Bachelor parties are a mixed blessing for we limo drivers. On one hand, it’s a bunch of drunken men out for a good time.
On the other, it’s a bunch of drunken men out for a good time.
The arc of these nights always follows a basic plan.
At the start:
– bright eyes and clear speech
– “Hey, Driver!”
Somewhere between the second bar and the strip club:
– half-smoked cigarettes, half-drunk beers and half-arsed conversations
– “Wombat, dude, take us to where the laaaayyydeees are, mate!”
And around last call:
– childhood reversion
– stumbling, tears, tempers
– “You’re the best Wombat, thanks for looking after us.”
Whatever the aim of these evenings, only bar owners, strippers and limousine owners come out smiling. Participants get regret.