An evening in Celebration, FL
I went to Orlando last Thursday for quarterly meetings scheduled for Thursday and Friday. I didn't want to go but it was something I needed to do and Orlando is a lot closer than Jacksonville which is where I normally have to go. So I packed up and headed out, armed with my new phone and user's manual. I figured it would keep me busy during the meetings. I could play with the phone, program some stuff and text the L.A. Hottie to my heart's content.
And that's pretty much what I did all day long. I gave the meeting about half my attention and there were actually some interesting things going on. After the meeting we were to meet for dinner at the Celebration Town Tavern. I headed over to the tavern with a buddy who used to live in Celebration. He gave me a little tour of the place.
Celebration is basically the home of Disney and to me it seemed like the town is designed to look like an extension of the park. Walking down the streets gives a feeling of strolling through an amusement park with facades of homes and actors running around in costume. There were soccer moms and dads, kids playing soccer in the grassy parks on the boulevard and people sitting on their wide front porches sipping iced tea and lemonade.
My buddy said they lived there about 3 months before his wife was about lost it. She insisted they move back to the old neighborhood. Of course, he also kept telling stories about driving his golf court to the Town Tavern and coming home smashed with his buddies so I deduced that that had something to do with it, also. He didn't deny it.
Anyway, we got to the tavern about 45 minutes before anyone else so we bellied up to the bar to wait for the gang to arrive. I started ordering Sam Adams Winter Ale and about 3 beers in, another buddy joined us. This was 5:30.
By the time dinner was supposed to be served at 6:30, we decided we weren't going to be able to make it across the restaurant to the back room and we'd pretty much just skip the whole dinner part of the meeting. We laid low, drank some more beers and ordered food to the bar. We figured if we kept our heads down, no one would even know we were there to begin with.
When I finally got desperate enough to leave the bar in search of a restroom, I ran into a co-worker who was there for the dinner meeting. I feigned surprised. Looked around. Started to ask him where he came from. He looked very concerned for me. "We're back there. We've already eaten!"
"Oh, man!" I said, slapping my palms against my legs in disgust. Then I fled back to the bar.
By this time we were pretty well lit up and one of the guys I was with was pretty sure the bartender had the hots for him. This guy is 40 years old and grew up on Long Island. He's been there done that, but like every buzzed sucker that has ever camped out at the bar, he was convinced she was going to blow him in the parking lot if he could just make it closing.
I hadn't fallen for the blow job part, but by this time I was up for trying to make it 'til closing. Then the shots started flowing, uninvited from the bar tenders. Hmm. Was this chick the hot bartender exception? Could it be that she really was interested in a meaningless hook-up with my pal? Later, after several vodka-Red Bull concoctions, I realized that it was 1:30 and I had been standing/sitting at the bar for 8 hours! That's a whole day's work shift, folks! Crazy. But we were down the homestretch and my buddy Drew wanted to make it to close to see if anything happened with the gal behind the bar.
It wasn't until we hit the final bell and got our tabs that my faith in hot bartenders was restored. My bill, including dinner, 6 beers and 4 Bloody Mary's was $50. No sweat. Drew's tally, with no dinner came it at around $150! Yup, the big shmoe was on the hook for all the shots we downed! He did say he wanted her to have a drink, after all. She picked her mark well. Drew is noisy and boisterous and there was no way in hell he was going to diminish his big shot image by whining about the bar tab. Besides, I think he still thought he had a chance with the chick! Awesome.
My first buddy, Joey decided to take off a little earlier, but not before announcing that he wasn't going to make it to the morning meeting. Now I have been to hundreds of meetings and conventions in my life and I have yet to miss a single day, regardless of how hungover I was (and I was probably hungover at every single one of them), but whatever he said started the wheels turning in my mind. Once the seed was planted that it was OK to miss the Friday meetings, I couldn't let go of the idea.
As I blearily stumbled out of the bar, all I could think was that I needed to get my ass back to the hotel so I could crash out. My thought was that I was not even going to bother setting the alarm clock for the meeting. If I woke up in time and felt well enough to get to the meeting, then fine, otherwise, eff it. I vaguely remember lurching across the hotel parking lot talking to the L.A. Hottie. I think she may have been laughing at me. I don't clearly remember getting into my room, but apparently I was able to plug my new phone into the charger and kick off my clothes. Oh, and at some point I remember vaulting out of bed and scrambling for the commode. I heaved Bloody Marys and Red Bull until I was dry and head was pounding.
I woke up at 8:30. Plenty of time to get showered and make the 9:00 meeting. Didn't happen. I dozed restlessly. Puked. Fought off the bed spins. Snoozed. I finally dragged my sorry ass out of bed and took a long hot shower. That was enough to get me into clothes and into my truck and pointed back home. The only stop was to grab two big bottles of Gatorade. Then I was in endurance mode. I kept telling myself I just needed to make it home and L.A. would take care of me with a little butter-honey toast, iced tea and a nap.
