Night Out on the Town

Before the pandemic, I was working full-time at Target in Honolulu. I would get there at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, and pau hana at 11:30, if I was lucky. Most days, I would just ride my bike home, take a shower, and chill out with my Xbox or whatever. However, Tuesday was my night! It has since burned down during the Covid-19 shut down, but before everyone was down with the sickness, Moose McGillycuddy's drink special night was its busiest. It had a dancefloor and I lived within walking distance of Waikiki. So, it was perfect for me.

I don't go looking for trouble, but it usually finds me, anyway. I always had a story to tell, and my Tuesday night shenanigans started to become notorious and my co-workers anticipated craziness. Before I traded Alaskan mountains for sandy beaches, I used to get kicked out of the Gaslight in Anchorage every weekend for fighting. The guy to girl ratio up north leans towards sausage fest, and the lack of extradition creates a haven for creeps. Some guys just don't like to be told no, and I don't like randos in my grill. The staff would watch me like a hawk, and when the shit hit the fan they'd scoop me up by the arm and give me the ole boot; alright, good time, see you next week.

My favorite story from this chapter of my life was the night I punched a guy in the mouth, smacked an ex-marine, and some how ended up in some guys car helping him spit game to some Korean chick on the phone. There's a lot going on in that sentence, but there's even more to than night. I befriended a co-worker after bumping into him while tailing a potential thief. My biological family is Army, but I was raised by hillbilly Air Force vets. I just feel natural around military folks. It's everyone else that makes me feel weird.

He worked over nights so, I'd see him as he was coming in and just as I was getting ready to leave. One night he decided to tell me that his wife allows him a hall pass to make out with other people, as long as it doesn't go any farther. I'm not into married men. I told him not to start anything he wasn't going to finish and it wasn't an invitation. Later on, he informed me that one of his friends was interested in meeting me.

He was a Persian doctor from Philadelphia. I didn't have any experience dealing with Middle Eastern men, so I was intrigued by the idea of meeting someone from a foreign culture. I figured we'd have a few drinks and vibe. If I liked him, I liked him, and if I didn't, then what was the worst that could happen? Usually, when I say that to myself, the Universe seems to say, "Challenged accepted." Sometimes, I wish my life wasn't so chaotic, but I always manage to deal with it, and I get some pretty great stories out of it.

The night of, I am pregaming at the house, doing my make-up, listening to music, and going on with my little going out routine. I am small, weighing in at about 105-110 lbs, and getting off work right before midnight I would forget to eat dinner. So, in a nutshell, I'm a cheap drunk. My problem is that when I black out, I don't just pass out, but I keep going like a little freight train that loves alcohol and mischief. I'm a lover and a fighter.

I never fight when I'm sober, so I don't remember most encounters, but drunk Chelsey is feisty and known for throwing hands. I've been punched in the head twice, that I know of. When I was 23, I headbutt somebody who grabbed me from behind, and spit blood on the wall. I fell down the stairs, into the basement, and somehow dragged myself back up holding onto the bannisters for dear life because I couldn't get my ankles to straighten up. I wasn't gonna let that stop me. I was bleeding from my chin, and I was running around like a little heathen covered in my own blood. I was mixing moonshine and vodka, but that's another story for another time.

So, that night in Honolulu, I had already started drinking, and texted my friend to see what the move was. They were on the other side of island, so I decided to just walk to Waikiki and arrived at the bar, alone. I'm already dancing and having a good time when the dynamic duo show. Mr. Persian Doctor approaches me, and it takes me a second because I've never met the guy before. I figure it out, and we hang out for a bit.

I've already spent my cash on drinks, while also tipping the DJ and bathroom attendant. I ask my friend if I can borrow some money to request another song. His smallest bill is a twenty. He asks if I'll buy his drinks to return the favor. It's dollar drinks, so it's no big deal. My poisons of choice are Jaeger Bombs and Angry Orchard, so I just grab another cider. My blind date tries to tell me I'm not allowed as I turn around with my drink in hand. I didn't even hear the rest of it because I wasn't trying to listen to his bullshit. I look him the eye and said, "You're not ALLOWED to tell me shit."

Thus began the pissing contest of an Eskimo and a Persian standing eye to eye with each other, as one attempted to dominate the other and failed. I swear to God, this guy was standing in my eyeball. I don't remember much of our conversations. I just know I was really annoyed with this guy that wouldn't get out of my face or leave me alone. I was a regular at the bar, so some of the people there knew how I rolled. I do very vaguely remember telling him I would headbutt him, and he told me to do it. It was more playful, because I didn't hit him hard, but I made good on my promise.

