All right, since we’re on a roll with posts dedicated to the examination of female guests, let’s jump into a category that may infuriate the feminists among you.
Though, not if you have a sense of humor.
#94: Drunk Bitches.
To be clear, I’m not revisiting the subject of bachelorettes. It is important to note that not all bachelorettes are drunk bitches… and not all drunk bitches are bachelorettes.
Sometimes, young ladies gather at a hotel to celebrate the impending nuptials of one of their beloved friends and they actually remain civil – and clothed in public – the whole time. Thankfully, that is a rare occurrence. Then there are times that young ladies gather to… well, who knows what they hell they’re getting together to do? It cold be everything from sharing life stories and deep feelings to howling at the moon naked before engaging in an orgy of the flesh. (Hey, you never know.)
Most of the time though, young ladies just get together to drink. Wine, beer, coolers, blood… whatever. They don’t care what it is; as long as it gives them a buzz, they’re in. On a particular Saturday overrun with bachelorettes, I had the distinct pleasure of serving a Transit van full full of drunk bitches. To be clear, five of them were sober, five were halfway there, and five of them were fall-down drunk.
Naturally, the five drunk ladies are the meat in this blog sandwich. They took forever to hand their luggage over, they lost their cellphones (all five of them) and they had a helluva time making their way through the check-in crowd. But when we arrived at the room, they gave me some great blog fodder, so it’s all good, baby! The fun began as soon as they got into their rooms. Then all I had to do was stand in the hallway and listen.
“Guys, I’m horny! Who’s going to go down on me? I’m not usually into the girl/girl thing… but we’re in Canada!”
“Who am I sleeping with? If there’s not enough beds… I can sleep standing up in the shower! I don’t care!”
“Hey, guys! If you look out the window, you can see there’s a buncha water falling over some big ass rocks!”
“Let’s get drunker, bitches!”
(For the record, that wouldn’t have been possible.)
Not all drunk bitches are this much fun, sadly…
Finally, the bags were all unloaded and the good times were over. For me, at least. The best thing about serving drunk bitches in multiple rooms? They don’t keep track of who already tipped the bellman.
I walked away with a buncha cash and even a proposition from a sun-drenched blonde with oversized, clown-like sunglasses, a Clark Kentesque short sleeve dress shirt and a tie. To be perfectly honest, it was a quasi-proposition…
“You’re so sweet, Mr. Bellguy! I’d fuck you… but I bet you have rules against that sort of thing, right?”
ME: Yes, we do. But to be clear, it’s not the rules I worry about… it’s the fact my wife would rip my nuts off if I even set foot in that room with you.
SUN-DRENCHED BLONDE: Wow. That’s hardcore…
ME: You have no idea.
Aren’t drunk bitches the best, kids? And yes, I dislike the term as much as you do, but it’s what they prefer to be called. In their defense, they’re drunk, so…
See you in the lobby, friends…