Jimmy had his bachelor party in South Beach (Miami) in June of 2008. I'd show you pictures but, according to Jimmy's rules, nobody was allowed to take photos. I violated those rules, however, by taking an unsanctioned video with the help of Cousin Sal.
REMINDER: Coming Wednesday: Geo's Hight School Graduation Photo from Mt. Penn High School in Reading, PA will be posted. It will be well worth your effor to come back!
We're holding on to that video to supplement our retirement funds. We'll sell it back to Jimmy when the time is right. We used one of those $20 disposable jobs that you can buy at CVS, and we're expecting at least a 5000% return on our investment. But I'm digressing...
Sal and I flew down together. Jimmy arrived in Miami a few hours before us with his Barely Adequate Man. I refuse to use the term "Best Man" in reference to someone who said he was going upstairs to use the hotel room bathroom and fell asleep for the night at 10 pm on the main night of the bachelor party, Saturday.
When we got to the hotel, at about midnight, I called Jimmy's cell.
"Hey, man, you gotta come meet us at this bar!" he said breathlessly.
"Where are you and what kind of bar is it? We're both wearing shorts and casual shirts. Can we get in? Is it a bar or a dance club? I'm guessing it's a dance club, it sounds loud."
"No, no, no way," Jimmy assured me.
Knowing Jimmy as I do (unfortunately), I said, "Make sure. We're not getting in a cab and wasting time and money to come to this place if we can't get in. Some South Beach places have dress codes. Check with someone at the bar, I don't trust your opinion."
He said he would, and put me on hold for about a minute.
"I just checked, the dude said you could get in with shorts. No problem," he said.
"Alright, we'll be there in about 20 minutes."
Keep in mind, this story is absolutely, 100% true. I am not making up any of this.
Sal and I got into a cab and headed over. Admittedly, this is not an exact photo of what we encountered at this "bar," but it's pretty damn close:
Women were all dressed in tony evening wear. Men were in expensive suits. The bouncers gave us icy, "Don't even think about it scumbags," looks. We felt like deliverymen at the yacht club formal.
Feeling extremely annoyed -- a typical emotion when dealing with Jimmy -- I phoned him.
"What the ***** are you thinking?! This place is clearly a nightclub, it's not even a close question, and there's a dress code and we can't get in! We just wasted time and money to come here!"
"Oh, really? The guy said you could get in with shorts," he replied timidly.
"Really? Really! Who did you ask? What guy?" I demanded to know.
"The guy in the bathroom, the attendant."
I swear that's true.