Leaving 2004: Not with a Bang, but a Whimper

I know better.

I totally know better than to even REMOTELY look forward to New Year’s Eve. Absolutely nothing good ever comes of the night. It’s one of two annual party nights for the amateur (St. Pat’s Day being the other), and every asshole in the city is out and about.

The original plan was for Mark and me to rent out the building next to our favorite hangout, and throw an invite-only bash. But we scrapped the idea, as getting people to commit to something like this is absolutely impossible until the last minute. And because we’d be asking for a little bit of money from everyone (to keep us from getting hit with a HUGE bill), it was that much more difficult. People tend to commit and then back out and don’t want to pay although they only gave you four hours notice. Or they decide the day OF the event that they want to attend. AND THESE PEOPLE ARE YOUR FUCKING FRIENDS!

Whew, okay. Wrong rant.

I wound up pulling together a group of people to go to an event at the Uptown Theater. One of those multiple-room, all-you-can-eat/drink fiascos. This chick Mark had dated suggested it to us, with the promise that her single friends would be in attendance. Since we figured we each spend $75 on any given Saturday night anyway, we thought we’d give it a shot. I completed the daunting task of gathering the troops and I paid for the tickets. Mark picked up the hotel rooms. And in three days, we had a plan for NYE.

I was never entirely hopeful that the event would be a good time. I mean, you know it’s a bad sign when the two major sponsors (one radio station, one indie newspaper) don’t even have details of the event on their Web sites. And when the talent can’t even be googled… well, that’s just scary. This is supposed to be a “gala” event, you fuckers!

Still, my phone rang off the hook in the days leaving up to NYE. And I have to admit that the enthusiasm was contagious. Everyone was really looking forward to having a great time, and I got caught up in it all. I started to think there was hope.

Man, was I way off base.

For starters, the whole premise of “all-you-can-drink” sounds fantastic in theory. But in practice, it’s an absolute nightmare. What you wind up getting are extremely long lines. We are talking lines that are 30 across, and 15 deep. And because everyone is waiting in line for so long, the natural response is to order double or triple the drinks. If you didn’t, you’d walk away with enough alcohol to get you back through the line again. For those of you who went to college, think “nickel draw” night. Yeah, it was that bad.

Of course, long lines for “free” alcohol also results in another nuisance: People jumping the line. This happened so often, that I think the anger-adrenaline actually compounded my sobriety problem. One time, a couple of guys muscled in line ahead of my buddy Joe and I. Rather than cause a scene, I just bit my tongue (I was tired of being the only assertive asshole in the whole bar). We waited and waited and waited. These guys even took a few orders from their buddies. When they finally got up to the bar, they were placing their COLOSSAL order. One of them turns to me, and says, “What are you having? What can we get for you guys?”

I think I popped a blood vessel.

While I appreciate the gesture of buying my drink at an OPEN BAR WHEN I AM NEXT IN LINE, I coolly gave him a, “We’re good.” Then, I added, “Next time, though, you can get your ass to the end of the line and wait like everyone else.”

Early into the evening, I could tell the night was shaping up to be a bust. At one point, Mark and I went on a prowl to check out the various rooms and see what was happening. On the second floor, we found what I affectionately referred to as “the wedding reception.” No shit. The room was fully of round tables, with the exception of a small dance floor and a DJ stand. And he was spinning the CLASSIC wedding-style music. Oddly enough, this was the room where I managed to have at least 30 minutes worth of a good time.

The main stage had some band playing blah music. Really lousy. And Kansas City has some great local talent. But these guys… I think I heard them playing “MonyMony” at one point. Shouldn’t that be restricted to the Wedding Reception room?

And don’t get me started on the Fight Club room. But at least I could smoke there. Me and the several hundred other smokers in attendance.

Midnight came and went. I was at the bar doing shots with a couple of girls. Not surrounded by my friends. No kisses from random women (where were all the random women, anyway?). Just a couple of blondes and a Jagermeister or two. Proud that I’d made it into the new year without ditching the party, I grabbed my gin and tonic (no Sapphire, by the way. A PREMIUM bar, and no Sapphire), and headed for the door.

That’s when some douche bag stepped in front of me, and SOAKED me with my own drink.

All I needed at this point was an anvil to fall from the sky and smash me in the head. I waited outside in the cold while my damp shirt clung to my chest. But, I was happy to be out the front door. It was like watching my house burn down on Christmas—it sucked being outside, but it sure as hell beat being inside.

It took forever to get a cab, and forever to get home (I had to split a fare with Sally and Steven Wrongway). I learned my fucking lesson. Next year, the party is at my house.