Classic Post: Phillip and Melanie’s Wedding Story
Originally posted in June of ‘06.
(It has occurred to me that the title to this piece is quite inaccurate. The story actually has little to do with their wedding, since I wasn’t actually invited to their wedding, most likely due to Melanie’s inherent and completely unfounded fear that I would vehemently object numerous times during the ceremony. A better headline would probably be something to the effect of “Mike Gets Really Wasted and Embarrasses Angie Immensely”. Oh well.)
My oldest friend “Phillip” and I have known each other for about 20 years. We have pretty much been through everything together; we played baseball, football, and basketball together in junior high and high school, we got drunk and caused mischief together, and we held our first job together (McDonald’s). Hell, I was even present when he lost his virginity to some slut we worked with when we partied at his parents’ house while they were away for the weekend.
Phillip married his lovely girlfriend of six years, “Melanie”, on May 27th, 2006. After a small private ceremony, their wedding reception took place. Angie and I attended, arriving promptly at 6:00 PM for the tapping of the keg, and the announcement of the bride and groom.
6:00 PM. We arrived at the church. Yes, the reception was held at a church. But, luckily it was a Catholic church, so alcohol was not only permitted, it was encouraged, and who was I to disappoint the Catholic church?
I walked in first. The room was about the size of a basketball court and had floors as such, too. I momentarily had the surreal feeling that I was back in the gymnasium of the junior high school I went to. Once I was in the door I immediately scanned the room for two things: people I’d like to see, and people I’d like to avoid.
Upon arrival, I instantly identified one guest that I’d make a significant effort to avoid: my ex-girlfriend from six years ago, “Char”. Char was sitting at a table in the center of the room with a guy that I later learned was her boyfriend. Angie and I chose a seat at a table about 40 feet away from where they were sitting, near the bar and buffet table.
Char’s presence was only fitting I suppose. Melanie and her were good friends growing up. Six years ago Phil had a party during Memorial Day weekend at his parents house while they were away. I was invited of course. I invited Char, who in turn invited Melanie. Melanie and Phil hit it off and I guess the rest is history. Char and I broke up a short time later.
6:01PM. Wasting no time, I got my first beer. Keg beer, served in 10 oz. plastic cups. I asked if they had bigger cups, which was met with a suspicious look and a resounding “No, these are all we have” reply from the bartender. I was pleasantly surprised to learn the beer is Labatts. Good. I was sure it was going to be Bud Light. At this rate, it would only take about 18 cups to get a solid buzz on instead of 60. Good job, Phil.
6:10 PM. Food was served. Dinner was roast beef served with salad, and green beans. Mashed potatoes too. I hate typical wedding food. Not that it tastes bad, it’s just so bland and non-offensive. At this time I mentally commit to having burritos as the main course at Angie and I’s wedding. Cerveza numero dos por favor. I silently applaud myself for the decision to eat at my parents house before the wedding.
I had thought that sitting by the food would make us first in line, but it turned out to be the exact opposite. Char and her boyfriend passed by our table on their way to the buffet. I made a half-assed attempt at being nice, but I am sure my true feelings of utter contempt came across as my feeble attempt at feigning politeness didn’t fool anyone.
6:30 PM. We finished our food. It was at this time that I noticed Char was glaring in our direction. Her gaze was mostly directed at Angie, who instantly took issue with this. I avoided direct eye contact and got another beer. My fiancé began to drink screwdrivers at this point. I momentarily acknowledged the possibility that this might not end well.
6:45 PM. We left our table to greet the bride and groom. I commented to Phil about the lack of people from our group of friends growing up in attendance, and one certain individual I was hoping wouldn’t be there. Melanie overheard and snickered.
7:30 PM. Upon retrieving my 10th beer or so I discovered I am out of dollar bills. It occurred to me that I had better continue to tip the bartenders well in order to not get cut off. I threw a $10 bill into their tip jar and pulled out a handful of singles. They were much appreciative, since it turned out that I’d left a six dollar tip for a small cup of keg beer.
8:00 PM. I saw a camera flash somewhere in the background. It then occurred to me that I had forgotten my digital camera. I called my mom, who only lives a short distance away, and had her bring it to me.
It was also at this time that I made the unfortunate discovery that the bar was stocked with much more than just beer. I peered around the corner to identify the usual array of pansy-ass party liqueurs like Apple Pucker and Hot Damn and such. These, along with the vodka Angie was drinking, was of no interest to me. Then, I see a bottle of J&B Scotch.
Uh oh.
Having already received a beer, I threw a fistful of singles into the tip jar in front of the younger bartender and ask for some scotch.
“Sure. What would you like in it?” He asked enthusiastically.
“Ice”, I said rather curtly.
He grinned sheepishly and proceeded to poor me a ten-ounce JB scotch on the rocks. Wonderful. I am now double-fisting scotch and kegbeer.
8:10 PM. Mom showed up with the camera. I made my way to the car, past Char and her boyfriend who were outside smoking cigarettes. I got my camera and proceeded to walk into the wrong door to go back inside. This door led to where they were serving the liquor. I quickly realize my error before the bartenders did. I left and entered the church using the correct door. Scotch, greedy bartenders and generous tippers do not mix.
