Columns

Drunk Teenagers, New Orleans Hookers, And Angry Bachelorettes: These Are The Worst Stories From The Weekend

This is a recurring PGP series. Catch up with all installments of Worse Weekends Than You by visiting the archive. Email your stories to will@grandex.co.

Drunk Teenagers, New Orleans Hookers, And Angry Bachelorettes: These Are The Worst Stories From The Weekend

Group dinners are dangerous. After half the group shows up intentionally late, you’re faced with about an hour of drinking before the dinner even starts. Beer, beer, cocktail, cocktail, and all of the sudden you’re sitting down at the table with one already tied on. Then you have to out-drink your friend who happens to be a New York Times Best Selling Author in order to make sure you’re not getting jobbed once the bill comes. You overspend, wake up hungover as all hell, and waste your Saturday.

So yeah, that was my weekend that you don’t care about. Let’s get into some that you do actually care about.

100% true, 100% anonymous, 100% frightening.

Last week my family and our close family friends rented a beach house together for vacation. The house was right on the beach, and on the first night (yes I fucked up night one) my buddy and I decided to take my brother, his sister, and her friend to the beach to drink (those 3 are all 16).

Long story short my buddy and I were able to keep ourselves in check while the other 3 got way too hammered off a few beers and some cheap vodka. My friend and my brother got to the house easily while I was left having to practically carry 2 high school girls up the 50 yards or so of beach.
I did somehow manage to get everybody back in bed safely and we all fell asleep… or so I thought.

At about 3 in the morning the sisters friend was throwing up in her sleep and wound up losing the entire next day to that shitty feeling. Unfortunately, my friends mom heard her before I did so when I got up to check on the girls I was greeted by a tired and pissed-off version of my friends mom.

Needless to say the rest of the week sucked and none of the adults look upon me very favorably.

Man, if I had a nickel for every time I dragged a couple drunk high school girls up from the beach to the beach hous– wait, wrong place for this.

Just look at it this way – you were their entrance into the beautiful world of hangovers. I, unfortunately, was not that gatekeeper for too many people outside of my one friend who I fed shots while we sat in recliners in my parents’ basement. We never looked back and have been drinking together ever since. Congratulations to all parties involved.

I have quite a doozy for you. My highly debaucherous friends and I decided to enjoy a Nola weekend. Started off classy on Friday with dinner at Commanders only to be followed by typical Bourbon Street shenanigans which ended with one of my friends face planting outside.

After a delightful brunch the next morning we hurriedly had to acquire red dresses for the annual red dress bar crawl. At this point things get pretty hazy but we ended up on a dance platform at the Beach on Bourbon and blacking out by 6:30 pm. We stumbled back to our hotel and fell asleep, missing our dinner reservation. By some sheer stroke of luck we all woke up at exactly 10:30 pm. We consumed a few stimulants and pounded some drinks on Bourbon before heading out to meet with some other friends at a “locals” bar. We again proceed to drown our sobriety and again, end up on another dance platform.

We decided to end the night at another bar and this is where things start to take a weird turn. My buddy and I were sitting outside on a bench finishing our second pack of cigarettes of the day. A random, moderately attractive gal walking down the street decided to sit in the middle of us on the bench. Pleasantries were exchanged and we decided to try to go out somewhere else. I tossed out the idea of heading back to Bourbon street but she quickly shot this down. Instead she was adamant that we go to Harrah’s to gamble. This was the first red flag. I’m not really a gambling guy so this was met with little enthusiasm, but I thought what the hell let’s do it.

I grab an Uber and we hop in the back seat. She proceeds to starts arguing with our driver about directions and almost gets us kicked out of the car. Meanwhile, amidst the arguing, she has unzipped my pants and has started jerking me off. I was already suspicious that she could have been a hooker and this started to convince me more. We get to the casino and go inside where she starts to demand that I get out $300. I don’t have a ton of principles but I refuse to pay for sex, so I started laughing and just walked out of the casino, leaving her in the middle. In a weekend full of poor decisions, I’m proud to say that at least I didn’t fuck a hooker.

As someone who’s never been to New Orleans, this sounds like it’s right in the New Orleans wheelhouse. Yes, I will be going for New Year’s Eve and my birthday this coming January, and no, I will probably not make it out alive because I’m 30 (turning 31) and can barely handle a night out on the town as it is.

I love that you admitted, “I don’t have a ton of principles,” before clarifying that you won’t pay for sex. And as someone who also doesn’t pay for sex, $300 seems like a lot of money for a dry handy in the back of an Uber that she got you kicked out of. I’m no expert in prostitutes but I did watch Pretty Woman for the first time this weekend so it sounds like she sucks at her job.

So this weekend I went down to the local beach to do a little crabbing and drinking…after crabbing I crashed a bachelorette party at the bar, bouncer was a friend of the groom… guess he didn’t like me kissing the bride on the cheek, I thought it was the perfect photo op. The next day rolls around do some more crabbing then start chugging vodka go back to the same bar. A girl has her purse on the barstool apparently blackout me had my mind set on that chair so I take her purse and chuck it onto the dance floor and sit down… 5 seconds later I get chucked out of the bar just like that purse. I think I need to drink today to recover.

If I’ve learned two things in life, they’ve been as follows: hanging out with a bachelorette party will almost always end poorly, and never touch a woman’s purse unless she asks you to. Both seem relatively harmless, but both can often end with someone just socking you in the face.

Didn’t heed your advice and took the late flight back home Sunday afternoon. First flight was delayed and I spent the whole time stressing about missing my connection. Made it as they were closing the gate, but true to form my immediate neighbors on the connecting flight were three crying infants. Made it home at 9pm ready to unwind with an hour of mindless TV only to discover all the students at the nearby college moved back into my apartment complex over the weekend. Lord beer my sleep schedule strength during the coming syllabus week.

You need to move out and move out quickly. I don’t care what your lease says, you leave and don’t look back. But honestly, you might deserve that fate given that you didn’t follow my advice. Late Sunday flights are not (and never will be) the move.

* * *

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: I’m a part of the most transparent podcast in the history of podcasts, which means I have zero issue being transparent as all hell. You’ll notice we only had three stories this week. This was due to a lighter submission load, some stories that didn’t make the cut, and what appeared to be a tame weekend out there.

If you have any stories that the world needs to hear, email me at will@grandex.co. I don’t bite, and I keep everything 100% anonymous because I care about your careers.

Email this to a friend

Will

Will deFries (Twitter / Instagram) is a Senior Writer at Grandex and the world's foremost authority on Sunday Scaries (Twitter / Instagram). Email me at will@grandex.co.

37 Comments You must log in to comment, or create an account

Show Comments

For More Photos and Content

Latest podcasts

Download Our App

Take PGP with you. Get

New Stories

Load More