The Myrtle Beach Hotel Story…

I’m always being told by my wife that I need to write down some of my more humorous exploits…you know, kooky shit that would only (seemingly) happen to me. Today I’m going to be recounting The Myrtle Beach Hotel Story.

During my highschool days, I hung out with a crew of people from Connestee, SC. My cousin lived near Donaldson Center which was in turn near Connestee.

One summer in the olden days of the late 80’s, a small pack of us, meaning only about 5 or 6 all total, decided to go to the beach for a long weekend. So we gathered up and headed down to the coast. I was also interested in going because a girl, let’s call her Michelle, I’d been courting for a couple of months was headed down as well and she suggested I should come down so we could spend “some time” together. That’s right boys and girls…Cinlach could possible be getting laid during this trip.

Once we got to the beach, I met up with Michelle and we organized a rendezvous for later that evening. She warned me not to stand her up or get cold feet because she was going to make the trip well worth my while. It’s official…I am SO getting laid.

During the day, while I’m waiting anxiously for that evening, I helped my friends get together the necessary ingredients for making a concoction I’d never heard of before. It was called “PJ” and was otherwise known as “Purple Jesus”. It was so named because after drinking a great deal of it you were liable to see anything, up to but not limited to, a Purple Jesus.

Since I had plans later that evening I passed on the PJ and instead sipped on a couple of beers. I was, however, famished from the fact that between all our running around during the day, and my meeting up with Michelle, I had neglected to eat anything. So after the PJ had “settled” for a couple of hours, I finally couldn’t ignore my rumbling stomach any longer and started eating some of the floating fruit. I wasn’t concerned about this decision because after all, I wasn’t drinking the PJ.

This proved to be seriously flawed logic.

The more of the fruit I ate, the fuzzier things got until finally I awoke in a very unfamiliar location and sicker then I’d been in a long time.

Let me set things up a little more and give you some back story as to my reaction to alcohol. Once I reach a certain point, I black out, and when that happens I’m liable to do anything. There are pictures of me in various states of inebriation, confusion, and embarassment scattered throughout the greater southeast. It’s one of the reasons I don’t drink to excess anymore. The other reason is contained below and will soon be revealed.

When I regained consciousness, the first thing I discovered was that I was cold…freezing in fact. I was lying on a slab cement floor dressed only in a too large bright orange jumpsuit and flip flops. I glanced around, and realized that I was in fucking jail.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Had I killed a man? Raped a goat? Stolen a car? What about killed a man, raped his goat, and then stolen his car? I had no idea how I got there, what I’d done, how long I’d been there…nothing. I was not happy.

This was the point I began to panic. I called out for a guard and finally one arrived. It was then that I discovered that I’d been arrested for Public Intoxication. Which I of course had absolutely no memory of at all.

It seems that eating the fruit in the PJ was worse then actually drinking that vile shit. See as it turns out, the fruit absorbs all the alcohol and if you really want to get shitfaced out of your mind then all you have to do is eat the fruit. I decided that this would’ve been a handy piece of information to possess several hours prior to my arrest.

As for the details of my arrest, it was revealed that after I got good and unintentionally snockered, a group of us all decided to head out to the beach. As we were walking down the main street in Myrtle Beach, our group began flirting with a group of girls located on the balcony of a nearby hotel. Pleasantries were exchanged and they invited us up, we of course accepted.

Now, here’s where stupidity comes into play. For some reason, I decided that the quickest way up would be to climb the fucking hotel and not go inside and take the stairs/elevator. As it turned out, this was frowned upon by the local authorities and I ended up in the drunk tank. From what I was to learn later, I was one floor from achieving my goal when I was nabbed by the cops.

Now you see why I don’t drink anymore.

The guard asked if I was ready for my phonecall, which I very much was. I dialed the hotel room and got no answer…shit.

This was the point where my panic, and the PJ, started to assault my body with pain and nausea. I spent the next few hours vomiting, praying for death, napping, and every couple of hours trying the hotel with no luck.

As the day progressed into evening I was getting to the point where I was going to have to call my parents. This was less then appealing.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice and one of my friends walked up to the cell. It was then that the obscenities started :

Me : Where the fuck have you been? Why the fuck did you leave me? What the fuck happened? Why the fuck didn’t you stop me? When the fuck am I getting out of here?

Him : Calm down, your bail is $300. We’re all pooling the money together to get you out.

Me : Why the fuck did you leave me in here so long? You all knew what happened to me! You knew I was in fucking jail!

Him : See, here’s what happened. You weren’t the only one drunk last night. Everyone was pretty torn up. You got popped and everyone headed back to the hotel. Along the way they got distracted and by the time they got back to the hotel they were all about to crash. I got up and couldn’t remember where you were, I didn’t go with you guys. I thought you were with that girl you were meeting, and it wasn’t until I saw her on the beach that I discovered you’d stood her up.

Me : Holy fuck…I did stand her up. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!! But it wasn’t my fault! I got fucking arrested for supposedly climbing a hotel!

Him : Well she’s still pissed about it just the same and there’s no doubt man, you totally climbed that hotel. Anyway, once I knew you weren’t with her I headed back to our hotel and found out what’d happened…and here I am.

Me : Why the fuck didn’t those assholes answer the phone?

Him : They were all drunk and passed out. Would you have answered if you were hung over? No one knew who was calling.

Me : Look, I am entirely too hung over to yell at anyone right now. So just please get me the fuck out of here before I die.

And so my release was secured, my trip ruined, my chances with the girl destroyed (she never forgave me and scolded me for such a ridiculous excuse once I finally caught up with her back in town), and my head pounded like Zeus’s jackhammer for three days.

I never drank PJ again, and to this day I still can’t eat fruit.