Why do girls travel in packs when it comes to the bar scene? As men, we have all experienced the impossible unforgiving friend, a.k.a. the “gatekeeper”. This is the friend that we all love so well. Where is this over protective and snappy friend at the witching hour?
Why is it that when we close bars all over the world at least once every month or two we find a lone woman, there, passed out in the bathroom? There in all her glory, head leaning against the stall, half way through her first dream, on the toilet! There she is alone, amongst the confetti like paper towels, the empty drinks, and cell phone parts on the floor. Where is the gatekeeper then???
I hope that whoever distracted the gatekeeper from the pack at least made it worth her while. After all, we have to gather up people as witnesses,( a few girls and a door guy or two) and we now have to help this girl off her porcelain throne back to some form of safety. This process is not so simple, usually amongst our repeated attempts to find out what's going on we hear slurs about, friends, ex-boyfriends, and lost car keys. In this situation a car is never the right choice, however we humor her for a moment, in-order for her to trust us enough to look into her purse for a cell phone, an I.D., anything at this point!
Fast forward 30 minutes and finally she remembers her I.D. was stuffed in her bra and she now recalls something about a late night rendezvous with greasy food of the drive through sort. We finally get her cell phone turned back on, ( which was most likely turned off in order to avoid drunk texting), and now have the task of convincing her that a bar is no place for anyone to be walking without shoes on, especially after closing time. If you have never paid close attention to a bar floor at two in the morning it resembles a war torn country or a C.S.I nightmare!
All of us at this point have had our laugh or two, and now realize that we still have to clean the entire bar and somehow get this girl home safely. Don't get me wrong, we have all had a moment or two in a similar situation, but when you are quickly approaching three a.m. you over look that aspect of your past. So over a few more repeated conversations you walk the girl slowly to the door, offering taxis or to call a friend. At this point you're willing to call a limo if only you didn't have to listen to her same story of her best friend this, and her ex-boyfriend that. Just as the thought comes over you to hit this re-run of The Hills as hard as you can, you hear the one sound that kills all bartenders. There is never an excuse for this sound, and is hated around the world by every kind of bartender and server. It’s the shrill of excitement that comes out only when girls reunite over drinks, after being separated, or just after they black out. After forty minutes of broken record conversation, tears, and drama, we now stand in the presence of utter joy felt by the forgotten drunk girl as she reunites with her equally hammered and screaming “girls Night" friends. We too are overjoyed by this child like reunion and can only think about a cold beer and bed. This Idea of cold refreshment is only intensified when we realize that this friend had been outside the entire time arguing with her ex-boyfriend on her cell phone. Yelling at him for whatever he did or did not do, including the fact that her damn girlfriend had left her alone at the bar!
Want an example of the screaming??? Watch this...
