So let me tell you of a Wing Man effort so epic it was worth starting a blog about.
First, let me introduce myself: I'm Substance, your host. I'm taking a bit of a sabbatical right now, traveling around the States and meeting up with some old friends. One of those friends lives in Houston, but drove over to Austin to meet me for a boozy Saturday night as his wife was out of town on business. There's a whole street full of bars in Austin, so you can't go wrong, surely?
My friend is a frequent business traveler so he booked a nice hotel room just off 6th street on his "frequent sleeper" points. When we checked in we made sure there were two beds (we're friends, but we're not that good friends); but there was a UT game in Austin that afternoon so the hotel was pretty full and the best they could do was a room with a king-size bed and a fold-out sofa bed. "That's a bummer for you!" he said. Fair cop, I wasn't paying so I couldn't complain.
Fast-forward to the early evening. The "afternoon crowd" was still out (drunk students mostly, UT won) but the "evening crowd" hadn't quite started yet so we did some bar-hopping and ended up at a random tequila bar. The barmaid was cute and talkative and kept pouring us shots, so it was entertaining enough, but it was a bit of a sausage-fest so we asked her where all the cute girls were. She told us about a club a ways up the road so we hiked up there.
It was quite a lot further up the road than we thought and definitely not worth the trip. Ear-splittingly loud music, expensive drinks and a complete dearth of talent. So we cut our losses and high-tailed it back to the tequila bar so we could get another one in before the 2:00am close. We managed it, but the cute barmaid was forced to kick us out not too long after. It was late and we were both a bit wobbly so we decided to draw a line under it.
Of course the night wouldn't be complete without a dodgy slice of pizza, so we grabbed one each on the way back to the hotel, having an interesting conversation in the queue with a one-armed guy and a stripper.
Half a block from our hotel, we came across two girls and a guy who wanted to know where we got our pizza from. The girls were in town from San Antonio for a hen's party and were staying in our hotel, the guy they'd just met minutes earlier. I'm a bit hazy on how exactly this happened (I'm putting it down to my ninja skillz), but somehow we convinced them it was more important we drink the booze they had in their hotel room than them going back to 6th Street to get pizza, and the guy got the message he wasn't invited.
So he realises he's been outclassed and makes himself scarce and me, the matron of honour with the cute freckles, the big boring bridesmaid and my Wingman go back to our room via theirs to pick up their rum. Freckles and I sit on the edge of the king size bed with some drinks and start chatting, which leaves Wingman and BBB on the fold-out sofa bed. He gives me a, "You prick, I know what's going to happen here!" look and I grin innocently back.
It takes another fifteen minutes before I'm snogging Freckles on the bed and frantically gesturing behind her head to Wingman to get the fuck out and take BBB with him. To his credit within about ten minutes he manages to convince BBB their (platonic) conversation would be best continued in the lobby and they leave us in peace.
I'm a gentleman, so I'll skip the detail of the next two hours; suffice to say Freckles and I are exhausted and I buzz Wingman on his phone and tell him it's safe to come up. He does, about 5:00am or so, gives me another "You bastard!" look and falls into the sofa-bed fully clothed. In the meantime, Freckles and I are already well off to the land of nod.
The next I know about anything is Freckles making a hasty exit about 9am. Mission accomplished, though god knows how we managed it. Wingman, who'd been watching a lot of American Football described it as a safety: it's definitely a score, it's not a common way to win, but you'll take it!
So, let's tally up the points here: Wingman immediately started running interference on BBB as soon as we met the original party of three, giving me the chance to cock-block the other guy who was so despondent he ended up leaving. Wingman, who had been hung over like a bastard from a big night in San Antonio on Friday, consented to hosting another party in our room at 2:30am because it looked like I was going to get somewhere. When it turned out I was getting somewhere, due to Wingman corralling BBB so Freckles and I could talk, he convinced BBB to go down to the lobby. And finally, he accepted his lot in being banished to the sofa-bed while Freckles and I slept in the king he'd essentially paid for. Truly an Epic Wingman.
