Before Coffee: Drunk and Disorderly with Klingons

June 7, 2016 § Leave a comment

My last few posts have been a bit maudlin, so I thought I’d change up the pace. Also, the statute of limitations on “What Happens In Vegas Stays In Vegas” has expired for this story. Not that it matters; the only guilty party was me.

It was 1998, I think, and I went with friends to Las Vegas for the first time (but not the last, by far). We’re all geeks, so we had to visit the (sadly, now defunct) Star Trek Experience at the Las Vegas Hilton, and its accompanying saloon, Quark’s Bar.

If you’ve seen Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, you know Quark’s. They did an amazing job recreating the place, down to people dressed (and playing the part of) Ferengi and Klingons walking around the joint.

They also had an entire menu of nothing but drinks based on Star Trek. Some of them were normal drinks given a new name; the James Tea Kirk was a Long Island Iced Tea. But others were specially concocted for Quark’s and Quark’s alone. McCoy’s Martini, for example—a lovely blue martini, served in a frosted glass. I can’t remember what it tastes like.

And then there was the Warp Core Breach.

The Warp Core Breach wasn’t just a special recipe, oh no. The Warp Core Breach was a drink and a show.

For starters, it came in a huge glass bowl that would comfortably house a family of goldfish, their plastic shipwreck model, and a little bubbling plastic man in a diving helmet.

After filling this aquarium half full of ice cubes and a chunk of dry ice, the bartender put it into it’s own special dispenser. This diabolical device then poured in five kinds of rum and five kinds of fruit juice, all while a strobe light flashed so that the drops seemed to just hang in the air.

Once filled, the bartender dropped in four colored straws and served the smoking fishbowl of booze to her victim. It looked like this:

(That’s not my video, by the way. I found it via Google.)

It’s worth noting two things: 1) Dry ice evaporates water out of the drink, but leaves the alcohol behind; and 2) Quark’s wouldn’t serve the Warp Core Breach to just one person; it had to be shared. (However, this policy was not in place on my first visit.)

There were five of us. We ordered four Warp Core Breaches to start, with the intention of drinking our way through the entire menu.

The last thing I clearly remember is my buddy Tom handing me a McCoy’s Martini and saying, “Try this! It’s really good!” I drank the entire thing in one go. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but my sense of “good idea” and “terrible idea” had gotten all mixed up in the Warp Core Breach.

After downing the martini, I decided I needed to go to the bathroom. It was around the curved bar and through a small area of tables, and as I made my way, I discovered I couldn’t quite stand up without using the bar for support.

Somehow, I got into the bathroom and into a stall and sat down on the toilet. I was very warm, so I leaned my face against the cool metal wall. It felt very nice.

The next thing I knew, my friends were banging on the stall door and walls. One of them perched on a urinal to peer over the top. They were yelling at me.

“Dude, you’ve got to get out of there. Hotel security is going to arrest you for drunk and disorderly!”

This was patently ridiculous. How was I disorderly? I was sitting quietly in the bathroom.

“You’ve been passed out in there for an hour!”

Oh.

I decided to go back to being passed out. My friends would not let me. The banging recommenced, and the yelling.

“Come on, man. We’re not kidding! You’re going to get arrested!”

But I didn’t feel too good, and I’d been sitting on a toilet for an hour. My legs were asleep and my stomach had decided it might have a breach of its own.

“Just open the door. We’ll carry you. Hurry!”

Not wanting to get arrested, I decided it was best to vacate the premises. I bent forward to pull my pants up, and I threw up. Into my underwear. Twice.

Having no other recourse, I stood up and pulled my pants up.

On the list of “Not My Finest Moments,” I think that comes in near the top.

I got the door open and my friends carried me out, vomit streaking my shirt and leaking out of my shorts. They slung my arms over their shoulders, just like in the movies, and hauled me out. Out through the casino. Out through the endless mall attached to the casino. Into our rental car and to our hotel, and then out past the long, long line of people waiting to check in.

A guy in line called out, “Dude, I’ve been there,” and for some reason I took offense at that and said some words in his general direction, most of them beginning with F. My friend hustled me to the elevator bank (also packed with people, yet somehow the guy covered in vomit and his friend got an elevator to themselves. Go figure.) and then into the room and onto the bed, where I passed out again.

I woke up six hours later, when they all came back drunk from Quark’s. Because of course they went back.

It’s Vegas, after all.

 

(Note: This is not me; no photos exist of that night. I don’t know who this is, but from the looks of it, he’s about to have a very good—and then a very bad—night.)

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