Excerpt – The Douche Hill Bar Story From Hang-Ups and Hangovers

In Chapter 32 of Hang-Ups and Hangovers, David tells Tyrone the story about the time in college when Evan got insanely drunk and ripped a toilet out of the floor at a bar David referred to as Douche Hill, located in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. This excerpt is the full story pulled from Hang-Ups and Hangovers.

Before we left our apartment to head to Douche Hill, Evan, Nemo, and I drank with some of our other friends. As we were about to leave, one of the guys picked up a nearly empty fifth of vodka. He remarked that we hadn’t finished the bottle. Being the frugal college kids we were, we couldn’t just let it go to waste. Evan stepped up and removed the bottle from the guy’s possession, intending to distribute the contents among all of us, I’m sure. When Evan appropriated the bottle the guy remarked, “You’re going to chug it?” Evan froze. “What? No.” He said. That’s when the chant began.

“Chug it! Chug it! Chug it!” It didn’t take long, three seconds max, that everyone in attendance had joined in on the chant and Evan dropped to one knee and turned the bottle upright. My insides twisted and burned just watching the clear fluid bubble and gurgle down the neck of the bottle and into his gullet. Asinine as it was, it was utterly remarkable. College. Inside the doors of Douche Hill bar, Evan said he had to go to the bathroom and disappeared down a hall to my right. I waited for him to come back. He seemed to be in fair enough form when he left. Evan returned to my side after a short time and nonchalantly said under his breath to me, “I ripped the toilet out of the floor.”
“Pft,” was all I could say to something so ludicrous, assuming he just shit his brains out.
“No, I’m serious,” he insisted. He had my full attention.
“Are you serious?” I said.
“Yes,” he replied, straight faced.
“Show me.”

We walked back down the corridor to the bathroom and through the door. There was one guy pissing in the trough and two empty stalls beyond him. Evan led the way to the furthest stall and we stood outside of it. I stepped in front of him and placed my hand flat on the stall door, ready to see a toilet full of shit or something explicable. My hand on the door in front of me, I stretched out my arm and the hinges obediently swiveled. Then I saw the toilet.
Turned sideways, the throne dethroned was uprooted from its home. Cracked caulk and glue still outlined its intended permanent grounds. Dirty bolts sticking out of the back at the bottom near the unthreaded holes in the tile, water sputtering out on the floor around it. Shock, bewilderment, and disapproval came over me. I turned to Evan, “Why did you do this?” Again, addressing the matter as nonchalant as ever, as if this was the expected penance for such a wrong, Evan shrugged and explained to me, “It wouldn’t flush.”

Before I could explain to him the financial repercussions of his actions for the bar, before I could admonish him for his irreverent behavior, before I could tell him that he had been “that guy,” a pack of meaty hands fastened on both my shoulders and I was yanked from the scene, Evan escorted right behind me. It looked like the entire staff of Douche Hill had converged on us. Someone had ratted us out, or Evan, rather. If I were a bystander of such an act of arson, I probably would’ve too. The men were all chattering, angrily. Obscenities were being uttered. What-the-fucks and piece-of-shits were tossed about. Then I clearly made out three words spoken in a particularly worrisome order, “Calling the cops.” That’s when I decided to speak up.

“Noooo!” I said. “No, you got the wrong guys. Not us, man. It wasn’t us. Someone told us we just went to check it out, man. It wasn’t us!” Evan’s consciousness was drowning in the vodka by this point and was probably too drunk to put together any better an explanation for he remained quiet as we were forcibly removed from the establishment. There was no resisting the pack, which swooped us back down the hall toward the entrance like the shades from the Patrick Swayze movie, Ghost. My insistence of our innocence and claims that I would fight any accusations caused just enough doubt that they opted to forcibly eject us (physically throw us into the street) instead of detaining us until the police arrived. That was the only time I had ever been manhandled by a bouncer, let alone three at once.

Milligan, Kyle. Hang-Ups and Hangovers (pp. 277-279). All99 Publishing. Kindle Edition.

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Keep watch for the sequel coming Fall 2016!

 

About the Author Kyle Milligan

I'm Kyle Milligan, I write New Adult Books that don't suck. i.e. The Hang-Ups and Hangovers series. I like to write about the challenges of being a single twenty-something in today's hookup culture. My blog offers Dating Advice For Men.

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