Ain’t no party like an after party
First Posted: 7/13/2014
I was at the bar with my buddy Dylan when a blonde girl started walking toward us.
“Excuse me,” Dylan said to the girl. “I have a question for you that might sound a little crazy.”
“What’s that?” asked the blonde.
“How much money have you got on you?” he questioned.
“This is going to be an interesting pick-up line,” I thought to myself, curious to see how the situation was going to play out.
“I have a bottle of Pinnacle that I’ll sell you for $30,” he propositioned.
“I’m not buying a bottle from you at a bar,” she said before walking away.
“Why the hell would you ask her that?” I demanded to know.
Dylan told me that he spent all of his cash at the bar and was trying to sell one of the bottles of vodka he had in his trunk so he could get some grub at Sheetz on the way home.
“You trying to party?” he asked some dudes that were walking down the street as we were walking to his car after the bar.
“Yeah,” they answered. “We’re on our way to the after-hours club down the street that’s open until 5 a.m. They lost their liquor license, so it’s BYOB.”
Being the entrepreneurs that we are, Dylan and I decided to roll up to the after-hours club to sell the bottles of vodka in his trunk to people that were looking to party so we could spin the profit into Mac-n-Cheese bites from Sheetz.
“Is that an above ground pool?” I asked out loud as we were driving into the parking lot of the after-hours club. “Why is there an above ground swimming pool in the parking lot?”
A security guard approached the car window.
“It’s $20 for guys,” he announced.
“Give me $40, I’ll pay you back,” begged Dylan.
“I’m not paying $40 to get into an after-hours club with an above ground swimming pool in the parking lot,” I asserted.
“I’m out of cash, will you take a bottle of vodka instead?” Dylan asked.
When the security guard accepted a bottle of vodka for admission, I knew the after party was about to get real.
As it turned out, someone else put more thought into the idea of selling drinks in the parking lot. We parked next to a guy that had a blender plugged into the cigarette lighter of his car, making frozen daiquiris.
“Well, I’m just going to dance,” I said, as I walked inside while Dylan tried to figure out a way to challenge the competition.
When I walked inside a security guard came up to me. Since he and I were the only white people in the club, I was expecting a warm greeting in acknowledgment of being the only white chocolate inside the party. Instead, I was told: “Not going to lie, bro, I f—king hate your outfit.” #AWKWARD
About an hour later Dylan found me inside doing the Wobble with a group of lesbians.
“I sold some kid a drink for 10 bucks,” he shouted while waving Alexander Hamilton in my face.
On our way to leave and finally get Mac-n-Cheese bites, we noticed they were grilling and selling hot dogs by the above ground pool in the parking lot.
We decided to feast on the hot dogs instead before leaving the party and shouting out of the window with a blow horn for everyone to follow me on Twitter – because that’s how you exit an after party like a boss.