This is a story about one of those times. Sometime around aught 03, I thought that would sound cool but it just doesn’t have the same ring as it did when people were talking about the 1900’s. Let’s try again. Sometime around 2003, I was working in Oxnard California as a civilian technical representative for the Navy. This job required a lot of travel to work on ships in different port cities. I got a two week assignment to work on one in San Diego. Michelle and I had just gotten married a few months before that and since she was from Canada, her work visa had not come through yet. She was free to travel with me on assignments and did so on this one.

Two of my work friends, Rich and Dustin, were also down in San Dog on assignment as well. Before I got married we had all done our fair share of partying and when I was drinking I tended to get up to hijinks. Most of them were good natured and made people laugh, which you already know, if you’ve read this blog for any length of time, I love to do. Rich was a bit of a facilitator when it came to getting me started on these antics. I had to watch myself in order to not go too far. When enough alcohol had been consumed, I tended not to watch closely enough.

The last work day of the trip we had all finished up our assignments and were heading back up north on Friday. We decided to go out and have a “few” drinks that Thursday night. Michelle informed me that morning before I went to work that she would not be coming with us because she didn’t want to miss Survivor that was on that night. We both liked the show but I wasn’t quite dedicated to it like she was and this was before we had a DVR that could record it. A few beers with my buddies trumped a reality show. Parking in San Diego is a bitch so when we were on the same schedule, we had been car pooling to work. As soon as I informed them of Michelle’s intended absence for the get together, the venue changed quickly as Rich suggested a place and Dustin readily agreed.

That place was called Pure Platinum and it was a Gentlemen’s Club, also more commonly referred to as a Boobie Bar. When I agreed to go, you might think I was being a bad boy, hiding it from my wife. Not true. She didn’t mind me going to places like that as long as I brought all the testosterone build up back home for her. That afternoon, Dustin dropped me back off at the hotel so I could get ready for the night. He must have been in a rush because he didn’t even let me get up off the curb before he sped out, running over my left foot! Damn that hurt! Once back in the hotel room, Michelle examined the foot and judged it to not have any broken bones, just some deep bruising. I figured some medicinal ale ought to take care of the problem.

When the taxi pulled up to the hotel (we knew we were going to be drinking too much to drive), I limped over to it, got in, and gave Dustin a ration of shit for running over my foot. He hadn’t even noticed. We got to Pure Platinum, went inside, and commenced to have our “few” drinks. Those drinks turned into more drinks, that turned into even more as we took in the entertainment. At one point, Rich, who was a wheeler dealer, tried to talk one of the girls into a discounted lap dance. She was having none of it. My inebriated mind had an idea. I offered the girl a deal. She and two of her friends could slap me across the face as hard as they wanted. If they couldn’t bring tears to my eyes she had to give Rich a lap dance for free. If they could, I would give her $20 and she didn’t have to give the lap dance. Even in my drunken state, I knew these girls were skinny waifs that couldn’t hit worth a damn and I had a high tolerance for pain when I was drunk. She agreed and called one of her dancer friends over and explained the situation. I sat in a chair with my arms down by my side as Rich’s potential lap dancer wound up and slapped me across the face. Barely felt it.

“Was that a mosquito bite?” I taunted her.

The next dancer wound up and hauled off on my face. I felt that one a little more but still no problem.

“Maybe a wasp sting,” I informed them. “Last chance. Who’s next?”

“Go get Big Rhonda,” the first vanquished dancer said to the next. The girl disappeared into another part of the club. Big Rhonda? That sounded a little concerning. Nah, they were just trying to fuck with me. All of a sudden a crowd started forming around us. A lot of patrons and a good number of the dancers had heard about the little bet and wanted to see for themselves. I could even hear the MC on the microphone admonishing the dancers for leaving the stage. Then the crowd started parting as someone strode forward. It was Big Rhonda and the moniker was quite accurate. She was a beefy woman and there was no way she was a dancer.

“Wait a minute!” I shouted. “She isn’t a dancer!”

“You didn’t say it had to be a dancer,” replied the first dancer. “You said two of my friends. Rhonda is my friend.”

Hell, I didn’t even think she worked there. I looked around for help and met Rich’s eyes. He shrugged, “She’s got you there, dude.”

“What the fuck man? You want this lap dance or not?”

“Seeing you get the shit slapped out of you might be more fun.”

“We are no longer friends.”

Rhonda walked up with a big grin on her face and that wasn’t the only thing that was big. She had some guns on her. Before I could even get ready she hauled of and slapped the ever loving Jesus out of me! I flew out of the chair and up against one of the mirrored walls, where I crumpled into a heap. I tried to keep it together but I couldn’t. I didn’t cry but moisture welled up in my eyes and dripped down one cheek. That was enough to lose the bet. Big Rhonda was nice enough to pick me up and put me back in the chair. When I regained my wits, I reluctantly reached into my wallet and handed over a twenty to the dancer. I did cry then.

