My Brothers Got Me Banned From A Canadian Hotel

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My Brothers Got Me Banned From A Canadian Hotel

Oh, Canada. Our neighbors to the north. The second best country in the world. Canada has provided us with some pretty damn good things in its existence here on planet earth. Hockey, maple syrup, the Wonderbra, and most importantly, a place for Americans to go and legally get shitfaced two years earlier than in the U.S.

It’s a tradition in my fraternity, and many others, to host our formal each year in Windsor, Ontario. There, the excessively large group of us degenerates engage in your typical formal trip activities: trashing hotel rooms, heckling the hotel staff, engaging in our own little spring break experience in the hotel hot tub, pissing off locals, making our dates wonder why in the hell they agreed to spend a weekend with us, etc. However, despite some stern talking-tos and empty threats, my fraternity as a whole has never been banned from any hotels since I’ve been in the group as soft as that might sound. But a select few of us have. Here’s why.

School was out and I was living in my fraternity house for the summer with a few of my brothers. As much as we were enjoying the long, blurred days at the pool looking at strange in bikinis, we wanted to change things up a little bit. So the group of us brothers, along with a few girls we knew, all being 19 or 20 years old at the time and living in Michigan, decided to make the obvious choice of heading over to Windsor. So we packed up our things, took work off, and headed down to the “City of Roses,” knowing from experience what the weekend likely had in store for us. If I had only known about the absence of morals that would follow us there I never would have gone. Eh, I probably still would’ve…..for the story.

So we get there and do what anyone else would do and cash out at the duty-free store opting for Kraken Spiced Rum and Crown Royal over the usual Admiral Nelson and Burnett’s. Precious time doesn’t go to waste in the hotel room as shots are mixed and passed around as if it were the alcohol trade deadline. One of my brothers decided to go especially above and beyond and ditched the standards of a typical pregame deciding to engage in full on black out mode within about 15 minutes of us being there. He begins going ape shit on everybody, throwing hands at everyone in sight, calling them out for any little problem he might have with them. His girlfriend tries to calm him down. This is never a good idea and she ends up taking the worst of the verbal abuse. This brother of mine, named Scott, also happens to be my little bro and is usually a pretty chill guy so this all comes as a big surprise to me. I consoled him for a little bit, trying to talk some sense into whatever could understand me behind his glazed eyes. He finally calms down and hugs me. One of my other brothers who Scott had just punched walks back into the room. “Scott, you’re a fucking pussy,” he says. My head drops into my hands. I had just got done calming this guy down and we could all go out and still enjoy the night. But no, you just had to say that. The brawling resumed. Fists that didn’t hit their mark would find their way to a nearby mirror or wall causing irreversible damage. One of Scott’s best friends, Tristan, decided to try his hand at calming him down now and received a brutal head-butt to the nose for his troubles. I said “fuck this” and grabbed two or three people from my crew that weren’t in the midst of an argument and headed for the bars trying to salvage what was left of the night.

When I returned that night, all the rooms that we were staying in were trashed. I, being drunk, figured I’d deal with it all in the morning. Life had other plans. As I laid down to pass out for the night I began to hear screams from one of the girls we had come with. “Where the fuck is my luggage!?” she continuously exclaimed, as she went around accusing everyone in our group of stealing it. We can be a bunch of immature assholes sometimes but we aren’t a bunch of creepy pent up virgins that need to smell her stolen bras and panties in order to get off. “Nobody has your fucking luggage!” we continued to shout back at her. As far as I knew, nobody honestly did. She then had the brilliant idea of calling up some random tool she had met in one of her previous conquests to Canada along with his squad of douchebag cronies to come and ‘deal’ with the situation. The guy shows up barking at us and trying to act tough in front of his girl. His little butt buddies that he came with echo his every word. Scott, awaking from his post rage hibernation still hammered, immediately gets right back in his face. “What’s up skinny jeans?” he barks back to him. The guy was wearing super tight skinny jeans that he clearly wasn’t confident enough in himself to wear so yet another all-out brawl ensues. Eventually, security and police show up to break things up and get everyone’s information. Security kicks us all out of the hotel that we had already paid for and we ended up paying much more in damage fines. The hotel got each of our personal information and informed us that we weren’t welcomed back.

We ended up sleeping in our cars in the parking garage that night. We come to find out that one of my brothers drunkenly threw the girl’s luggage down the stairs of the hotel for literally no reason and just decided not to say anything throughout this whole mess. Needless to say, he’s a dick.

The whole “banned” thing is a little worrisome since I actually like the hotel we stayed at. But mine and others’ drunken shenanigans have gotten me “banned” from multiple places before and I always leave optimistically saying the same thing: I’ll be back.

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