A New Year's Eve Tradition

Everyone has their reasons for being at a New Year’s Eve party, and I am no exception. For most it’s just another socially excepted time to get plastered drunk with no guilt or shame. There’s always a few in the group that use the excuse to loosen their morals to engage in acts they normally wouldn’t because tomorrow will magically clear the slate for a new beginning.  Every year it’s the same thing loud music, spilled alcohol, and people trying their hardest to not be alone. The only thing that ever changes is the number.

It doesn’t matter which city you’re in or which club or bar you chose it’s always the same scene. I always find myself a seat furthest from the bar and bathroom. It makes for a great vantage point. I sit alone sipping on my root beer because it is a festive time, but I don’t believe in consuming alcohol. It’s not against any religious beliefs I have or anything, but alcohol tends to bring out the dumb in most people. For example, if they weren’t all dumb drunk right now someone might ask why I brought this giant army sized duffle bag inside a bar.

It was getting on close to eleven now, everyone was getting pretty deep into the drunk tank including the bar tender. He’d spent the last hour at the end of the bar drinking shots with two women who I’m guessing were just enjoying the free liquor, but were too buzzed to see the strings coming from the bottle.

The dance floor was covered up with bodies bouncing around, and stumbling into one another. One of the corners was filled with smoke because there’s no better way to get the taste of that seven dollar shot out of your mouth than by lighting up a cigarette. Time was getting close so I started scanning the crowd for my mark.

If people knew what I do every year or was planning to do this year they would label me a predator. I won’t argue that, but I’m a different kind. For example, I’m not hunting prey, that can be done anywhere at any time. I’m here hunting a different type of predator. There’s always at least one at these events. The guy that won’t take no for an answer or the guy that gets a little to grabby because he bought the last two drinks. In the hunting world those would be considered fat does, and there’s nothing wrong with bagging a fat doe, but when you only hunt one day a year you really want that big buck. 

In today’s lifestyle a big buck would be the guy that can’t close the deal on his own so he has to rely on his covert pharmaceutical aides. Like a twenty point buck, they do exist you just have to be patient and keep a weathered eye peeled. It’s usually the guy that has the girls smiling and nodding as he talks, but then they slink away when he breaks eye contact. 

If you pay attention to the females they’ll usually give him away. You have to be careful using that technique though; I’ve been burned before. It’s just another tool in your skill bag; you can’t rely solely on it. This is how my format works. I take a look at all the women, and categorize them all based on level of risk. Right off the bat half the women fall under the low to moderate level so now you move your focus to the dozen or so high to extremely high level of risk. 

I have trouble with faces; drunken women start looking the same to me. So I focus on outfits, and then assign them a name based on a character they resemble. I then start a tally in my head for each to keep track of their drunken level. Penelope Garcia two tables over is tipping up her seventh margarita, which tells me her reactions aren’t going to help me out.

I was beginning to wonder if I completely missed my mark this year or if maybe the world was starting to become a better place, but then I spotted the buck. Wilma Flintstone was acting very twitchy, and she had just finished her one and only daiquiri of the night. I could see she wanted to get away, but his body language was showing the pressure. He was trying to talk her into another drink; a full one that could dissolve less noticeably.

With less than twenty minutes to the ball I couldn’t help but smile. It was time to bag my trophy. I drained my glass, and grabbed my duffle bag. He didn’t even pay me any attention when I walked passed him, but I could see that left hand fidgeting towards his pocket. There was a storage room just around the corner from the bar; it was used for chairs and glasses, nothing anyone was going to need for the next hour.

First thing is to pick out a solid chair, wooden are best. Then place it in a secure position where it can be screwed down. Keeping a cordless impact driver with lag bolts always comes in handy. Next comes the homemade pendulum, it’s just a piece of squared tubing with eight inches of water pipe sticking out of the side. Of course I welded a swivel shackle to the top so I can easily attach it to the roof support. 

After it’s all bolted down check the height of water pipe with the chair, you don’t want to look like an idiot if it’s off, now’s the time to make adjustments. Everything lines up so I pulled it into position, and attached the preprogrammed voice activated release mechanism. They sell online for like twenty bucks, best thing I’ve ever bought next to my impact driver. 

I walked back around the corner to see him staring at her with fierce concentration, waiting for her to turn her gaze. Someone yelled out “Ten Minutes!” That’s what he needed, she turned towards the sound and his hand flew into his pocket so I made my move. I squeezed between them acting like I was trying to grab a napkin from the bar. She took the opportunity to get out of Dodge and he slammed his fist on the bar.

