On September 12, 2014, my two friends Lorenzo and Tony were making their way up to Tallahassee. It was Tony’s birthday, he was turning 20 years old and it was going to be their first times going out in Tallahassee. It was a Friday. I had just gotten out of class and I got a text that they were twenty minutes away. I told them to park in the lot across the street of Catalyst. They came up to my 2-bedroom apartment that I shared with my roommate Nick at the time and the weekend was finally upon us. I had no idea what was going to be in store for me, well not necessarily me but Tony, on this one night in Tallahassee.

My friends Laura and Caitlin had come over because they heard our friends were in town and they wanted to meet them. The second Tony told them his name and that it was his birthday. He was officially dubbed, by Laura, “Tony the B-Day Tiger”. Later that evening a friend that we knew from our hometown had come to visit Tony. She asked what his plans were and where he wanted to go “Recess, The Strip, Pots, Standard?” His response was “Oh don’t worry we’re going to hit them all”. Now, first off, this man is a rookie when it comes to going out in Seminole country. If you’re reading this and you go to FSU or if you have ever visited here, you know that Tallahassee is its own unforgiving entity that preys on poor fools like Antonio. He’s out here talking all this shit about how he’s going to wrestle with the great one and win. Tallahassee was about to chew this man up and spit him out on Tennessee Street. I described the Strip to him and told him about how it’s just a huge bar with a bunch of different bars in it. He was sold when I told him about “Ken’s” and how it’s a country bar that just plays country music. Antonio Alfredo loves himself some country music. He decided we would start our night at The Strip and end at Recess. I knew damn well were just going to start at The Strip and end at The Strip.

About an hour before it was time to get out there and be all that we could be Nick decided that he wasn’t going to be a part of our tomfoolery. I think he must have been courting his soon-to-be girlfriend at the time. The three musketeers would ride once again. Tony has this thing where he only wears shorts; never pants. One of those guys who says his legs don’t get cold or something. For what reason, I have no idea. But that’s his shit. He also loves to fish. To which (at this time) he only wore fishing shirts. Guy Harvey, PFG, something else with a fish, etc. I stepped out wearing some jeans and a shirt to which I saw Tony looked discouraged. He asked me if I would lend him a long sleeve polo shirt to sport out for his birthday. I would normally say no but I have known this man since pre-kindergarten. You can’t just tell your sandbox buddy “no” like that. He picked out a nice pink long sleeve Polo Ralph Lauren. My only condition was that he didn’t ruin or mess up my shirt. As all this was going on we were splitting a bottle of some cheap whiskey that I can’t remember. Lorenzo and I were mixing it with coke. Tony was pulling from the bottle. I was concerned but we were already out the door anyways. No going back now. We got in the elevator to go downstairs and Tony told us how he brought all of his birthday money out with him (300 dollars to be exact) I told him that he should go put most of it back and just bring like 40 bucks. He insisted he bring it.

We made it to The Strip and Tony demanded we take him to this man Kenneth’s bar. He was going to be the judge of how country this bar really was. Once we found our way inside Tony ordered a Miller Lite soaked in the country music and put in a lip of Copenhagen Wintergreen. He was at peace. However, that peace would be short lived. It was my mission to A.) show my friends a good time and B.) obliterate Tony. I bought a round of shots. Lorenzo bought a round of shots. I bought another. Tony went to buy one as he reached for his wallet. We demanded that he “put that f*@#ing thing away!” Me and Lorenzo split the round. “We must kill him,” we thought to ourselves. After a few rounds, he wanted to explore. As I dragged them through the confines of The Strip with each room we came across Tony became more and more of a child. I had never seen such joy on that man's face. It was like he was at Disney World with alcohol, blinding lights, loud music, but all the sweat you get at Magic Kingdom on a mid-July evening.

I wanted to make sure that I didn’t get too drunk because I was the guide on this expedition. My two friends were tourists. If I lose control, they lose control. Simple math. Lorenzo was very much enjoying himself. I could tell Tony was trashed when he shouted out “this is like Vegas!” Far from it. To think that one could even stake such a ridiculous claim about The Strip. Where the hell are the slot machines? But he was enjoying himself and I was happy. It was 11:55 p.m. and it was time for the coup de gras (the death blow). I ordered 3 Y-bombs and now it was time to put this poor bastard who dare call himself the birthday boy down. The preparation of the Y-bomb baffled Tony. I could see it in his eyes as the bartender cut a hole into three Red bulls, poor some Red bull out, and then fill those empty spaces with vodka.

