At about 7PM on Sunday night, I left my house to go pick up Brief Roommate for her roommate’s birthday bash. It had started at 7, but we figured showing up at 7:30 still qualified as fashionably late. Little did we know.
7:30: We arrive at the trendy Cherry Creek bar–no one else is there.
After texting the birthday boy to A) make sure we were at the right place, B) make sure he wasn’t killed during his all-day beer binging and C) ask what the hell, we decided to walk up the street and eat yogurt. Because yogurt, obviously, clears up all sorts of confusion.
8:00: Still no word from the birthday boy (whom we shall, from this point forward, call What The Hell), but we head back over to the bar, assuming that he’s lost his phone or has it on silent. We arrive at the bar to find that we’re now not the only people there–but, unfortunately for us, the two other people who have wondered in are not from the birthday party.
8:05: Brief Roommate calls What The Hell and in the nicest way possible asks what the hell. What The Hell nonchalantly replies that they’re on their way and will arrive in approximately an hour.
9:00: After finishing our drinks, Brief Roommate and I end up at the bar chatting with the bartender. We discover that we’re not the only ones Stood Up in the bar. In fact, the bar opened its doors that night specifically for What The Hell’s birthday. That bar isn’t even open on Sundays. The bartender, who is probably making about 10 cents an hour for his time at this point, asks if we know when What The Hell and Co. will be there. We say he told us any minute.
9:45: We leave the bar, encouraging the bartender to please close up and lock those 3-hour-late suckers out. This is when the conversations about peeing in What The Hell’s bed begin.
10:45: I won’t tell you the end of that story. Feel free to guess.
[...] this month, I wrote an entry about a man named What the Hell who missed his own birthday party, which a bar in Cherry Creek had specifically opened its doors [...]
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