January 19th in Posso's Prompts

Inspired by someone asking me to relive the story of the time I pissed off a musician, when has there been a time when you drew attention to yourself that you regret?

If you don’t know me well enough by now, you should at least be safe to assume that a night of binge drinking in a public place usually leads to some story. Here’s one that not a lot of people that frequently see my shenanigans these days have heard.
My friend TJ was managing and working at the Come Back In just off of the square downtown.

There was live music that night, and a group of us decided to head out and unleash the disaster known as Zac Daniels. Of course, we couldn’t go to a bar which we had to actually pay for drinks at without having a half of a handle of whiskey (or vodka and Wild Blue for the ladies) before we left the house.

As almost always with drunk Posso encounters, I remember a decent deal but I also have had a myriad of facts given to me second hand

While I am cozied up to the bar, begging TJ to pour me shots I don’t need, using the bar as a brace to hold my booze filled sweaty body upright, a woman nuzzles in and tries to get anyone working behind the bars’ attention. My alcohol logged memory compels me to mention that she is probably on a drunk level a little bit more extreme than I am at this point; she’s slurring all her words and screaming nonsensical shit. She looks at me with those fish eyed wasted white girl eyes and says, ‘I’m fucking pretty, buy me a drink.’ and I know my response was ‘You’re fucking pretty, can I buy you a drink?’

Things get hazy from there but I know that this girl and I sloshed our way up and down the bar for a little bit, while I know my friends had a somewhat watchful eye on me. Little do I realize the reason all my buddies are paying attention is because the lead singer of the band is getting more and more irritated as the songs and the set go on. I couldn’t have a goddamn care in the world: this girl is cute (drunk goggles) and she’s acknowledging my existence so my tipsy game is on a Matthew McConaughey Lincoln commercial level. As the lady and I rip another shot of something we definitely both don’t need, I am clued in to an issue by my friends. The girl just so happens to be the lead singer’s girlfriend. This is now the point where my consciousness fades, but apparently the lovely miss and I decide this would be the greatest time ever to start swapping spit and tongue lashing each others’ faces. I was told there were many audible groans and gasps coming from the bar at this point and once the lead singer saw this the music stopped. The bar got eerily quiet as the singer leaned ever so gently into the microphone while glaring at the bar.

“This next song’s called ‘Fuck You.’’’

It was clear that this was the time for a blacked out Zachary to make a graceful exit. The good old bob and weave/Irish goodbye where no one knows where you are or where you went is my unabashed speciality and I was not heard from again that night. Other than trying to unsuccessfully enter Whiskey Jack’s Saloon (someone didn’t pass the ‘Is this guy too drunk to let in?’ test) to find my lady friend Jordan, no one knew where I was until later that night when the roommates came home to find me passed out, fully clothed, in bed.
It’s a story that only few know and or remember, but I was graceful enough to once have a song dedicated to me in a dinky little bar because my dumb drunk ass couldn’t say no to making out with another dumb drunk human being. Hopefully I wasn’t the cause of that relationship breakdown. Something tells me that relationship was already on the rocks.