I brought a kebab onto the dance floor

It was a Friday night after everyone got back from winter break. Three of us had been having a sushi-and-wine night at a friend’s flat, catching up and preparing our livers to go out. We had planned to head out around 11:30, chill at a bar, and then make our way to the dance clubs around 12:30.

By the time we made it out, it was nearing 12:45. To my drunk brain, it meant that all the drunk food stores were about to close.

“GUYS, we have to hurry! The kebab shop will close in 15 minutes!” So, running a few tram stops to the kebab shop, we all waited as they put together my kebab—which turned out NOT to be a kebab, by the way. Jerks.

With the fries sitting on top just like that, we couldn’t help but sneak a few on our way to London pub. Before reaching the doors, I tucked it away into a pocket so that they didn’t turn us away. In front of the pub was a giant crowd of people, which gave us worries that we wouldn’t be able to get in.

“Oh… hey Michelle.” I looked up; it was a guy from my residence.
“Hey! How’s it going!”
“… what are you doing here?” Well that’s rude, I thought, does he not want to see me when he goes out? 
“We’re waiting in line for London Pub.”
“You do know it’s closed, right?”

Onto better and brighter prospects! Of course, now I was bereft of a place to eat my kebab and eating it in the streets was obviously a no-no. No, my drunk brain reasoned, there was no way to eat it before the club which meant… I had to bring it into the club.

“—Hey,” I said, interrupting a perfectly functioning conversation between a friend and the guy. “Can I put this in your pocket?”

Not sure how he replied but it was somewhat along the lines of “hell no.” Shrugging, I tucked it beneath my arm before the bouncer could see. Because I had no purse or bag (that wasn’t the plastic bag holding my kebab), they let me through. Haha, suckers. 

When I wasn’t cradling my precious kebab in my arms as I still danced my ass off, I was talking to my friends:

“Michelle, I think I just stepped on your kebab.” 
“Michelle, is that your kebab on the floor over there?”

This happened multiple times. Anytime a friend would glance down at the floor, they’d see my kebab making the journey of its life. And then I would go retrieve it.

Soon, we all decided this can’t do; our bladders were BURSTING. So we headed to the toilet. Now, it may have been the kebab, but I was the only one accosted by this huge bouncer who gripped my upper arm in his huge meaty hands.

“You need to check your coat in,” he said forcefully in French. I widened my eyes dramatically—pretty much born to be an actress?
“WHAT?” I yelled in English. He paused, a sign I needed to prove that I was really foreign. “I don’t understand. Can I just go to the bathroom?”
“Vestimentaire,” he said. Oh, apparently he liked short sentences.
“TOILET!” I shouted back. His hand gripping my arm was really starting to piss me off. But, before I did anything, I remembered a time when I was sitting outside a dance club and one of the bouncers was manhandling a drunk to the ground. When the drunk got up again and attempted once more to reenter the club, the bouncer sprayed MACE into his eyes. So I stayed pretty calm.

“What’s going on?” another guy from the residence approached me. I continued pretending.
“I don’t know what he’s saying to me.”
They started speaking in French. I waited patiently through the whole exchange.
“He wants you to check your coat in,” the guy told me. No shit, Sherlock.
“Well… can I go to the bathroom first?!”
I waited again while he asked if I could use the bathroom. The arm unclamped and I was free to go.

“Ugh, guys, that fuckin’ bouncer will not leave me alone!” I said upon entering the bathroom.
“Michelle, your KEBAB is on the BATHROOM FLOOR right now.”

Anyways, we all decide to check in our coats, presenting me with yet another urgent question: can you check a kebab in with your coat? What if they lose it?

My brilliant friend came up with the answer: tie the plastic bag around a coat button and then thread it through the arm hole. Unfornately, the execution of her idea was less fine and my kebab, originally in a baguette, now resembled a large dodgeball.

It was still delicious, thanks for asking.

Twitter | Bloglovin | Instagram

Related posts:

  • https://timesforchanging.blogspot.com/ Allison Moore

    I literally LOL’d when I read this. Though I probably would have done the same thing.

    • http://mishfish13.com/ Mishfish13

      Haha, THANK YOU! Can we all stop pretending we hate drunchies?

  • Arman @ thebigmansworld

    LOL. This is the best. I can’t believe you still ate it!

    • http://mishfish13.com/ Mishfish13

      In my defense, it was wrapped up the whole time!!