That next morning, I bought him breakfast.
First, let me introduce myself: I'm Substance, your host. I'm taking a bit of a sabbatical right now, traveling around the States and meeting up with some old friends. One of those friends lives in Houston, but drove over to Austin to meet me for a boozy Saturday night as his wife was out of town on business. There's a whole street full of bars in Austin, so you can't go wrong, surely?
My friend is a frequent business traveler so he booked a nice hotel room just off 6th street on his "frequent sleeper" points. When we checked in we made sure there were two beds (we're friends, but we're not that good friends); but there was a UT game in Austin that afternoon so the hotel was pretty full and the best they could do was a room with a king-size bed and a fold-out sofa bed. "That's a bummer for you!" he said. Fair cop, I wasn't paying so I couldn't complain.
Fast-forward to the early evening. The "afternoon crowd" was still out (drunk students mostly, UT won) but the "evening crowd" hadn't quite started yet so we did some bar-hopping and ended up at a random tequila bar. The barmaid was cute and talkative and kept pouring us shots, so it was entertaining enough, but it was a bit of a sausage-fest so we asked her where all the cute girls were. She told us about a club a ways up the road so we hiked up there.
It was quite a lot further up the road than we thought and definitely not worth the trip. Ear-splittingly loud music, expensive drinks and a complete dearth of talent. So we cut our losses and high-tailed it back to the tequila bar so we could get another one in before the 2:00am close. We managed it, but the cute barmaid was forced to kick us out not too long after. It was late and we were both a bit wobbly so we decided to draw a line under it.
Of course the night wouldn't be complete without a dodgy slice of pizza, so we grabbed one each on the way back to the hotel, having an interesting conversation in the queue with a one-armed guy and a stripper.
Half a block from our hotel, we came across two girls and a guy who wanted to know where we got our pizza from. The girls were in town from San Antonio for a hen's party and were staying in our hotel, the guy they'd just met minutes earlier. I'm a bit hazy on how exactly this happened (I'm putting it down to my ninja skillz), but somehow we convinced them it was more important we drink the booze they had in their hotel room than them going back to 6th Street to get pizza, and the guy got the message he wasn't invited.
So he realises he's been outclassed and makes himself scarce and me, the matron of honour with the cute freckles, the big boring bridesmaid and my Wingman go back to our room via theirs to pick up their rum. Freckles and I sit on the edge of the king size bed with some drinks and start chatting, which leaves Wingman and BBB on the fold-out sofa bed. He gives me a, "You prick, I know what's going to happen here!" look and I grin innocently back.
It takes another fifteen minutes before I'm snogging Freckles on the bed and frantically gesturing behind her head to Wingman to get the fuck out and take BBB with him. To his credit within about ten minutes he manages to convince BBB their (platonic) conversation would be best continued in the lobby and they leave us in peace.
I'm a gentleman, so I'll skip the detail of the next two hours; suffice to say Freckles and I are exhausted and I buzz Wingman on his phone and tell him it's safe to come up. He does, about 5:00am or so, gives me another "You bastard!" look and falls into the sofa-bed fully clothed. In the meantime, Freckles and I are already well off to the land of nod.
The next I know about anything is Freckles making a hasty exit about 9am. Mission accomplished, though god knows how we managed it. Wingman, who'd been watching a lot of American Football described it as a safety: it's definitely a score, it's not a common way to win, but you'll take it!
So, let's tally up the points here: Wingman immediately started running interference on BBB as soon as we met the original party of three, giving me the chance to cock-block the other guy who was so despondent he ended up leaving. Wingman, who had been hung over like a bastard from a big night in San Antonio on Friday, consented to hosting another party in our room at 2:30am because it looked like I was going to get somewhere. When it turned out I was getting somewhere, due to Wingman corralling BBB so Freckles and I could talk, he convinced BBB to go down to the lobby. And finally, he accepted his lot in being banished to the sofa-bed while Freckles and I slept in the king he'd essentially paid for. Truly an Epic Wingman.
That next morning, I bought him breakfast.