Sunday, January 11, 2009
When you turn 28 years old, the opportunities to have classic drunk stories are few and far between. But I saw something on Saturday night that may be a first in the history of American taverns. For as complex of a person that I am, I'm pretty simple when it comes to drinking. I go to the same bar, drink the same beers, slam the same shots, and play the same Golden Tee machine every week. The Bier Stube, located on OSU's shitty campus, is probably the greatest dive bar of all time. It smells like ass and is danker than fuck, but the alcohol is cheap, there are ample TV's, and the jukebox is the best in the world. Now let me get into this bizarre tale of drunken debauchery.
So I get to the Stube right at the start of the second half of the Cardinals game. I immediately head to the bathroom for a much needed piss. The funk in there is beyond awful but that is sort of expected. I take care of business and say to Damman, "the bathroom smells worse than usual tonight".
His reply was simply, "Well, Fred shit his pants and won't leave".
You see, "Fred" is a guy in his 60's that looks like he's well over 100. He drank himself retarded on Saturday night and thus shit all over himself. They tried to call him a cab to get him out of there since there was a ten foot stink radius around him in which no person could survive. He would not give out his address. He refused to leave. The police had to come in and drag Brown Stains out of there. Situation resolved, right? Absolutely not.
So after Damman tells me the shit saga (and this is FAR from being over by the way), I take a seat next to him at the bar. Ten seconds later, I am told that my stool was the one that Fred was sitting in. I have a small freakout but no harm, no foul. We decide to play Golden Tee a little bit later but the stank keeps creeping back ever so often. We get the owner to spray some cleaner on the stool and burn some incense. But it doesn't work. 20 minutes later, it still lingers in the nostrils. More powerfully this time. The smell was gaining momentum. It was exactly like the Seinfeld episode in which Jerry could not get the smell out of his car. This aroma was going nowhere.
So we get the owner to give the stool a solid wipedown and we figure that this is it. It was not. The scent is so pungent now that it feels like shit has been smeared inside each of our noses. It finally dawns on the roommate that the chair may not be the problem here. Due to the dankness of the bar, he asks the bartender for a flashlight to investigate.
And there it was. The feces of a 65ish year old man right on the floor. And I know what you're thinking, "it was probably just a little bit." To that I say, have you ever had a quarter pounder from McDonald's? It was like that. We had been stepping on it all night and it now resembled the least desirable pancake of all time. I should say it again, THERE WAS HUMAN SHIT ON THE FLOOR. And I, as well as many others, walked all over it. Now I've stepped in dog shit hundreds of times in my life, yet stepping on a grown man's turd felt 1000 times worse.
All of us almost vomited when we found the stink source. I have a pretty strong stomach for stuff that most people would find gross, but that was too much for me. I couldn't even laugh about it at the time. I was too freaked out. The owner cleaned it up in front of us while gagging the entire time and the roommate got a nice picture of the shitpile on his phone (thank me for not posting it). As for me, I finished my beer and left. I just had to get out of that place. My stomach was doing backflips.
Seriously, it was horrible. My words can't describe how awful it was. I can laugh about it now, but I will never EVER forget it. That smell will be burned into my subconscience forever. Let me say it one more time: a grown ass man shit a brick on the floor of a bar...I think I'm going to throw up.