The Inadvertent Invasion of the Women’s Room Story

Through all the years of my life, I have come to the conclusion that I am good for two things: Getting myself into awful situations, and living to tell about it. Some of these involve alcohol, some involve medications, but ALL of them include my general dumbassery which, far outweighs the effects of anything else. These are the stories. Don’t judge me.

The Inadvertent Invasion of the Women’s Room Story

I went to The Bahamas one July in the mid-2000’s on vacation. It should probably go without saying that it was a blast. How could it not be? Hanging on the beach in Paradise, plenty of fruity cocktails to consume and potentially give me diabetes, and of course…Fantasia Barrino playing at the very resort I was staying at!

About halfway through my vacation, I decide, along with my girlfriend at the time, to go to Senor Frogs in town. Along the way, we would walk through the markets and negotiate deals for these piece of crap trinkets that the locals has seemingly spent a ton of time making. While doing so, we turn the corner and are greeted by the biggest black dude I have ever seen. This guy could have picked up Shaq and tossed him in the hoop if he wanted to. That is how big he was.

He greets us with a big smile and gives me a huge hug and asks me how my vacation was going. It was at this point that I remembered that black people love me, so I was in no real danger. After chatting it up with the guy for a couple  of minutes, he whips out this necklace, drapes it around my girl’s neck and asks for a “donation.” Seeing a show the thing was clearly a piece of shit, I really didn’t feel like paying anything for it, but considering how nice (and huge) he was, I decided to give him five dollars.

“More,” he said.

“I’m sorry, what?”, I responded.

“More, give me more.”

The smile was gone at this point. Having been replaced with his best impression of a pimp getting ready to slap his whore for shorting him his money. But not wanting to get my ass kicked, and on the verge of shitting my pants in front of my girlfriend, I ponied up and gave the guy a $20.

He then takes out another necklace and forces it around my neck and sticks his hand out again for money. Having just about enough of this gigantic man’s attitude, I did what any self respecting guy would do in that situation…I gave him another $20 and left with my dignity and self respect abused, but my life intact.

“I think you just got mugged, Sam.”

“I know Michelle.”


“I KNOW! Shut the fuck up about it. We tell no one,” I responded.

After processing what had happened, we decided to forego the rest of the shopping part of our excursion and hastily made our way to the bar in an effort to drink ourselves back into vacation mode. After perhaps, one too many rum shots and beer, the house DJ grabbed a microphone and decided that tonight they were going to have a white boy dancing contest. And considering I was one of about five total honkys in the place, I knew that I wasn’t going to have a choice in the matter. The spotlight landed on me, and with one more shot thrown down, I made my way on top of the bar to dance my competition off the stage.

As you can see from the video, I handled my business to the tune of second place. I should have gotten first, but the guy who won was about 65, fat, bald and took off all his clothes. And really, when you have all of those odds stacked against you…you settle for second. But I did so well that the owner of the bar came over, congratulated me on being awesome and told me that all the drinks on the front of the bar were taken care of for me.

Now, as generous as that was, my mind immediately wanted to know why the fuck I wasn’t getting free drinks at the back bar as well. And instead of just hanging out and getting snookered in the front, I stormed off to the back to investigate. I was met with a musical trivia challenge that netted me four free drinks before they cut me off from answering anymore.

After pitching a fit, I was offered a challenge of doing a 20 second shot of rum. Not being one to back down from a challenge (unless, you know, a giant black man is robbing me), I threw my head back swallowed the 20 seconds of rum and strutted back to my seat as everyone looked on in amazement. The bartender then threw down the gauntlet and asked if anyone could do a 30 second shot. I immediately raise my hand and am denied.

“Nah man, we know you can do a 30 second shot. If you are gonna come back up here, you have to drink the entire bottle of rum.”

My response? “Fucking fine by me!”

So I stumbled my way back on stage, propped my head into position, and proceeded to drink about a half a handle of rum. Every last drop of it went down the hatch and into the distillery that my stomach had become. People in attendance were equal parts mortified, but undeniably impressed by my alcoholic adventures. I took a small bow, turned left, and walked immediately into the men’s room to throw up.

I opened the door just as the vomit was exiting my mouth. It landed on the mirror, the wall, the garbage can and of course…the floor. And it didn’t stop. My stomach cramped up as I continued chucking rum bombs out of my mouth. Before I was done, just about every square inch of the bathroom was covered, I was bent over, head down and hands on my knees and sweating profusely.

I looked up, now dehydrated as hell, drunker than just about any time in my life and noticed a lady standing in shock by the bathroom stall. Another was pinned up against the adjacent wall, mouth agape and apparently in shock. Needless to say, I was confused.

“Hey ladies, why are you in the men’s room?”

” We aren’t,” said one of them. “You are in the ladies room…throwing up on us.”

I stood upright, straightened up as best I could and then as polite as I could, tipped my imaginary cap to both of them and said, “ladies.” I then turned around, stumbled out of the ladies room, grabbed my girlfriend and told her we had to leave immediately. Naturally confused, she wondered what was going on, and as we waited for our taxi, she finally figured it out.

“You fucking puked all over the women’s room didn’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh God Sam, what the hell?!?!?!”


“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about that.”

“…shut up and get in the cab, I am pretty sure the owner just found out I mouth-shitted everywhere and is headed this way.”

“Shit, I left my necklace on the table,” she said.

“What necklace? The one I just bought for you? Damn it, that was expensive! Cost me 20 bucks”

“Yeah well you just vomited about $120 worth of alcohol back there, so I think we are coming out ahead.”

“God point Michelle…yay vacation! Now can you get this cabbie to pull over? I gotta puke.”


1 Comment

  1. When a sketchmo inquires into how you are enjoying your vacation, they are attempting to verify that you are in fact a tourist. You have to respond back directly that you’re not a tourist, that you live there. It’ll at least leave them confused long enough for you to gain some distance.

    Or you could just stab him in the face.

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