"Ok guys, listen up!" She shouts, her voice reverberating between the buildings and trash cans.
As we enter bar number two we are each given folded slips of construction paper, inside of which are written some devastatingly witty pick-up lines. Chastity's asks if anyone wants to play leap-frog naked. Mine says, "Nice pants. Can I test the zipper?" Rose's requires some theatrics; she has to demand "What winks and fucks like a tiger?" while winking wildly.
Chastity and I finally concede defeat and go to buy a drink at the bar, where Rose, through some fault in the system, has found a match and is cozying up to him while they imbibe their free tequila. His name is Mike, he's 22, he's Irish, and he goes to Babson. Rose, apparently, goes to University of Texas in Austin, but she's on a year off right now. Later, when he asks how she knows us, it's because we're all studying abroad in France. Still later, she goes to college in Massachusetts. Mike doesn't ask questions.
We leave them to their bonding and try to mingle once more, but it's still all loud, increasingly drunk and obnoxious Americans; I’m prepared to be pelted with eggs or trash at any moment on our way to the next stop. Rose is running around with a harem of men and a lollipop that Preston bestowed upon her as a Valentine’s gift; taking this as a personal insult, Chastity and I ditch the two of them and make a bee-line for the third bar, where we are pleased to discover not only ample vodka, but a studly bartender by the name of Antonio. I lurk in the corner taking discreet photographs of him while pretending to be chatting with Chastity and a few Irish guys we've just met (they seem to be everywhere in Barcelona). The men kindly offer to introduce us to the wide variety of shots this bar offers, such as "Rambo" and “Monica Lewinsky.”
Irish guy #1 goes first with a Rambo; Antonio brings over a helmet and secures it tightly on his patron’s head. Next, he pounds on the helmet with his bulging muscles. Oh, baby. Finally, he gives the helmet one last slap and offers the shot. Irish guy #2 takes a shot where the alcohol in his mouth is set on fire; it looks a little dangerous but I'm all for it if it means that my head gets to be cradled in Antonio's loving arms.
Then, it is time for the Monica. Chastity steps forward and groans as she sees Antonio coming forward holding a bright red wig. The wig, however, is nothing compared to what comes next; a beer bong with a rubber penis on the end. Monica Lewinsky; we should have known.
As the bong descends into Chastity's mouth I snap what is probably the most incriminating photograph I've ever seen, due to the fact that the bottle part of the bong is not pictured. Despite Chastity’s many attempts to confiscate it, my memory card persevered and it didn’t take long for the picture to be made into a screensaver back at school.
Amid a gathering crowd, I also take the Monica shot. But that’s not enough. By the end of this night, I need to have been cradled by Antonio. So I keep going through every shot on the list, putting on and taking off wigs, helmets, and assorted paraphanalia to no avail; Antonio is occupied at the other end of the bar. Our group is getting ready to head on to the next pub, but I tell them to wait. On this next fire shot, he will be mine.
"Remember to all be on your best behavior. The locals aren't always the biggest fans of our pub crawls, and we've had some incidences in the past of being bombarded by water balloons or even worse! So keep the noise at a dull roar!"
I edge nervously to the center of the group, making sure that I am surrounded on all sides.
As we enter bar number two we are each given folded slips of construction paper, inside of which are written some devastatingly witty pick-up lines. Chastity's asks if anyone wants to play leap-frog naked. Mine says, "Nice pants. Can I test the zipper?" Rose's requires some theatrics; she has to demand "What winks and fucks like a tiger?" while winking wildly.Apparently your line matches up with someone else's, and when you find them, you get a free drink. At least that's what they told us; in reality everyone's pick-up line was unique. It was just a ploy to have us all circle the room hitting on each other relentlessly. We figure this out after 20 minutes of asking the same question to the same people; I'm running out of creative ways to jazz mine up but it's no problem, since every time a certain group of guys sees me coming they beat me to the punch, yelling "Pants?"
Chastity and I finally concede defeat and go to buy a drink at the bar, where Rose, through some fault in the system, has found a match and is cozying up to him while they imbibe their free tequila. His name is Mike, he's 22, he's Irish, and he goes to Babson. Rose, apparently, goes to University of Texas in Austin, but she's on a year off right now. Later, when he asks how she knows us, it's because we're all studying abroad in France. Still later, she goes to college in Massachusetts. Mike doesn't ask questions.
We leave them to their bonding and try to mingle once more, but it's still all loud, increasingly drunk and obnoxious Americans; I’m prepared to be pelted with eggs or trash at any moment on our way to the next stop. Rose is running around with a harem of men and a lollipop that Preston bestowed upon her as a Valentine’s gift; taking this as a personal insult, Chastity and I ditch the two of them and make a bee-line for the third bar, where we are pleased to discover not only ample vodka, but a studly bartender by the name of Antonio. I lurk in the corner taking discreet photographs of him while pretending to be chatting with Chastity and a few Irish guys we've just met (they seem to be everywhere in Barcelona). The men kindly offer to introduce us to the wide variety of shots this bar offers, such as "Rambo" and “Monica Lewinsky.”
Irish guy #1 goes first with a Rambo; Antonio brings over a helmet and secures it tightly on his patron’s head. Next, he pounds on the helmet with his bulging muscles. Oh, baby. Finally, he gives the helmet one last slap and offers the shot. Irish guy #2 takes a shot where the alcohol in his mouth is set on fire; it looks a little dangerous but I'm all for it if it means that my head gets to be cradled in Antonio's loving arms.
Then, it is time for the Monica. Chastity steps forward and groans as she sees Antonio coming forward holding a bright red wig. The wig, however, is nothing compared to what comes next; a beer bong with a rubber penis on the end. Monica Lewinsky; we should have known.
As the bong descends into Chastity's mouth I snap what is probably the most incriminating photograph I've ever seen, due to the fact that the bottle part of the bong is not pictured. Despite Chastity’s many attempts to confiscate it, my memory card persevered and it didn’t take long for the picture to be made into a screensaver back at school.
Amid a gathering crowd, I also take the Monica shot. But that’s not enough. By the end of this night, I need to have been cradled by Antonio. So I keep going through every shot on the list, putting on and taking off wigs, helmets, and assorted paraphanalia to no avail; Antonio is occupied at the other end of the bar. Our group is getting ready to head on to the next pub, but I tell them to wait. On this next fire shot, he will be mine.
It isn’t until three fire shots later that I finally feel those manly biceps holding my head, although I’m at the point where anyone’s biceps will do. When I turn around, triumphant, I’m startled to not recognize anyone in the crowd. This is a new pub crawl group, already well established; ours is long gone, and Preston, Rose, and Chastity have gone with it.
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