“Do you know how long I’ve been working on that,” he said through gritted teeth.

I tried to look apologetic, “My bad brother, but why are you out here anyway. I would’ve thought someone like you got an invite to the real party.”

“And what do you call all of this,” he asked gesturing around at all the people.

I smirked, “A heads up if the cops come.”

He looked confused so I leaned in and whispered the bait. You don’t want to glam it up to much; you want it just barely believable, but use the right keywords that get his pulse up. When I leaned back and could see his pupils I knew I had him the headlights. All I had to do was lead the way. 

We got to the door and I stepped aside and held out my arms, “Accept this gesture as my apology,” I said calmly. The trick is to make him think he’s the smart one, he’s the one in control, and he’s the one that chose to walk in. And as soon as he opens the door and hits the threshold you apply the choke hold to subdue the idiot.

Choke holds don’t take long, usually the panic runs out their gas pretty quick. This thirty seconds is the where the hunt gets exciting. You need to restrain him, and close the door before he comes to or anyone walks by and notices. It sounds chaotic, but it’s the best rush in the world. Thick plastic zip straps are the best way to go, their super cheap and extremely reliable. Tie both wrists and both ankles then calmly stand at the door. Don’t make the mistake of slamming and locking it, no that’s for rookies. You want to stand there calmly for a few seconds to see if anyone noticed you enter or wonder why the door was open in the first place. If everything goes according to plan quietly close and lock the door.

Now it’s time to secure the head, there’s many different ways to accomplish this task but your surroundings will dictate the best option. I usually like to use plumber’s tape; it’s a half inch wide roll of steel strap with predrilled holes. It works great, but in this case his head is right next to a support column and duct tape is always king.

I had just torn the roll loose when his eyes opened, and he started to jerk against his restraints. “Easy big fella,” I said before he started screaming. “No one out there is gonna hear you screaming over that music, but I will and don’t want the headache. So if you stay calm I won’t tape your mouth shut, deal?”

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you when I get loose,” he grunted with dominance.

I smiled, “Absolutely nothing, you’re not in control anymore.”

The look in his eyes changed from anger to panicked and worried, “Alright then, what’s the plan? Did I mess with your girl or something now you need to tune me up?”

I shook my head, “I could care less who you talk to or try to pick up, we’re here because of your Plan B.”

I could see sweat starting to bead up, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do,” I said staring him down. “You’re left front pocket, for when your natural charisma isn’t enough.”

He started fighting the restraints again, “So what are you going to do, call the cops on me?”

“For what,” I asked. “I stopped you before you did anything, at least tonight.”

Tears started forming in his eyes, “Are you going to kill me?”

“Whoa dude,” I said trying to look appalled. “Pump the brakes, I don’t kill people. I haven’t even hurt you; I’ve only restrained your body. Do an assessment; you’re not injured at all.”

I went to my bag and grabbed two weight plates and a retaining clip. I stood under my contraption so he would finally notice it, but he lacked the sophistication to understand the genius behind it. I stood there tapping my foot waiting for the child left behind to figure it out.

“Wait,” he stammered, “You said you weren’t going to kill me!”

“I’m a man of my word,” I responded. “But look, two twenty pound weight plates.  Get it….2020? Give it a minute and you’ll get it, it’s hilarious.”

I slid the weights over the water pipe and tightened down the retainer clip. I slowly let go of the weight to make sure the quick release could handle the pressure and everything was ready to go. My watch showed less than three minutes.  I took in a long deep breath; I’ve waited all year for this hunt.

He was starting to cry and fight his restraints harder, “This ain’t right man; you’re a liar!”

I got down to one knee in front of him, “You came out with the intent on ruining a young woman’s life tonight, probably not the first time. If a dog in the community is attacking children then the community needs to come together and put the dog down.”

“So you speak for the community now,” he yelled with spit flying from his lips.

I stood to make sure I wasn’t getting any on me, “Of course not.”

Someone out in the crowd yelled, “Less than a minute!”

“The trigger is voice activated,” I said reaching into my pocket for the napkin I got at the bar. “I promise you I won’t say it, but if you want to repent in what could be your final moments that’s up to you.”

I laid the napkin on his lap that had “Happy New Year” written festively across it. “Based on how drunk those people are I figure you got a semi decent chance they’ll forget to yell it, good luck.”

I cracked the door open to get better acoustics for the cheering, “I got a feeling this is going to be a good year.”

“10, 9, 8…”

I took in a long deep cleansing breath and closed my eyes.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1, Happy New Year!”