Velociworld

My Bachelor Party

Okay. One more. I need to empty my cache, as I expect big things in the '05. I took a year off between college and law school, and worked at a friend of my father's electrical supply concern on Oglethorpe Street. It was next door to the Emerald Room, then the best tittie bar in Savannah.

Well, the electrical supply business burned down. I had a large hand in the wiring of the lighting fixtures department, so I'm surprised it didn't burn down earlier. At any rate, the owner decided to retire, but kept a handful of us on retainer to handle the backordered stock. He'd worked out a deal to store it in the upstairs of the Emerald Room until he could dispose of it.

My job consisted of sitting at the bar in the Emerald Room, drinking coffee and chatting with the girls, until a delivery truck would show up. Then I schlepped the stuff upstairs. I got to know the girls pretty well, on a conversational basis.

I got married a few weeks into this regimen. My brothers and new brother-in-law and I met at my older brother's for libations. Now, my older brother had returned from Turkey with three bottles of yeni raki, which is like Ouzo with date rape drugs dissolved in it. I drank my six-ounce bottle and was effectively slashed. As the night turned puny they wanted to break it up, however I had an inspiration, and demanded we all go to "see my friensh at the Emerraroom".

Being dutiful guys they complied. I don't recall too much after that, but their memories are quite sharp on the matter. I do recall climbing onto the bar to do the "bump" with the girls, and I recall stripping. At least my torso. I am told management took offense when I pulled my pants down, and I was summarily carried off like Ozzy from a mosh pit leap.

The moral of this story is don't drink yeni raki, of course. I believe there is a subliminal message about boys gone wild, as well, but I leave that for you to decide.

There. I feel better. Mostly because I'm not going to tell you the rest of the story. Sorry to disappoint. I will be more than happy to elaborate on Jekyll Island, but I must warn you The Bride is getting tired of hearing about it.