by Alyssa Ramos
Given that Hollywood is a melting pot of transplants from all over the globe, it is completely acceptable that we jump on the sudden Planet Cup-obsessed band wagon, specifically if it provides us an actual explanation to be drinking all day and posting on social media. So World Cup finals morning, soon after the initial clusterf*ck of group texts from everybody frantically attempting to figure out what do to as if the globe was ending, I ultimately decided that Rock N Reilly’s was the finest alternative to watch the final Planet Cup match. Mostly mainly because it was closest, and I’m on a serious Uber price range following my last $200 ride.
Regrettably Uber attempted to screw me once again with their rude surge increases throughout peak Uber instances, so I had to very politely beg my roommate to drop me off at the bar, 1.1 miles away. HA! Not this time Uber. Following saying the magic words, “We have a table” our small group of mates suddenly improved to all of our mates in Hollywood, but there was a single issue. We needed far more table. Fortunately some of the girls noticed that a guy and two girls had been obtaining up from a table by the front window, and tried to swoop in to make a claim on the prime bar table actual estate. Terrible idea.
Turns out that the guy who was leaving is a direct descendant of Reilly, the bar’s 12 year old alcoholic, asshole mascot who would place a sailor’s mouth to shame. The second they moved towards the recently vacated table, the poster youngster for Small Man Syndrome charged by means of the crowd of dainty girls and says in the most articulately obnoxious tone, “With all due respect, can you f*cking wait till we’re carried out? We didn’t even sign the f*cking bill yet!” Right after I located the tiny source from where such a major sound was coming from, I promptly understood why he would have such a problem with a group of ten pretty girls. With all due respect.
Well. Being the calm, mature adults that we are, we calmly attempted to explain how A. You can’t say “With all due respect” and then disrespect a person, and B. It’s a bar. You fight for seats. This additional prompted Mr. Angry Leprechaun to get even far more angry, resulting in the adorable term “silly bitch” to come into fruition as he hastily attempted to insult a single of my friends sitting closest to him. So silly.
My inner Cuban was brewing inside of me but I decided to pull a psychiatric mind f*ck rather. “Hey! Unnecessary!” I mentioned over him with a major smile on my face, “It’s World Cup Sunday, have enjoyable, be satisfied, no have to have to be so angry!” I chimed, trying to squash it when insulting him at the similar time. Didn’t perform, he kept blabbing, so once more, I politely chimed, “If I wanted to fight with an asshole for no purpose, I’d nevertheless be with my ex.” But before he could unleash his fury on me he caught sight of a further friend behind me flicking him off. Luckily it only resulted in him screaming, “C*NT” at her before running away, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a shooting.
Anyway, Germany won. Yay – because I bet on them! And all peace and happiness was restored at the bar. Fattening food was eaten, obnoxious photos were taken, and absolutely everyone was prepared to go house by 6pm. Oh wait, except for the particular person whose roommate got there at the end of the game and begged her to go with the British guys they had just met to XIV. Fail.
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