I do recall going over to my co-worker and asking him what the hell was wrong with his friend, but he had dropped an edible and was lost in the sauce. I was told that at one point, I was yelling at him, and he challenged me to a dancing contest where he stuck his butt in my stomach. Then, I did some reach around smack where I was behind him and hit his forehead. That explained the bruise on my palm. I was also told how I punched the Persian doctor in the face because he came back to his friend cradling his jaw.

I don't remember leaving, but I must have gotten my clutch and my phone from the bathroom attendant, because one moment I'm pissed off at some Persian dude and the next I'm huffing and puffing down the sidewalk. A guy in a beat up minivan pulls over and asks if I need a ride. I can hear my mom's voice telling me not to get into cars with strangers, but I have a knife in my pocket. I figure if things go sideways, I'll stab him. I knew I was too drunk to be by myself, like that's ever stopped me before, but he seemed nice. Getting drunk is a roll of the dice for me, and well I like to gamble, in that regard.

Right after I get in the van, his phone rings and there's some girl screaming on the other end. He informs me that he was on his way to pick up someone, and he's trying to impress this Korean chick. I can hear her yelling that he was supposed to be there by now, and I realize that I was the hold up. He's trying to get her to calm down, but it's not working. I don't know what came over me, but I just start blurting shit out under my breath and he follows my lead.

"Yeah, but none of that even matters."

"Yeah, but none of that even matters."

"You're the only thing that matters."

"You're the only thing that matters."

He hangs up the cell phone and tells me we're going to pick her up. I get nervous because some drunk girl is gonna tag along with us, and I don't know if she's going to get jealous of me hanging out with him. I make a beeline for the backseat while he's still driving, so I seem less threatening to whatever this could look like. She gets in the van and I can tell this girl is balls to the wall intoxicated. I'm pretty fucking drunk, but this chick is three sheets to the wind plastered.

She informs us that she has to use the bathroom. I don't know if you've ever been to Hawai'i, but you'd be hard pressed to find a public restroom at that time of night. We're still in Waikiki, and dude just pulls over by the Ala Wai canal. I've been going in and out of consciousness, but I've been lucid while dealing with Mr. Minivan and his unrequited love. She and I get out and I realize that I need to take control of the situation because she's just too drunk to function on her own.

I say, "We're gonna go shi shi. Come on, we're gonna shi shi."

I get her to follow me to a light pole that's right across from the water. I squat down trying to get her to follow suit, since she's wearing a dress. She starts doing her business and some guy walking passed is rubber necking us like what in the hell is going on over here. I just eyeballed him really hard like keep it moving, huh, and keep it moving he did. She finishes and I herd her back into the van.

We started moving again, and I don't know why I started gassing her up all excited, but I started running my mouth. I said something along the lines of we gone party like muufukkas. The driver started getting nervous because he realized he had two crazy drunk girls in his car. He told her that he's taking me home, and she protested saying we were gone party like muufukkas. She asked if I had to work tomorrow. I didn't say anything at first, but then I remembered I went at 3 the next day. I informed them that I ought to go home.

I had him drop me off at the gas station down the road from my house, so he wouldn't know where I lived, but I'm pretty sure I dropped my ID in his van as I was crawling into the backseat. I got a call to pick it up at the Waikiki Police Department. I very vaguely remember texting my sister because I was aggravated at the way she was treating me. Her childhood best friend used to emotionally dump on her, and my sister would anger dump on me. I'm told that I sounded very hood in my angry text. I only lived in Memphis for about 6 months, so I don't know where that came from.

Eventually, my sister confronted her friend, and they had an awkward phase. They eventually made up. My sister learned how to draw boundaries, and I'm hoping her friend learned how to deal. I'm learning that I might be an alcohlic. I don't feel like a full blown one, but just rather dabble from time to time. I try really hard not to be aggressive when dealing with people. I'm tiny and people like to test the waters with me. Maybe that's why I like to fight so much when I'm drunk. I won't start one, but I'll sure as hell finish it.

I was tipsy in a really cute, but some might consider provocative outfit when some homeless guy said something I didn't like. I started mouthing off and then my friend picked me up by the waist and rested my rump on her hip as she carried me down the sidewalk. There I was bobbing back and forth talking shit to some homeless guy. She set me down and I remember saying the fuck he thinks this is. I know how to get a party started, and I know how to end one, too. I'm not always exciting, but there's hardly a dull moment with me.