I’ve crashed a wedding — for real. Not like “Ohhh I’m not really invited, I don’t know them, but I’m someone’s plus one.” I mean that my date and I drunkenly attended a wedding of which neither of us were invited to. Let me back up.
Somehow, I tricked an attractive gentleman to take me somewhere sober. He knew me and I (thought) I knew him. He knew I would probably pregame this “date” with a glass of Moscato. And with the story I’m about to tell, I wish I had had the whole damn bottle. Our plan was to eat dinner and catch a movie. We decided that it would be more efficient to walk to the restaurant, but by walk, he meant bar crawl. The road to dinner was paved with little taverns, all of which happened to be offering happy hours at that time. We popped in and out of a few places, becoming more and more inebriated with each $3 whiskey. Let’s face it, we drunk. Kissing him literally raised my BAC. We were making bad decisions, but that was nothing compared to what came next.
It suddenly dawned on him to take a “detour” to dinner. Of course we should! I said I had to use the restroom in the most lady-like way I could, but really I was thinking that this “dinner” was never going to happen and that he had plans for a back alley murder and a quick disposal of my body.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me down an alley that looked like a place where assaults and muggings were regular occurrences. He kicked (literally, kicked) a sketchy looking door open. I’m not sure what his thought process was here, was he going to bust in the back of the kitchen? Or open up into a surprise party for me? WRONG. The rusty door revealed your standard, semi-trashy looking wedding reception. Trying to play it cool, I snuck along the outskirts of the poorly executed Pinterest centerpieces to the bathroom. My man-friend said he would wait by the door and call a taxi. If he was planning on making a run for it, that would’ve been a good time to do it.
In the bathroom, I encountered several hammered guests and the grandmother from the Titanic. I was quickly roped into life stories and some drama involving the Best Man and the bride’s sister. Eventually, I parted ways and emerged from the bathroom to find my date missing. He really could’ve only been two places, the open bar or in a taxi 20 miles away. We somehow managed to fool people into thinking we might have actually been invited, and spent the evening drinking shitty bottom shelf alcohol on the wedding party’s tab. Cool first-date story to set the stage for a romantic relationship, right? Wrong. I never heard from him again.