I had already thrown up once and I wasn’t looking to do it again.  So when the bartender at the Rock Bar set the three shots of Yeager and Redbull in front of me, I was livid.  Who the hell ordered this, I thought to myself.  What sick, twisted piece of shit would order something as vile as this at a time like this?  The grimy mirror behind the bar told me all I needed to know. 

I’ve been told that Rock Bar has a good happy hour.  I have no idea.  I’ve only been there late at night – well past ten or eleven – and usually always stinking drunk.  For those of you who don’t know, Rock Bar is connected to the All-In Motel on East Colfax.  The owners have tried to puff up the joint’s cool factor by going for a retro-70s look, complete with lava lamps and shiny wallpaper.  But really, it’s just a scummy motel bar, which isn’t a bad thing at all.  The place is always crowded. Young hipsters jostle for position at the bar with guys wearing baseball caps. Good looking women and bush pigs alike shake it on the dance floor.  Groups of people lucky enough to find a seat scream at each other over classic rock and heavy metal.  Nearly everyone drinks at least one can of PBR.  And the terminally drunk wonder how the hell they got to this point in their lives.  Which leads me back to those horrible shots. . .  

I’ve been invited into a threesome exactly four times in my life.  It’s usually always in a place like Rock Bar and it has never involved two women.  Now that would be worthy of a shot.  As I turned to look at the woman wearing way too much makeup and her boyfriend dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, I had what alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity.  I have them all the time --   usually when I’m drunk. 

What the hell was I doing here?  Why was I ordering shots for these terrible people?  Shots at Rock Bar are cheap, but that not that cheap.  Was there a promise of drugs involved?  I couldn’t remember. 

“So,” the fat party guy said as he shoved his girlfriend in my direction, “What do you think?”

“I think I’m going to throw up,” I said. 

I couldn’t find the bathroom, so I stumbled into the hotel and threw up in a wastebasket.  Then I went back and retrieved my shot.  Then I hailed a taxi and headed home, saying to myself (again) that someday I would check out Rock Bar when I was stone cold sober.