You’d think I was done with the story now. Nope. Shall we continue?

We stayed for probably another hour and I drank my full to dull the pain that BR had dished out. When we called it a night, we got the bartender to call us a cab and we waited outside for its arrival. The place in front of the club where we were waiting had a palm tree in front all decorated in white lights that wound it’s way to the top.

“Bet nobody could climb that palm tree,” Dustin said to us.

“I was a pretty good tree climber in my younger days,” I replied.

“Climb it then,” Rich said.

“I don’t think so. Not tonight.”

Dustin and Rich started egging me on trying to get me to do it when finally Rich said, “If you get to the top I’ll give you ten bucks.”

“Fuck that,” I said. “I lost more than that trying to get you a free lap dance.”

“OK, twenty then.”

You think I said no? No, you don’t and you are right. All I could think about was regaining my lost $20. So I launched my self at the tree, wrapped my arms around it like a monkey (which are mean BTW), and started shimmying up it. The sharp bark of the palm tree was digging into my bare arms, but my alcohol infused body felt it not. About halfway up I lost my grip and came plunging back down. As I slid down the rough terrain I ripped off every strand of lights until I was a plummeting Christmas ornament. I neglected to tell you earlier that there was a barbed wire fence around the tree base. There was some construction going on and I guess it had been put up to protect the tree. I had initially avoided the barbed wire by launching myself from a pillar near the tree. My current downward trajectory was not on a path of avoidance. When I hit the bottom, the light strands that were wrapped around me and my right foot got caught in the barbed wire, which caused me to flip upside down and hang there!

Rich and Dustin were rolling on the grass laughing as I flailed helplessly. Pain that was not muted by the alcohol shot through my right foot. I yelled at the guys to get the fuck up and help me which they eventually did. As they were untangling me from the wire the taxi we called showed up. As soon as he saw what was going on he told us he wasn’t having any of that and started to drive off. Rich ran after him and convinced him to stop and wait for us. Dustin finally just grabbed me by the arms and hauled down as hard as he could. I came loose and hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of me. When I regained my breath, the boys helped me to my feet and I started to limp over to the taxi. It felt like my right foot was walking in something wet. I looked down to see a hole in the side of my shoe and something red was seeping out of that hole. One of the barbs had penetrated and gouged a chunk of skin out of the arch of my right foot and it was bleeding like a stuck pig.

I started to yell at my so called friends about my grievous wound but they bundled me into the back of the taxi. We took off toward my hotel and I continued to complain about my foot rather loudly. The blood was getting everywhere on the back seat. At one point the taxi driver heard me say something about blood and threatened to kick us out where we were. Once again, Rich talked him into continuing on. When we got back to the hotel, the guys dragged me out of the back which looked like the floor of a slaughter room. They asked the taxi to wait as they escorted me to my room. I found out later that after the taxi driver had gotten a good look at the back seat, he had taken off and the boys had to get another taxi to get back to their hotel.

It was rather late when the boys delivered me to the door of my room and knocked. When a groggy Michelle answered the door, the boys just shoved me in and ran. They didn’t want to face the wrath of the disgruntled spouse. There I stood in the entranceway to the room, scratches all down my arms, a gimpy left foot from being run over, a bleeding right foot, and a BR hand shaped bruise on my right cheek. Michelle looked at me with barely disguised disgust. “How was Survivor?” I asked her.

She had no sympathy for my condition and barely talked to me the next two weeks. You might think that was kind of a harsh reaction (or you might not) for a bit of drunken hijinks but you’ll see why. The next day I was a hurting unit with a killer hangover to add to all the other ailments and I asked Michelle to make the three hour drive home. She refused. This was part of her punishment and I deserved it, didn’t like it, but deserved it none the same. On the drive home I got a page from work (didn’t have a cell phone yet) and had to pull over to make the call from a payphone. That’s where I got the great news that there was need of an emergent repair on a ship in Japan and I would be the one that was going; the next day. Let’s just say that was one long ass 11 hour flight and why there wasn’t much communication from Michelle for the next two weeks. I was happy to see that when I arrived back from the Land of the Rising Sun she was still there and had forgiven me.

Not quite done yet. Several months later, my other work friend, Brian, and I were back in San Diego for work. Brian had heard about the palm tree adventure. We were out at a bar near the club and after several beers he offered me $40 if I would try and climb to the top of the palm tree again. I was never one to leave a mountain top unconquered and we walked the few blocks over. I made it to the top and back down without any incident other than knocking off a few strands of the lights they had evidently put back up after my last foray. In the end, I made a profit.

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