8:30 PM. We ‘ride the train’, the dance they do at all weddings. I was too drunk at this point to realize that this was not a good activity for me to participate in. At some point I came to my senses during the dance. I think this occurred when we were passing by my table and I noticed my half-empty cup of scotch and empty beer cup sitting on the table. I left the train to get a refill on my beer, successfully avoiding incident.
(The rest of the night’s story is being told by my fuzzy memory and the recollections of others.)
9:00 PM. Dollar dance time. What the hell. I got in line to dance with Melanie.
9:10 PM. I handed a fistful of singles and my camera to this young girl who was running the thing. I decided a shot of apple pucker wasn’t the wisest thing to drink at this time, so I asked for bourbon instead. This was met by multiple stares of bewildered confusion. I decided to let it go. I assumed that the girl I had entrusted my camera to was bright enough to operate the thing without instruction.
I was wrong.
9:11 PM. While dancing, I overheard them trying to take pictures while the motion capture was on. Eventually, Angie got involved and managed to take a decent picture.
9:15 PM. I retreated to my table to wait for my Angie to finish her dollar dance with Phil. I decided to snap a picture. At this time I noticed that Angie and Phil were visibly annoyed that Char was obnoxiously waiting for her turn five feet away from them. I contemplated intervening, then I decided to sit back and wait to see if a confrontation occurs. I also expertly decided to get a beer instead, when I realized that my cup had inexplicably gone empty.
9:30 PM. Scotch was gone, and so was I.
9:45 PM. “James”, a mutual friend from high school, arrived at the party. I proceeded to engage in more conversation with James on this night than I had in four years of high school with him. James seemed to understand my slurred vernacular well.
10:30 PM. By now I had consumed approximately 20 cups of Labatt’s Keg beer, one 10 oz. cup of scotch, three cans of beer that I drank before I went to the party, and who knows what the fuck else I may have consumed that I cannot remember. At this point I was so drunk I couldn’t speak more than one syllable at a time.
The keg is dead.
10:35 PM. Drunken wisdom said it was time for a beer. I saw that James has a can of Busch in his hand. I asked him where he got it.
“At the bar, dude”, he said with a ‘where the fuck else would I have gotten it from?’ look.
James is the smartest man at the party, I said to myself.
I miraculously got myself to the bar and asked for a can of beer. They happily obliged. I incoherently threw a couple bills at the tip cup, but the bills landed in the trash can behind the counter. The older bartender retrieved the bills and puts them in his jar. At this time I suggested he get a bigger tip jar and stagger away with my fresh beer.
11:00 PM. I got another beer. This would be the last one.
11:05 PM. Phil and I stepped outside to talk. Somehow I was cornered by Char and her boyfriend and I was forced to engage in conversation against my will.
11:10 PM. Angie came outside looking for me, and was instantly irritated by finding me outside with my ex-girlfriend. Char managed to bring up into the conversation a picture her and I took while dating. This picture was of her basically naked, which apparently she still has in her possession and is still quite proud of.
Angie, who had seen the picture and knew the story behind it, was not impressed with this lack of tact. She remained calm though and matter of factly acknowledged that she had seen it. Char mentioned this with her 300 lb boyfriend standing right there. It’s a good thing that he isn’t the jealous type and was ok with her being so proud of a picture of herself in this type of compromising position, because I was in no condition to fight.
Char then asked me point blank if Angie was the reason I that got divorced, to which I basically gave a three syllable answer that I don’t recall.
“Well, my beer is gone,” was the last thing I remember saying to them as my irritated fiancé and I made our way back inside.
The next thing I remember was that Angie and I were back inside the church, arguing over something, then she stormed out of the building toward the car. It was at this time that I remembered that I had called my dad to come get us and that she probably shouldn’t leave.
I walked outside to find her in the driver seat of her car. In my drunkeness I was convinced that she was going to drive away. I opened the door and snatched the keys out of what I thought was the ignition, but turned out to be her hand. I then began loudly telling her to get out of the car because my dad was going to be there. This, in front of all of the people who happened to be outside at the time.
I then authoritatively declared that I needed to say my goodbyes. I don’t remember if this actually end up occurring.
11:30 PM. Dad showed up. I was outside already, Angie was still inside. I staggered up to the car.
I opened the passenger door, leaned in, and uttered the truest statement I have ever said:
“I’m fucked up, Dad.”
He laughed.
12:00 AM. As we were laying in bed in the guest bedroom of my parents’ house, I began to frantically yell at Angie to turn on the light. Being only slightly less drunk than I was, she wasn’t able to accomplish this in time. I, while sitting on the side of the bed, began to vomit violently into my white t-shirt, which I, in a moment of drunken brilliance had managed to stretch out forward to catch most of the barf. I then made my way upstairs – outstretched shirt in both hands – to the bathroom and proceeded to puke for a solid 15 more minutes before returning to the bedroom. My father was no longer amused.
12:15 AM. I returned to the bedroom to find Angie scrubbing the carpet because apparently some vomit had spilled out of my shirt and onto the floor. Now that’s love for ya. At least I didn’t puke at the church.
7:00 AM. I got up to vomit some more. Keg beer sucks.
I think that night was legitamately the drunkest I had been in five years. I just hope I didn’t make too big of an ass of myself. I paid for it though, with a nasty hangover that lasted the whole next day and forever being known to at least one of my buddy’s wives as “that friend”.
