How does a drink after work end up with a hangover, retrograde amnesia, a sprained ankle, a stripper pole, a bearded man, a job offer and the loss of pants and a boyfriend? Throw in a rollercoaster and you’ve got the script for a Hollywood movie.
In South Africa, when we say “Go big or go home” we don’t mess around. We set the bar.
My friend celebrated her 22nd birthday this weekend. No-one remembers everything, there are flashbacks from enough people that we’ve managed to put together a timeline of events.
The evening began sedately with drinks at work. This civilised behaviour morphed into an epic game of Cards Against Humanity, tequila and body shots.
When that became too tame, the party relocated to a popular club where more tequila was drunk.
The birthday girl decided that she needed to upgrade her current beau to a muscle-bound, bearded hunk. She wasted no time and promptly got hot and heavy in front of her sleeker, but no less hunky boyfriend. Who apparently did not intervene, but quite naturally did not approve either. He was hampered from intervention due to the disproportionate mass-height ratio.
From there things obviously needed to cool down, so the party relocated to a strip club where the birthday girl decided to show the strippers from Eastern Europe how a real South African handles a pole.
Apparently, her dismount was a little shaky and she sprained her ankle, but not one to let actual bodily harm stand in her way, she twirled her way up the pole again to many cheers and, apparently, a job offer. This we ascertained from the business card of the strip club’s owner with a hand written message to call him ASAP about becoming a permanent fixture.
Finally, torn away from her podium, the birthday girl was loaded into an Uber. At this point it became clear that somewhere along the way she had lost her undergarments – and over garments – and was essentially, commando. Somewhere stranded are a pair of pants with nobody inside them.
Reviewing the video footage (now erased from cyberspace) it turns out there were no innocent parties. One missing participant woke up the next day to find her credit card maxed out and surrounded by a bevy of naked female strippers.
The birthday girl woke up with no memory of what had gone down and wandered out of her rooms, pants-less and with a throbbing head to ask how in the the blazes did she hurt her ankle and where were her pants?
An immediate crisis meeting was held and the night pieced together. In order to recover, a trip to the theme park was planned to use adrenaline to wipe out any remaining traces of the night’s excesses.
Strapping into the world’s most terrifying roller coaster, who should be seated next to the birthday girl? The ex.
An extraordinary and most unsettling experience was had by all.
As for stripper thing – it’s always good to have a fallback career, especially a well paid, tax-free one. You could think of it as being paid to exercise. It’s a thing.
And while the horror and humiliation lives for today, in twenty years’ time, it will be remembered as the most epic birthday party ever!
Let’s face it, it really could have been worse. It could’ve been like these poor folks in Newcastle and distributed on media worldwide: Daily Mail: Newcastle’s drunken revellers