South Coast Plaza continued:

After harassing the bartenders at Z-tejas and the valet parkers for a listing of all SCP based drinking establishments Silman and I finished our (free!) drinks and boned out with our stolen pen and a boozed based swagger in our step. we made our way to the clubhouse (clientel: lots of old loaded white people) and with the fuck-if-i-clearly-don't-belong-here-you're-gonna-serve-me-anyways confidence that only an afternoon of drinking can provide sat at the bar and ordered martinis. expensive, but very very good (cocktail onions!). made some small talk with the good looking couple well into their 60s seated near us who either had no plastic surgery between them or had such good plastic surgery that the tell-tale closeup signs were non-existant. we searched the papers provided for a movie to catch in order to sober up, but the lack of a Lifestyle/Calendar section cemented our (previously in)decision to officially continue the pubcrawl.

i suppose moving to just about anywhere from the clubhouse would have been a step down, but by heading to rainforest cafe we really hit the point home. in the more white trash area of south coast (ahem, mcdonalds, sears, del taco) maybe i should have felt more at home, but rainforest is just so...um...awful. our bartenderess wanted nothing to do with us (perhaps the ordering of kamakazis, quick drinks are not exactly the best drinks to stimulate conversation with a bartender, were to blame, or maybe it was the piped in howler monkey sounds that encouraged us not to order drinks to be sipped) and quickly sent us on our way to cafe versace with the names of two bartenders to ask for when we arrived. this of course wasn't without whipping eachother with the tails on the animal-ass-seats we were occupying.

cafe versace (not its real name) was simply not prepared for us. this place was the closest thing to the 'watch the black friday chaos go by' bar that we had been looking for all day. unfortunately the bar faced not the chaos, but intstead faced our ever-so-(un)charming bartenter. sure, we were slightly drunk and sure we were answering your phone, but seriously, don't let the fucker ring just because it isn't your JOB to do so. yeah, maybe it is the job of the host(ess) but c'mon that shit is annoying, and if you're just gonna look at the phone we will pick it up. guess what, you saw us do it once, don't be so suprised that we did it again...and again...and again. it isn't like we were fucking with your customers, just putting them on hold - we just didn't want to hear the damn ringing.

looking back, i'm wondering if the names we were given were secret SCP bartender code for 'these guys are fucked'.

oh and maybe eric's a racist? or just been at UCI far far too long who can tell?

-------

part three: "sometimes i wonder if we're really just playing the 'let's watch mat get drunk game'" coming soon!