My job right out of college came to an abrupt end. I was fired for being an asshole to one of my employees. It was time to move on, and the beach seemed like the perfect destination. My sister, Abby, had a beach house and needed a few roommates, so I figured it would be a good idea to live there. I mean, why not? We grew up together and she is one of my best friends.

I moved in and realized that I had two big problems that I needed to solve immediately: I didn’t have a job; and I didn’t know anybody that lived there. After a few days of job hunting, I was hired at a logistics company doing data entry (For the record, I would rather eat donkey dick than do that again). So I solved one problem, I had a job. It sucked ass, but I had a job. Now I just needed to meet some people.

One night, Abby and I went out downtown to grab a few beers. We ran into one of her old roommates, Sean Carter. He seemed like a pretty cool guy, might be fun to hit the bars with. Before I go any further, let me give you a little background on Sean Carter.

Sean moved to Charleston with his long-time girlfriend to go to college. He was glued to her side everyday until the day they broke up. When they broke up, he moved in with some friends that he met at work, my sister included. The night Sean moved into the house they all decided to go out and throw down in celebration. The kicker? Sean had never been drunk. The roommates knew this fact and were determined to change it.

Throughout the course of the night, everyone got shit-faced. At closing time, the roommates all met up to stumble back to the house—all of them except for Sean. They figured he already took off and went back to the house and passed out. But when they arrived home, he was nowhere to be found.

            It was 4:00 am and Sean was eight miles away from the bars at the port of Charleston. Walking in what he thought was the right direction to get home; he ended up on the opposite side of downtown, surrounded by cargo ships.

            As he was walking toward the ship, he fell into a mud hole and sank up to his knees. When he pulled his leg out, the mud had claimed one of his cowboy boots. He then took his jeans off and threw them into the night. He was now walking around with mud up to his knees, in his boxers and a single cowboy boot on. He climbed aboard one of the cargo ships to ask for directions, but the men didn't speak any English. They were French, and probably disgusted by what they saw, so they kicked Sean off the ship.

            Sean finally found his way home. I’m sure it was a long walk home with one cowboy boot, both legs covered in mud and no pants. He arrived home around 6:30 am. What a dumb shit. Okay, now back to the story.

My job at the logistics company was terrible. I wanted to slit my wrists every morning. On my second day of work, I was two hours late because of a late-night booze fest. I walked in the office reeking of Jack—I know everyone smelled me. On the fourth day, I woke up four hours late. Damn, I was late for lunch break.

Me: (on the phone with my boss) Hey man, I don’t think I am going to make it in.

Boss: Colin, you’ve been here four days. You don’t even have sick days yet.

Me: Yeah, I just don’t think this position is for me. Will you mail me my check for the three days that I worked? Thanks.

            Back to square one…kind of. I had a buddy to hang out with, yet no job to support the festivities. I waited tables in college, so I figured I could do that again until I found a new job. I applied to a few places here and there around Charleston and eventually got hired at a little seafood restaurant that was laid back and had a fun bar.

            I had been to the bar a few times to hang out, so I already knew the managers and the owner. I made decent money, especially during tourist season. I could go to the beach all day then head to work around 4:00 pm (drunk as shit) and make some cash. I was happy; things were going well. I became the head server after just two months. The manager finally gave me a Thursday night off because I was working “so hard.” Thursday nights were a great night to go out in Charleston.

            Sean and I went to the beach that day to celebrate the fact that I didn't have to work that night. After a long day of boozing in the sun, we left the beach and headed back to Sean's house. We decided to start the fun a little early that evening, so we stopped into my restaurant to do some shots and have a few beers. As soon as we sat down, my manager motioned for me to come see her.

Manager: Colin, you guys better keep it under control tonight.

Me: Oh yeah, nothing to worry about. We’re just gonna have a few beers and hang out.

Manager: I know how you guys get when you start partying. Don’t make me look bad.

            I understood completely, but couldn't control what was going to happen. As we sat at the bar doing shot after shot and pounding beers, we realized that the place was pretty slow; we needed some excitement. I mean, it was Thursday night, and we were in a bar. I stretched my arm back and slapped Sean on the back of the head as hard as I could. I laughed, he didn’t. He reached back to return the slap, but I jumped up and ran away laughing like a little girl as he missed.

            He stood up, tripped over his bar stool and fell on the ground. I laughed harder. He started chasing me around the bar trying to hit me. Mid-chase, his pants fell down around his ankles. It didn’t faze him, though, he just kept running after me. We were crawling under tables, behind the bar, in the back office; we were all over the place. A grown man with his pants around his ankles chasing another grown man around the bar—what was in those shots? He finally caught me and slapped the shit out of me.

Sean: You’re it!

Me: You’re gonna get it, fucker!

            I dropped my pants and started chasing him; I figured it was part of the game. If you're it, you have to pull your pants down. Sounds logical, right? The bar area was a little small in the restaurant, so we stretched the game out into the dining area. No big deal since it was late in the night and the only people that were out were the party people.

            As customers were enjoying their meals, Sean and I were running around the restaurant with our pants off trying to slap each other. That’s when my memory gets fuzzy; I’m not sure if we were kicked out or left because we got bored with the crowd.

            My shift started at 10:45 the next morning. Needless to say I was not in the mood for work. I felt like I got kicked in the head by a horse. I pulled myself together, hopped in the car and headed off to work. I walked in the restaurant on time just like normal and started doing my side work, getting ready for business that day.

Manager: Colin, can I speak with you in the back office please?

Me: Sure, let me just finish this up real quick.

Manager: No need, just come on back.

            Not a clue as to what had happened; I walked into the office like nothing was wrong.

Manager: Colin, do you remember what happened last night?

Me: Nothing special. Me and my buddy came up here to have a few shots and a few beers, no big deal.

            She started to inform me of the happenings from the night before. The no-pants tag, the shots, the beers, the broken glasses. I lowered my head and listened as I tried to hold the laughter in. I’ve done some stupid shit, but this was really stupid.

Me: Well at least it was late. I mean, it was just the drinking crowd.

Manager: Colin, it was 6:30 pm. There were families in the restaurant—it wasn’t even dark out yet.

            I had nothing to say. She informed me that she had to let me go to make an example out of me; however, it was one of the funniest things she had ever seen in the bar. I left the restaurant that day and have not waited tables since.

            The following weekend, I ran into a few friends that I worked with at the restaurant. They informed me that because of that night, employees are now prohibited from drinking at the restaurant bar. They even changed the employee handbook and made a rule called the “Colin Rule,” which states: “If you are employed at this restaurant or any of the sister restaurants in the area, you are not allowed to drink at any of the facilities.”
 

Half Way to Halloween_______________________________