Lifeload: Strikeout

A close friend of mine is getting married tomorrow, and last night was his bachelor party.

On Tuesday, I got a call from the Best Man telling me that the bachelor party was going to be Thursday night. Although I had plans, I immediately canceled them, because I mean a bachelor party (hopefully) only happens once. On Tuesday, the conversation went as such:

"We're going to a Nationals game, and then maybe club hopping afterwards, getting a limo, finding some VIP lounges."

Wow! This sounded great. I was excited.

On Wednesday I got a call from the Best Man asking if I knew of any good hotspots for after the game. Apparently, another person in the party told him that I had at least been to a club, which is more than most in this group. So while I probably was more qualified than these people to pick a spot, I was still entirely unqualified.

"I don't really know the...straight...scene in DC. But I can ask around at work?"
"Sounds good! And you guys can pay me back for this stuff whenever."
"Wait, what - ?"
"Bye!"

My feeling on the matter is a Best Man either 1) pays for everything himself or 2) includes the other friends during the planning stages weeks if not months before, so he knows what kind of budget he's working with. That I was now paying for baseball tickets (and had no idea how much they were) kind of irked me.

I asked around the office, and got the names of a few clubs as I had been asked to do. I was, frankly, surprised that we were doing clubs and not bars, but it was a good surprise.

So on Thursday, I hop a metro home to go change before the game. I was meeting them there (told them I would be obnoxiously late), because they were heading in at 5ish. I get to Vienna metro and see them at 6, just entering Vienna metro.

I go up to the Best Man and noticed, immediately, that everyone was wearing jeans and shorts.

"Were you planning changing?"
"No?"
"You are not getting into clubs."
"Really?"
"We are 10 guys. In jeans. Have fun. I will see you at the game."

***

After changing, showering, etc. I joined them for the 8th inning at the stadium (perfect timing). The game went into extra innings, the Bachelor had a good time, all in all it was good. I didn't hate it as much as I thought I would, and even if I did it wouldn't matter. It was his night.

Throughout, the Best Man is asking me where we are going next. Like I know. Somehow, in the course of 24 hours, it had become my job to get 10 Air Force Cadets drunk and laid. And not by me. I kept asking if they wanted clubs, lounges, or bars. Best Man kept saying clubs. I conducted some frantic texting, came up with a few names of places that would actually let us all in, and proposed them to the group.

Best Man: "lets just head down to Adam's Morgan"
Me: "Srsly?"

We walked towards the metro.

Best Man: "let's not metro. let's take cabs. you 5 get a cab meet you there bye!"

So five of us (we didn't really know each other, and most were out-of-towners) were left to hail a cab. Fifteen minutes later, we finally got one and head to Adam's Morgan. Upon arrival, I called the Best Man.

Me: "Where are you guys?"
Best Man: "24th and Connecticut! Where are you?"
Me: "Adams Morgan. Which is no where near you."
Best Man: "We'll walk there!"

You see, they had taken a cab to the "Adam's Morgan" metro stop. Which is in fact not particularly close to Adam's Morgan. Another fifteen minutes, and we were reunited. There was a quick stop at a club which had great music, great scene, but not great for us? I'm still not sure why we left after one shot. There was a delay at a pizza parlor as the inevitable "I don't know what to do now" set in. I made motions to leave. I had to get to bed, work the following morning, etc.

Me: "How are you getting home?"
Best Man: "Metro?"
Me: "Metro closes at midnight."
Best Man: "Fuck."

That was the last I heard of them.

-M.