decided we were tired of the bar scene and were going to head home, so we split a cab. We dropped her off first because I decided I wanted to swing by our local neighborhood bar to pick up a pizza on the way home. I drunkenly called the pub, placed an order for a veggie pizza, the cab driver dropped off my friend, and took me to the bar.

When we arrived, I told him that the pizza would not be ready for another ten minutes and demanded that he turn off the car so that the meter did not run up my bill. He turned the car off without argument, believe it or not. It was a non-smoking cab but we had time to kill so I asked him if I could smoke in his car and he said no. When I asked him why not he told me he would get in trouble with the cab company. I assured him that everything would be okay and he just needed to get an air-freshener; I lit my cigarette, he said nothing, and I won the battle. About ten minutes after sitting in the driveway of the pub, I asked him in my kindest tone if he would take my cash inside the bar and get my pizza. People were still there and I did not want to run the risk of seeing anyone I knew who might question why I was by myself, intoxicated, retrieving a pizza at 1:15 in the morning and getting back into a sketchy van.

Without hesitation, the cabbie got out of the van, took my cash and went inside to pay for my pizza. While I sat there in the backseat of the van trying to be discrete about this pizza mission, the sliding door swung open and all of the lights in the cab turned on; the cab driver handed me my remaining cash and pizza and I saw a crowd of people at the bar just staring at me sitting in the back of the cab. I waved to the bouncer who I had made friends with at a karaoke bar as I grabbed the door and slammed it shut in the hopes that no one else spotted my pathetic state of laziness. As we drove away, the cab driver could not stop laughing because his other fat-ass of a cab driver buddy (one that I have crossed paths with in previous cab ride experiences) was making snide remarks about the “piece of shit” that could not get out of the cab and get her own pizza.

In closing, the only two conclusions I made were the following: one, the veggie pizza was delicious and, two, I really do not care what that colossal cab driver was saying about me. I have witnessed him almost hitting a telephone poll when driving inebriated kids, one of them being me, from one place to another and making inappropriate phone calls to one of my friends after-hours to see what she was up to because he was bored; maybe he should be the one considering his ranking on the “piece of shit” scale. As for me, I can say my only regret is that I wish I would have gotten this particular cabbie’s number; he has a “can-do” attitude that needs to permeate the rest of the cab-driving universe.

Ladies, I don’t know about you, but us guys, we tend to do that…well…a lot. And yeah, I am talking about what you’re thinking of. I tend to think its just human nature, but maybe we’re just disgusting pigs.

In college, roommates tend to know their roommate’s schedules better than we know our own. I always knew that I would have some personal time on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from 11:30 to 12:25 and then on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1:30 until 2:15. I know it is pathetic, but that’s just the way it is.

One particular night my roommate was leaving on a trip. His friends wanted to leave around midnight, so as I was getting ready for bed, he was getting ready to leave. Midnight came, he said goodbye, and went on his way. Laying there in bed, drifting off to sleep I began to feel the urge. Now I wasn’t happy about getting the urge; I was ready to go to sleep. But when you get the urge, there’s no turning back.

I got out of bed and went over to my desk to take care of business, but this day was different than most days. I didn’t take the same precautions that I typically would, because my roommate had left about fifteen minutes prior to go out of town. As I was sitting there, fully exposed to the silence of my room, I hear the door open. I was in the heat of the moment and had no where to go. I got caught. Now I’m a good sport about these things, because I can see the humor in the situation, but I was completely embarrassed.

My roommate showed no mercy. He could have walked back out; he could have given me a second to shield myself; he could have done anything other than what he did – he ran down the hall to tell all of my hallmates what had just happened. So to defend my honor I threw on a pair of mesh shorts and ran shirtless down the hall after him. Needless to say, everyone had a good laugh at my expense.

-Costanza

This past summer a few of my college buddies all came to visit me to have a guys night out on the town. Everyone came over in the early evening and we grilled out and began drinking a few beers while we decided where to go.

While in the process of narrowing down a bar, one of my friends just told the rest of the group that he had consumed two Xanax pills in order to make the night a little more interesting. I don’t know much about prescription drugs, but I am pretty sure he just took a double of a daily dose, and planned to consume more alcohol on top of the pills.

We make it to the bar, where the music is blaring and there are too many guys and too few women. The beers and shots begin to flow when a table finally opens up, so we grab it while its still available.

