True Story© Party Like it's 1799

     Not all of my schemes involve me trying to scare fast money out of the world around me.  Quite the contrary, actually.  Sometimes I just wish to be entertained.  Sometimes – as you have previously read in these stories – I will go to a bit of expense in making these things happen.

     So one day, I decides to rent out a venue and throw a New Year’s Eve party.  The theme was a “Party Like it’s 1799 All White Party.”  I would not be bothered with offering ANY further detail as to what exactly I meant by that.  FaceBook invites, Pen & Pixel-style fliers, the whole shebang!
Pre-sales of the almost-all-included tickets (food and soft drinks/water included but a cash bar for all alcohol purchases) were through the ROOF!  Sold on into the hundreds, I was in business despite no apparent attempts to actually be “in business.”

     Despite my good fortune a couple weeks ahead of this, I was busy as a dime hooker on nickel buttfuck night, because I could not trust anyone and I mean ANYONE with the information of just what I meant by “Party Like it’s 1799” without turning people off and/or attracting the wrong brand of people.  I drove down to Savannah one Saturday morning two weeks out and pilfered a menu from a restaurant owned by someone I will not name in this post.  I presented that menu to my mother to cater the event because I knew she only cared to be presented with the materials to be prepared and the time/money for doing so.
Everything else, though?  All on me…  Buying decorations, PLACING the decorations, securing the music and setting up the DJ booth on auto pilot so as to not let anyone in on my shit.  Literally fucking EVERYTHING was on my shoulders alone.  Did I mention that this was not cheap at all, and that I was already in the red even after collecting pre-sales ticket money?  No worries, though…  I knew what I was getting myself into coming into this mess.

     Alright, so it is party night, the line is down the block with people dressed in all white on New Year’s Eve, the fire marshal had to come out to confirm that I had not oversold the venue.  The music is going, I got the buffet tables set up to serve and the bartenders bartending.  VIP area is cordoned off and regular tables are ready for the people, the dance floor is right and the decorations are AMAZING.

     I guess that some of you have determined that by “… Like it’s 1799” I LITERALLY meant the year 1799, wherein it was still basically less-than-legal to be a free brown person in public.  Imagine the shock on these people’s faces when they get into the venue to see decorations of rickety boats, chains and shackles, a ton of candles for lighting.  I was bouncing around like the great host I was, dressed like a pirate because I am an asshole.  Some people were SUPER pissed, asking for their money back, but were directed by my security detail to the spot on the digital and printed fliers that all sales were final for anything other than the event of cancellation of the party.  With that in mind, the party was ON, some people were eating and buying drinks and TRYING to forge a good time of it all.

…  and then it happened…

     The lifted truck/rebel flag contingent caught wind of the party just as the exodus from the line to get in started and news of the fuckedupptitude of my idea began to go viral on social media.  Since they were apparently ALL in for this kind of thing, they showed up and took advantage of the recent influx of available at-the-door tickets, despite the doubling of the price at the door.


Once the all-white-clad group realized what was coming in around them, it was like a Trump rally and Trump Protest happening at the same damn time and location.  Of all of the situations I had played out in my mind in the runup to the party, this is NOT the one I had considered.  And I didn’t know how I could head it off before resultant gunfire.

     Resultant.  Fucking.  Gunfire.

I was trying to end the night AT LEAST in the black or at the very least not more than one paycheck into the red so I kept it going with the shot in the arm of new ticket sales, but increasingly hostile-toward-one-another factions turned SUPER ugly.  Needless to say, EACH side sent for backup and went to the trunk on one another and no one was allowed back in the building.


Law Enforcement, they did come a-knockin’ and did want statements as to what had happened.  The most of them found the concept of the party fucking HILARIOUS, and in their assumption that the late-comers were justified in their behavior given the decorum, no arrests were made and I can only infer that a minimal amount of paperwork was filed on the incident since I was never contacted or summoned to court over this shit, so I guess that was the silver lining.

     I was, however, told by the manager of the venue to “lose my goddamned number and never set foot in my facility again” which I thought was kind of mean-spirited and non-Christian to be saying to me at 3am on a Sunday morning.


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