The moral of the story? I am an old, stupid man and I've never been a very good grownup. I swore on Friday afternoon through my pounding headache that I'd start being a better grownup. But I've been saying that for years.
And that's pretty much what I did all day long. I gave the meeting about half my attention and there were actually some interesting things going on. After the meeting we were to meet for dinner at the Celebration Town Tavern. I headed over to the tavern with a buddy who used to live in Celebration. He gave me a little tour of the place.
Celebration is basically the home of Disney and to me it seemed like the town is designed to look like an extension of the park. Walking down the streets gives a feeling of strolling through an amusement park with facades of homes and actors running around in costume. There were soccer moms and dads, kids playing soccer in the grassy parks on the boulevard and people sitting on their wide front porches sipping iced tea and lemonade.
My buddy said they lived there about 3 months before his wife was about lost it. She insisted they move back to the old neighborhood. Of course, he also kept telling stories about driving his golf court to the Town Tavern and coming home smashed with his buddies so I deduced that that had something to do with it, also. He didn't deny it.
Anyway, we got to the tavern about 45 minutes before anyone else so we bellied up to the bar to wait for the gang to arrive. I started ordering Sam Adams Winter Ale and about 3 beers in, another buddy joined us. This was 5:30.
By the time dinner was supposed to be served at 6:30, we decided we weren't going to be able to make it across the restaurant to the back room and we'd pretty much just skip the whole dinner part of the meeting. We laid low, drank some more beers and ordered food to the bar. We figured if we kept our heads down, no one would even know we were there to begin with.
When I finally got desperate enough to leave the bar in search of a restroom, I ran into a co-worker who was there for the dinner meeting. I feigned surprised. Looked around. Started to ask him where he came from. He looked very concerned for me. "We're back there. We've already eaten!"
"Oh, man!" I said, slapping my palms against my legs in disgust. Then I fled back to the bar.
By this time we were pretty well lit up and one of the guys I was with was pretty sure the bartender had the hots for him. This guy is 40 years old and grew up on Long Island. He's been there done that, but like every buzzed sucker that has ever camped out at the bar, he was convinced she was going to blow him in the parking lot if he could just make it closing.
I hadn't fallen for the blow job part, but by this time I was up for trying to make it 'til closing. Then the shots started flowing, uninvited from the bar tenders. Hmm. Was this chick the hot bartender exception? Could it be that she really was interested in a meaningless hook-up with my pal? Later, after several vodka-Red Bull concoctions, I realized that it was 1:30 and I had been standing/sitting at the bar for 8 hours! That's a whole day's work shift, folks! Crazy. But we were down the homestretch and my buddy Drew wanted to make it to close to see if anything happened with the gal behind the bar.
It wasn't until we hit the final bell and got our tabs that my faith in hot bartenders was restored. My bill, including dinner, 6 beers and 4 Bloody Mary's was $50. No sweat. Drew's tally, with no dinner came it at around $150! Yup, the big shmoe was on the hook for all the shots we downed! He did say he wanted her to have a drink, after all. She picked her mark well. Drew is noisy and boisterous and there was no way in hell he was going to diminish his big shot image by whining about the bar tab. Besides, I think he still thought he had a chance with the chick! Awesome.
My first buddy, Joey decided to take off a little earlier, but not before announcing that he wasn't going to make it to the morning meeting. Now I have been to hundreds of meetings and conventions in my life and I have yet to miss a single day, regardless of how hungover I was (and I was probably hungover at every single one of them), but whatever he said started the wheels turning in my mind. Once the seed was planted that it was OK to miss the Friday meetings, I couldn't let go of the idea.
As I blearily stumbled out of the bar, all I could think was that I needed to get my ass back to the hotel so I could crash out. My thought was that I was not even going to bother setting the alarm clock for the meeting. If I woke up in time and felt well enough to get to the meeting, then fine, otherwise, eff it. I vaguely remember lurching across the hotel parking lot talking to the L.A. Hottie. I think she may have been laughing at me. I don't clearly remember getting into my room, but apparently I was able to plug my new phone into the charger and kick off my clothes. Oh, and at some point I remember vaulting out of bed and scrambling for the commode. I heaved Bloody Marys and Red Bull until I was dry and head was pounding.
I woke up at 8:30. Plenty of time to get showered and make the 9:00 meeting. Didn't happen. I dozed restlessly. Puked. Fought off the bed spins. Snoozed. I finally dragged my sorry ass out of bed and took a long hot shower. That was enough to get me into clothes and into my truck and pointed back home. The only stop was to grab two big bottles of Gatorade. Then I was in endurance mode. I kept telling myself I just needed to make it home and L.A. would take care of me with a little butter-honey toast, iced tea and a nap.
The moral of the story? I am an old, stupid man and I've never been a very good grownup. I swore on Friday afternoon through my pounding headache that I'd start being a better grownup. But I've been saying that for years.