I’d almost forgotten what it was like to serve a bachelorette party, post-party.
One whiff of stale alcohol, cheap perfume, sticky-sweet body odor, body spray and regret refreshed my memory instantly. Incidentally, my memory was the only thing that was refreshed in that room. Cultural convention – and Ton Hanks’ early work – tells us that males are the master of the party meant to signify the end of one’s existence as a single entity, but trust me, the ladies are every bit as adept as their penis-wielding counterparts when it comes to rockin’ a hotel room bachelor party.
These chicks were spittin, cursin’, coughin’, belchin’ and grabbing their crotcheral areas with gusto unmatched by any male I’ve encountered in seventeen years. But as they say, the devil is in the details. Check out this inventory of their luggage/belongings/junk:
- Fifteen opened but unfinished bottles and boxes of various brands of ale, mineral spirits, wine and battery acid.
- Eight cans of ozone devastating hair spray.
- Various bachelorette signs and ribbons.
- Several inflatable male members.
- A funnel with a plastic penis attached to the spout. (Feel free to shudder. I did.)
- Two vibrating duffel bags.
- Six open plastic bags filled to capacity with handcuffs, a whip, fuzzy blindfolds and everything one would need to film a Vivid Video production of Where The Boys Aren’t #20. (To be clear, I’m entirely uncertain of the numbering of that particular franchise; it’s been some time since I’ve had to avail myself of such self-pleasuring aids.)
- One clear plastic bag filled with folded panties. (No, I have no context for you; I merely chronicle these events.)
- The largest motorized dildo I’ve ever seen. (Seriously, this thing should have come with a waiver, a gallon of ointment, a Bible with which to pray for the safety of your vagina… and defibrillator paddles.)
- And no tip.
After a summer of inactivity it was nice to challenge myself with the task of loading all this junk plus actual luggage onto a cart, but I handled the task like a hospitality trooper. As for not receiving a gratuity, I’m still rockin’ a Zen-like buzz from my time off so I wasn’t even phased. This time.
See you in the lobby, kids…