They say what happens on TDYs stays on TDYs, right? Well, not when it’s this funny. Let me take you back to a trip to California that went off the rails in the best way possible, all thanks to a hard-drinking, cowboy-boot-wearing sergeant who could throw down like nobody’s business.
The Sarge in charge was our fearless leader—a cowboy through and through when off duty. Then there was the other guy…but honestly, he was so forgettable I’ll just call him “the nerd” and leave it at that.
Before even checking into the hotel, we stocked up on the essentials. Picture this: The Sarge strolls out of the store holding a case of Red Dog beer (anyone remember that relic?) and a bottle of Wild Turkey. He tosses me a grin and says, “Hot tub time. You in?” Of course, I’m in. What could go wrong?
As I meet him at the hot tub, he lays down the law: “For every two beers, you take a shot of Wild Turkey.” Now, me being young, dumb, and eager to impress, I thought, Why not? That is, until I took my first shot and nearly lost my cookies. It tasted like gasoline mixed with regret. But hey, the Sarge liked what he liked, so the night went on.
After a spirited soak and some lively conversation, we were invited out to Outback Steakhouse by another crew. Enter phase two of our misadventures: after I found myself drunkenly playing what I call ‘pinball wizard’ in the shower—bouncing off the walls like the pinball in a pinball game—and knocking back a few more brewskis, we headed out.
At Outback, the drinks kept flowing, and I, full of liquid courage, decided I was in love with the hostess. I made my move. She smiled sweetly but declined—politely, at first. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the memo to quit while I was ahead. Enter the manager, who had to step in and ask me to leave. And who came to my rescue? None other than the Sarge, who bodily hauled me out while I slurred some grand goodbye to my “lost love.”
The next day, the Sarge declared, “We’re hitting San Francisco tonight. Be ready.” And what could I say but, “Let’s do it!” We parked in a paid lot, and from there, it was bar after bar, gentleman’s club after gentleman’s club—a whirlwind night of booze, laughs, and questionable decision-making. Did I mention I was underage? The Sarge took it as a challenge to sneak me into every place he could. What a night!
The next morning was a blur, but we wrapped up the trip with a pit stop at In-N-Out—my first time experiencing the West Coast legend. I thought, The menu’s kinda basic, but hey, it was cheap and delicious.
**If at first you don’t succeed then give up it’s not for you.**
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