One of my best friends got married a few weeks ago, and I was one of the groomsmen. This is the first time that honor has been bestowed on this humble Scots-American, so I was unaware of some of the responsibilities that go along with it, like prettifying the getaway car with paint and cans and stuff. That’s cool, nothing I can’t handle. But, it also fell to me to handle some matters of bidness that usually are amongst the purview of the head groomsman, or Best Man.
I assume they get a name tag or something
There was this whole big thing with the ACTUAL best man, which I won’t get into here in the interest of brevity (I kind of end up the hero of the story which might make people think I’m tooting my own horn which I totally don’t ever do cause I’m so modest, and also makes me look like a bit of a jerk and I don’t want to ruin people’s glowing opinion of me), so we’ll just skip straight to the end and get to the part where I had to plan out the Bachelor Party in about 24 hours.
I made some phone calls, got the okay from some of the attendees, burned a bridge or two, and, ultimately, succeeded in my very short time span. What follows is The Plan, and then what actually happened after each individual item.
The Plan: Gather everyone
The Execution: Things almost fell through right here. The Groom nearly had to cancel on us, which would have put a real damper on the rest of the night: can’t have a Bachelor Party without the groom, amirite? But he showed up, we got everyone else, and got the night started.
The Plan: Drive to Cincinnati
The Execution: Aside from some initial hiccups where my passengers couldn’t decide if they wanted to drive from the back seat, this was a glowing success. We got some gas, made it to Cincy, it was all peaches and gravy.
The Plan: Go to the top of Carew Tower and get some perspective
The Execution: We got there later in the night than I would have liked, but with plenty of time to get up top. We were almost stymied by an elevator that refused to elevate, but a nice security guard let us in on the fact that a key was needed after a certain time, and that someone would be by shortly to help us with our ascension.
Once we got up top to the observation deck, 49 stories up, admiring the view, the groom turned to me and said:
“This might be a bad time to mention that I have a thing with heights.”
First I was all
but then I was all
I’d been to the top of the Empire State Building with this man, and he didn’t mention a thing then. He quickly backpedaled and said it wasn’t a BIG thing with heights, which was evident by his lack of being huddled in a corner crying, but it just goes to show that people can surprise you even after you’ve known them for years.
On the way down, the Groom suggested we take the stairs; all 49 floors, an estimated 1,000+ steps.
It’s his party, and we’ll walk if he wants to.
One of our number had to stop halfway down and take the elevator the rest of the way (he was huffing rather puffily), but the rest of us made it down with nary a hitch (though every bathroom was locked and one guy reallyreallyreally needed to pee, and we exited the stairwell on the wrong floor… twice). We then couldn’t locate our huffy-puffy friend.
“Pardon me, guardsman,” I said to the aforementioned security-fellow. “Have you seen a disheveled portly man come this way?”
Alas, he had not. We found our compatriot soon after, seated and attempting to call us. Together again, we exited the building and went back to the car.
(Epilogue: That same fellow then started quoting a movie or comedy sketch he’d seen recently, and blurted “I started to masturbate, but then I lost interest” right as we pulled up to the lady in the pay station to exit the parking garage. She held it together until we started pulling away, and then facepalmed so hard I thought she was going to hurt herself.)
Outcome: Success! (Mostly.)
The Plan: A night of Jazz, Cajun Food, and Good Company.
The Execution: Well, one out of three ain’t bad.
In all my planning, I hadn’t thought of making reservations. When we got to the restaurant, which had live music and Cajun food, it turns out that the wait would have been something like 2-and-a-half hours.
So, we found a place to park and walked around the area surrounding the Newport Aquarium, looking for a place to eat.
Nearly all of them had a wait of more than 2 hours, except for a place called “Bulldogs”, which wasn’t exactly turning people away, but neither did they sugarcoat that they only had three servers who were also acting as bartenders. The wait would be about half an hour.
It was the best thing we’d heard all night.
We were seated and promptly ignored for about 15 minutes, before a lovely young woman looked our way and asked if we’d been helped. When we told her that we hadn’t she sprang in to action and gave us Cokes filled with free alcohol, ensuring that she got a marvelous tip.
It’s the best kind!
The food was decent. The drinks were delicious. The company was excellent. I’m thinking of making some additions to my card…
Something like this, maybe
After that, we drove back and watched an episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 on a TV that I would totally take out for a nice steak dinner (it was beautiful), laughing ourselves into a sleepy stupor.
All in all, we had a good night.
Oh, and the title of this lengthy post refers to the bathroom at that restaurant: the door on the stall wouldn’t close, and so a dude walked in on me while I was pooping.
Like it says: that’ll really clench you up.