It’s All Fun And Games Until The Bar Staff Laughs You Out Of The Establishment


There are few things worse than waking up next to a one-night stand and not remembering his name or how you got there. The exception to that being told you had sex two days prior and having no recollection of it. This is where my story begins.

It was sophomore year and the night of one of my sorority’s date functions. I was bringing a guy I was occasionally hooking up with so I was definitely assuming I’d be getting laid that night. I’m going to get graphic for a second, but trust me, it’s important for the story. I have a tight vagina. That’s not me bragging, in fact it’s the opposite. My vagina is so small that sometimes I physically cannot have sex, even if the penis is only modestly sized. I know, I know, TMI. But like I said, it’s important.

As a result of my tight vagina and the fact that I was 99 percent sure I was going to bone after the function, I had lube with me. Judge me all you want, but lube is the only sure fire way to guarantee I’ll actually be able to have sex if I want to.

Back to the function. I was nineteen, stupid, and looking to experiment. My date had a bunch of Percocets and when he asked me if I wanted any, I ignored everything my DARE instructor taught me and proceeded to snort that shit like I was an Upper East Side socialite. Again, because I was an absolute idiot, my date and I alternated between ripping shots and blowing lines at the pregame and on the bus to the venue. To be absolutely clear, I am not recommending anyone do this.

Quite obviously, by the time we made it to the club, I was flying high. I don’t remember what exactly my date did, if anything at all, but at some point, I threw a fit and told him to fuck off. I remember talking to my friend about how hot the bartender was and vaguely remember getting free shots from said bartender. After that, straight blackout.

I woke up the next morning (afternoon) feeling like absolute shit. After a couple hours of either vomiting (aren’t drugs fun?) or napping, I decided I needed to order food stat. I grabbed my clutch from the night before in search of my debit card only to realize the majority of my shit was missing. All I had left in my bag was my fake (thank the lawd) and my lip gloss. Gone was not only my debit card, but also my lube, charger, and school ID. I remembered that earlier in the night I had started a tab so I assumed I had just left my card at the venue. Still feeling the effects of a crippling hangover, I had my roommate buy me food and put off getting my card until the next day.

I called the club the following day and they told me to come in and the guys there would see if they had my card. When I got there, there were three tryhards, also known as promoters, sitting around doing God only knows what. I explained my situation and they asked for ID, I’m assuming to make sure I wasn’t trying to steal anyone’s card. I gave my license to the one guy and he immediately started laughing. He handed it to his fellow douchbags and I could tell they were holding back laughs. Internally, I was thinking that yes, my picture isn’t great, but it’s nothing to laugh at. Externally, I was rocking straight poker face until I could figure out what the fuck was going on.

The original guy handed me back my ID and said he’ll be right back. I sat on one of the couches and awkwardly made small talk with the other two. One asked if I had fun the other night and when I confirmed that I did have a good time, the other goes “I bet you did.” Alright, creeper. At long last, the third guy returns, sans debit card. But it’s okay, he didn’t come back empty handed. Instead he had my lube and school ID with him. I sat there in shock and decided on the spot the best thing to do was lie. I told him that the ID was mine but I didn’t know what the other thing was. This mother fucker literally laughed in my face and asked me if I remembered anything from that night. Again, I lied.

“Of course I remember that night,” I said.

“Oh really,” he said. “Do you remember me walking in on you and Mike, the bartender, while the two of you were fucking in the office?”

I’m assuming that the sight of my humiliated face was the only answer he needed. I quickly grabbed my stuff, lube and ID included, and booked it the fuck out of there amid more laughter. Not only did I lose my debit card that night at the club, but I lost my dignity a few days later.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the first and last time I ever snorted Percocets.

Image via Shutterstock

Email this to a friend


Champagne Showers is a contributing writer for TSM. She is your typical Northern Diva. If curse words, sexual content, and drug use offend you, then bless your heart. CS will continue living the life you're too scared to live. email her at:

For More Photos and Videos

Latest podcasts

New Stories

Load More