The week of February 26th was a much anticipated one. It was going to be a 5 day visit to Fort Lauderdale, Florida for my last college spring break. (Yes, spring break in February. I don't get it either.) After the hellish week that led up to break ended, it was finally time to travel south. After a nice visit to the bars at two airports, we arrived in sunny Ft. Laudy and made our way to the hotel. This scenario is another story in itself - I may explain it later. All you need to know is that instead of staying in a hotel that was slightly reminiscent of a trap from the Saw movies, we upgraded to the Hilton.
The night of Sunday, February 26th started out like any other typical spring break night; hanging out in a pool/hot tub with a Long Island in hand. The hot tub was broken though, and spewing cold water that could have very well formed icebergs. A friend and I (let's call him Bill) decide to hit the bars for one drink. One drink. Upon the rest of the group's demands to stay back, Bill and I venture into the bars. We reach a place called Big Kahuna and grab a Dos Equis. Having a Dos Equis on draft is like drinking water out of the Fountain of Youth. It was one of the best things I've ever put into my mouth. Dos Equis on draft makes colors brighter, water clearer, and puts hair on your chest.
Anyway, Bill and I strike up conversation with a girl who we found out bartends at another bar. She was obviously uninterested in her friends enough to ignore them and chat with two blatantly touristy people. Since Big Kahuna is as empty as a Nickelback concert, we ask where the local hot spot(s) is/were. The consensus: Fat Cat's. Fat Cat's was about 3-4 miles away, but we were told that there's drunk shuttles to and from out area and downtown Fort Lauderdale, where Fat Cat's is. We wait at the corner we were told, but nothing came. We decide to walk down the road it was allegedly on - Las Olas. We begin our trek, hoping to spot one of these drunk shuttles.
We walk a mile and run into zero drunk shuttles. How there were no drunk shuttles available to kids on spring break is beyond me. Bill and I decide to attempt to flag a taxi. We walk another mile or so before we even see a taxi, however, and the first two drove right by us/almost hit us. We did see some nice yachts though! We finally flag down a taxi and it drives us another 3ish miles to Fat Cat's. Had we not have found a taxi, we may have been wandering around downtown Fort Laudy aimlessly for who knows how long, which will become ironic shortly.
Finally, we arrive at Fat Cat's and enjoy a local beer. This is now drink three for the night. Remember when we said we were getting a single drink? Yeaahhhh..... We sit down at the bar and grab a shot of the bartenders choice, which ended up bring straight liqour. Great, as if Bill and I weren't bad enough. We meet this local weirdo and are instantly attracted to him. After bullshitting with him for a bit, we find out it's his birthday. Celebration drinks are in order.
Now, anyone who knows me that there is one liquid that I refuse to put in my body. This devil drink always leads to my downfall, and anyone who can stomach this terrible, terrible substance is admittedly a better person than myself. I put this drink with other things I hate the most, including drivers from Chicago, pop-up banners, Facebook duck faces, and the University of Michigan. This drink is the one and only Jagermeister.
So what other drink would we get when we decide to get celebration drinks for this birthday weirdo? Of course. A shot of Jager is put in front of me, and this is the point of no return and where the story picks up. I can't say no to a drink someone else bought me because of a birthday, so I reluctantly throw this dose of Satan's piss down my throat and make a face that could scare away anyone. I am not happy.
This is one of the last two things I remember from that night, with the second thing me conversing with the DJ and buying him a drink since it happened to be his birthday too. I can only imagine how sloppy that conversation was. That DJ birthday drink put our total at 7 drinks for the night. So much for one drink. This is on top of the gratuitous amount already consumed within the confines of the luxurious Hilton. Much like aluminum foil and Clorox, this is a recipe for disaster.
The last time I remembered seeing a clock was around 2:30am, so let's fast forward 4 and a half hours.
I finally come to, already on my feet and walking around what I assume is still Fort Lauderdale. I realize my feet hurt and look down. I'm missing my shoes. What a disaster. I put my hand in my right pocket to grab my iPhone and call my friends to come find me. I'm missing my iPhone. Great. It's really bright out, especially for what I think is 7am. I'm missing my sunglasses, although my croakies are still on me... Alright, after somehow remaining calm, I decide I'll just grab a taxi and have it take me home. I reach in my left pocket to grab my wallet. I'm missing my wallet.
Within 270 minutes, I manage to lose my wallet, iPhone, Sperry's, and sunglasses while "waking up" in the middle of walking around Fort Lauderdale. Oh, I threw up on my shirt too. Forget to mention that. Bill is nowhere to be seen either. I put the "walk of shame" to shame, and still didn't get any. (That I know of.....) I literally have no clue what to do, so my still intoxicated self decides to continue walking. I walk forward and all of a sudden, things look up - the road in front of me is Las Olas, the road we took to get to Fat Cat's! I turn a right and begin walking.
I realize that turning right was in fact a terrible idea, as I later found out that had I turned left, I would have walked right onto the beach our group was as the day before, and could walk back to the Hilton in no more than 15 minutes. Instead, I'm walking straight towards downtown Fort Lauderdale AGAIN without realizing it.
I kept walking.... and walking... and walking. My feet were so raw at this point that I began walking through every puddle and grass patch to give my feet relief. I probably did look homeless at this point. I walk a total of what I later found out to be 3.5 miles barefoot. After a few blind turns, I end up at the outskirts of a neighborhood walking about 50 feet behind a man who was probably legitimately homeless. All of a sudden, a cop car pulls to the side of the road. The female officer/angel/savior shouts at both myself and the man in front of me. She later signals for me and we begin conversing.
She asks what I'm doing and all the typical police things. She asks for ID which I obviously can't prove. I come to find out that the officer stopped me because she thought I was homeless. Awesome. After convincing her I was not homeless but was instead visiting from Ohio and staying at the Hilton, she utters the best seven words I've ever heard. Even better than "You. Me. Back seat of the cruiser." These words were "Let me give you a ride back." I wanted to collapse and sing, except I had lost my voice as well.
We chit chat as I'm riding in the back seat of a cop car, which is a first for me believe it or not. All the cop talks about are other bars in the area. I don't think she realized how insulting she was being to me as I was missing my ID to get into aforementioned bars, but I was too exhausted to care. After driving for 20 minutes, I arrive back at the Hilton and the cop drops me off. I begin walking through the lobby of the Hilton shoeless and covered in vomit. I can only imagine what everyone was thinking when I walked in the lobby, or why security wasn't called on the homeless man that looks like he escaped from the insane asylum. I ride the elevator up and bang on the room door. I walk right in, take the newspaper, and chuck it at Bill, who was sleeping conveniently in the middle of the floor.
I never did find my sunglasses, wallet, iPhone, shoes, or dignity. What I've pieced together is that Bill and I actually took a taxi back home and when it parked, I decided to jump out the taxi and bolt away from the taxi, hotel, and Bill. Apparently Bill entered the hotel room without me on the verge of tears, as he probably thought I was out getting molested by a pack of hobos, which at this point is a total possibility.
Here's the shirt I was wearing. Note that this is the back of the shirt. I still have no idea how or why my stomach contents ended up on the back of the shirt and not the front.....
And thus concludes the story of how I lost anything. Expect more stories, opinions, and other noteworthy articles in the future.
@CanadaInAmerica
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