We sit down and continue our conversation and order another bucket of beers. I see a cute (yes, not ugly) girl on the dance floor, so I decide to make my way over and see if she can hang with my sweet dance moves. She could defiantly hang, and I figure we danced through about two or three beers before I realized that I needed to cool off for a few minutes.

I go back to the table, open another beer before I notice something not right out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head to get a better view and see my pill popping friends head is down and is being held up by the palm of his hands. I reach over to see if he is passed out and shake his arm and the only sound produced was a loud moan and grumble combination. He lifted his head up for a few seconds and a trail of drool was going from his lip to the floor of the bar. I couldn’t help but start to laugh and even got a few of my other friends involved in this bizarre sense of humor.

After a few more minutes of poking fun, I noticed my friend really didn’t look well, so I told him to go to the bathroom and throw up. He got up (drool chin and all) and managed to walk to the bathroom. After 10 or 15 minutes of my friend having not returned I grew worried and walked into the bathroom to check on him. I looked in the first stall and there he was, dry heaving his brains out, with the bathroom attendant a few bar customers watching in awe.

When he stood up, he fell back down, so I had to help him up. I had to carry him and his vomit covered chin back to our table. I tried to round up the rest of our crew, but I wasn’t quick enough. Word had spread from the bathroom attendant that my friend was drunk and puking, so the bouncer tossed everyone out of the bar. Typical.

We make it to the front of the bar, carrying our friend and wait for the rest of our party. Meanwhile, my friend decides he needs to vomit again. Where am I going to tell him to go? We are standing next to another bouncer who is checking ID’s and are surrounded by cars since we are in a parking lot. I tell him to vomit if he needs to, and not to hold back. And the dry heaving begins yet again, this time in front of a line of people waiting to get in the bar.

My friend is making enough noise to steer some customers away from the bar, so now the bouncer get involved by telling us to get off his property. I tried to explain that we were off bar property, and were in the parking lot, but he didn’t want to listen. He said he was going to call the cops if we weren’t gone in the next two minutes.

My friend and I picked up the pill popper and began walking him back to my apartment. We didn’t make it more than 3 blocks before pill popper claims he couldn’t walk anymore. He faceplanted right into the lawn of a church and began throwing up again. (note: this was a Saturday night around 1am, so church was in less than 8 hours). I couldn’t help but laugh a little, and as I looked around, I noticed a police officer was directing traffic on the corner, and cars passing by began honking at my friend who was throwing up, again.

The police officer walked over and asked what was wrong. I didn’t think replying with “food poisoning” was a great idea, so I just offered that he had a little too much to drink and we were on the way back to my apartment 3 blocks away. He said if he wasn’t off the lawn in 3 minutes, he was going to jail. We all tried to pick our friend off the lawn, but he wouldn’t stop moaning and groaning about how he couldn’t walk any further and that he didn’t care if he went to jail. Great.

We manage to get him up and we continue to walk back to my apartment. I really don’t know what I was thinking during this next part, but I wanted to see how drunk/messed up my friend really was. He had just fallen into another bush a block from my apartment and the moaning was becoming unbearable. I picked up a stick and threw it in the direction of his groin area. WHAM! He didn’t move. We all couldn’t stop laughing after that happened. Our friend was sitting in a bush, and had just had a stick thrown at his nuts.

We FINALLY make it back to my apartment. There are about 6 of us there and I have no idea what to do with my friend. I get a really bright idea by handing him an old bathing suit and putting him in the shower. I figure the warm water will either sober him up or will add to his state of delusion, which he would appreciate. He sits in the tub and I crank the water on for him and walk out. Two reasons this was not a good idea: 1) I only have 1 bathroom, 2) he kept moaning. FUCK!

I went in to use the bathroom (the shower curtain was closed) and as I flushed the toilet, my friend became screaming uncontrollably about how the water was burning hot. I had no idea what he was talking about and by the time I put my hand to the water in the shower, it was a normal temperature. I really thought my friend was going crazy by this point.

Another person went to use the bathroom and the same scenario occurred, my friend was screaming his lungs out about the water. You see, since I live in a 1 bedroom apartment, and it had never occurred that the toilet flushing and the shower water were connected. When my friend would start screaming everyone in the living room would start laughing to the point of tears. Most of us were drunk by this point and I promise, hearing a grown man scream about hot water after what had happened earlier couldn’t have topped the night off any better. I believe all of us continued to flush the toilet for the next hour or so and fell asleep with him going “pleeeezzzz, waterrrrr, hottttttt, stoppppp”.

-sinbad