My Night After Watching Hockey At Hooters

So there I sat, with the only draft beer this island has to offer (Miller Lite) at the only bar I could find that would actually play a hockey game (Hooters). I was with a hardcore Red Wings fan that can name a whole 4 players on Detroit while the Coyotes demonstrated a new level futilityas they lost 6-1. The only Coyotes goal was off a faceoff - as Howard put it, they got lucky.

The night had been lovely as Danielle and I were splitting pitchers served by a newly 18 year old Lauren who actually looked closer to 15. We had Daytona boneless wings; we had a visit from Cameron the Catamaran Captain who had just finished his fifth shot of Jager in an equal amount of minutes; safe to say we had a great time.

As we exit this fine establishment with a universal "Thanks for coming to Hooters, y'all!", the question comes up - what to do now? The options were limited. Either it was a taxi home, or we head to Fat Turtle to say hello to whoever is bartending. Obvious answer.

As we arrive, we see our favorite bartender Greg closing up. He did however share the good word that the Clovis, who owned Fat Turtle, was at Hubbly Bubbly with six scantily clad girls. 3.6 seconds later I blast through the door of the Bubbly and snag a seat amongst the drunken ladies. Danielle had a warm reception as her first glass of Dom was poured, which ended up being the end of the bottle. I, assuming that the night was heading toward its end because not only was it late but the booze was gone, was shocked as a second bottle of Dom (clearly set aside and on reserve) emerged from the kitchen. And so we drank Dom, we shared hookah, and we laughed like the monopoly man. These girls were kinda hot, but they were equally oblivious which in my eyes makes them gorgeous. At one point "Make It Rain" came on and Clovis threw a pile of 50 one dollar bills on the dancing ladies. As they scrambled on the floor to pick them up, he turned to us and said "Clearly they don't know who I am."

As we exited Hubbly Bubbly on our way to Stereo, one of the girls came up to me and asked if I could take care of them. She was rationally concerned, because she was the oldest in a group of drunken twenty two year olds that had two rich locals who were tossing money around as their guides. I promised her that I'd be with them all night to make sure everyone was alright.

Less than one minute later I broke that promise. Upon exiting, we ran into Greg who had just finished closing. "Sib's?" he asked. "Sib's," I replied. No goodbyes necessary, we hopped into his car and were on our way. A few drinks with and a ride home from the owner was the best way to cap off the night. I'm still pissed, however, that the Coyotes lost.