I was once. I was probably 23 years old and was downtown Worcester at a bar called Sh-Booms with 5 (or so) friends. I had on a white shirt that said “Freak” across the front (this will come up later). Let it be known that I probably had 3 or 4 beers before getting to this fine (sarcastic) establishment around 11PM. My friends go off into the bar next store–called Poly Estas–which is connected to Sh-Booms. I start walking to the bar when a bouncer comes up to me and says, “You’ve got to leave.” I wasn’t I heard right, “What’s that?” “You’re outta here.” “For what?” “Look at you, you’re way too drunk.” “But I’ve…” He grabs me and starts escorting me out.
Because my friends (and my ride) were inside, I asked the bouncer to at least get my friends and tell them I was kicked out. “No.”
There was a cop standing there too, and I asked him if he thought I was intoxicated. He stated that no, I didn’t seem so. I asked if he could tell that to the bouncer. “It won’t do you any good, I can’t make him let you in the bar.” Super.
So I end up waiting outside for over 2 hours and I finally see that the bar is closing. People are filing out, and guess what I see? Some drunk ass punk with the same “Freak” shirt. I went up to him (he was pretty cool actually, but very, very shitfaced) and asked him to walk over to the bouncer with me. The bouncer’s reaction to me when we got there, “I saw YOU showing signs of severe intoxication, so I kicked YOU out.” Meanwhile, the other “Freak” is screaming “wooooooooo!” loudly and at nothing in particular.
I never went back to Sh-Booms.