One Night at Splash

When I drink, it's not to savor the flavor or enjoy the bouquet. I drink to get tipsy. Never drunk, only tipsy. Well, there was that one time when I stood up after having a few drinks, and kept right on going...back down all the way to the floor. My sister turned around to make sure I was behind her just in time to see me standing up a second time. And the other time when I...oh, whatever, I've been drunk a time or two. But, I digress.

One night last summer, I was at a club in the city called Splash. I was doing shots of Petron because I could afford them. After two or three shots at home, a train ride into the City, and two or three more to keep the buzz, anything could happen. And it probably would.

After throwing back a couple drinks, slamming the glass on the bar, and using my training wheels, I bounced my way on to the dance floor. I will be the first to admit that I can't dance-I bounce. I tried taking a friend's advice several years ago to improve my moves. She and I were the only ones on the dance floor, and she was trying to get me to start with the rhythm, feeling it with my feet Then, moving my shoulders freely and lastly, my hips. After 10-15 minutes of lesson, we gave up and went back to the bar. The night at Splash was no different, but I didn't care because I had had several shots of tequila.

I danced by myself for a while, then looked down. The darkness of the club with only the occasional lights flashing, combined with Petron coursing through my veins straight to by head caused me to notice something. I'll be damned if there wasn't a dollar bill lying on the floor, just over there. I bounced toward the bill and incorporated a move that would allow me to pick it up. I snatched the bill off the floor and put it in my pocket. Satisfied that the night couldn't end too badly-after all, I had just found money-I continued dancing by myself. I glanced down at the floor again and saw another dollar! Someone was very irresponsible to let all this money fall out of their pockets, but that wasn't my concern. I picked up the next dollar, and the next. By the end of the night, I had found no less than four dollars, and I was convinced that one was a five.

When the night ended, I made my way to the train station to go back to New Jersey. I got home, undressed, and collapsed on the bed. The next morning, with very little memory of the night before, I got up and got ready for work.

Later that day, I got home and looked at the cup where I keep my spare change. I could not figure out why there was broken glass in the cup and then I remembered the night before. I looked for the bills, and only found broken glass and beer labels. Yes, I was picking up broken glass, other peoples' receipts, and empty cigarette boxes. But it was a fun night!