“What is this?” He said with wide and trusting eyes. “Just drink it,” I said. We waited for the clock to hit midnight we shouted happy birthday and did our Y-bombs. I knew Tony’s fate was sealed. We made our way to “Encore”. Our friend from back home, Jonathan, bought a table. We were only there for 20 minutes. Tony stood up on a table with a bottle of Grey Goose and then fell off hitting his face. We decided to get him out of there. Air him out a little. We went out to the back of The Strip. It was drizzling down. In the parking lot across the way, Tony saw a corn dog stand that was calling his name. He made B-line for it. We followed. In the parking lot, there were two police squad cars. Tony gasped “The cops!” is what he tried to say but it came out in some blend of Viking Nordic and drunken English. This man was struggling to get words out. He reached for his wristband and ripped it off. “What the hell?” Lorenzo shouted. The birthday boy didn’t care. He needed his corn dog fix. It was torrential downpour at this rate. We were stuck outside with our backs against the wall while the birthday boy got a corn dog. He turned around with the corndog so fast that it flew from his hand and rolled on the ground. To my surprise, he reached for it. He was chasing a rolling corn down on the pavement in this weather. Lorenzo had had enough. He picked up the corn dog and smacked him across the face with it. This part, I cannot and will not make up. The birthday boy caught the corn dog in his mouth, ripped it from the stick, and gobbled it down like a pelican. He had truly regressed to a primal state. He was now and forever the Birthday Tiger. There was no stopping it. Oh, wait there was.

The security guard clearly saw what just transpired and refused us reentry. I couldn’t say I blamed him. My expedition team was now a walking breathing liability. It didn’t help that Tony was bouncing between the two metal railing guards like a bowling ball between bumpers. Our next task was to get home in this weather. Easy we just had to find a cab. At this point in time, the ramp that is next to Pub house was not there. All that stood was a giant heap of clay that was going to be used as a foundation for the concrete. “Simple task” I thought… we jump the mound get to the road and hail a cab. I went first as Lorenzo watched. With a small running start, I was able to clear the mound easily. Lorenzo was able to as well. We made a run for the Zaxby’s next door. Tony walked up to the mound. Laid on top of it and rolled down the opposite side to his back. In the soaking wet soil. In my shirt. He then kind of rolled around in it, like a turtle who fell on his back and couldn’t get up, as he laughed up at the heavens shouting, “It’s my birthday!” I was kind of mad but all at the same time I was somewhat proud. He was soaking it up. It didn’t matter. He didn’t go to school here. There were no repercussions. He was on vacation from school. I guess to him it actually was Vegas. I snapped back into it. I needed him out of that mud. I ran to him as Lorenzo hid under the Zaxby’s doorway from the rain. A group of girls on the inside of Yanni’s shouted that I was an amazing friend. I was pulling him up from the mud but he was kind of fighting it. He really loved being down there I guess. Finally, I got him to his feet.

We made a run for the Zaxby’s. I deemed Lorenzo the person to get the cab because he wouldn’t help me with the tiger in the mud. Lorenzo’s cab hailing skills are sub par. I found myself in the rain retrieving a cab. We got in and lo and behold our cab driver is an up and coming rapper who is willing to spit us a verse. Lorenzo and I were jamming out with the driver as he laid down some tasty verbal usage. I looked back to see if Tony was enjoying himself. He was asleep. As we made it to our destination Tony woke up out of what seemed to be a possession of his soul. “Jimmy Johns!” he shouted out to us. I told the driver to head to a Jimmy Johns and that we would walk from there back to Catalyst. I paid the driver and I don’t know why but Tony also lost the ability to control his balance. He took three steps out and away from the vehicle. He swayed forward, then back, then forward once more, and back again. As he swayed I could hear his legs whisper “timber” they weren’t gonna hold him up. Those traitors. He fell back slamming his head on the hood of the cab. For a brief moment, I was certain he was dead. To my surprise, he rose to his feet. He was durable. I will give him that. We walked inside and got him a sandwich. Afterward, we made it home to my room in Catalyst.

The morning after, I woke up to find my living room had been turned into a sandbox. There was clay everywhere. It looked like I had bought a golden retriever puppy. The tiger had been here. Where? I couldn’t remember. Lorenzo was on the couch passed out. The shirt that tony wore was on the coffee table covered in clay. His shorts were in my doorway. His belt was in my kitchen. I thought to myself “what the hell?” I found tony asleep underneath my bed. I refused to let him sleep in. I kicked him. It was time for him to wake up. He rose up with the headache of a 1000 hangovers. He sat down and we told him what happened. All of it. THIS MAN HAD THE AUDACITY TO SAY WHAT HE SAID NEXT. “I was drugged”. WHAT?! I was with him the entire night. There was no way that he was drugged. Me and Lorenzo paid for almost of all his drinks. I can tell you right now I had no business drugging him. Neither did Lorenzo. Also if a woman really wanted to have her way with Tony she wouldn’t have had to drug him. He checked his wallet. There was nothing in it. My theory is that while we waited underneath The Strip to hide from the rain for Tony to by his corn dog; Tony reached into his wallet pulled out all the money he had left on him and gave it to the man. Why else would he eat that corn dog off the pavement outside of The Strip. That was an expensive corn dog. On the bright side, it actually was the day that Tony turned 20 years old. He did refuse to go out. Nick used his absence for what transpired the night before to persuade him into going out. He swore that he wouldn’t. At 6 p.m. we tried again. He refused. At 7 we tried again. He refused. At 8 we tried again. He refused. At 9 we tried again. He refused. At 10 all four of us were at Potbelly’s ready to watch to help the Birthday Tiger ring in two decades of life. To this day whenever Tony finds his way back to Tallahassee everyone, except for Nick and I, refers to him as the Birthday Tiger. The days of him being the Birthday Tiger are behind him. He has grown up and has settled down with a lovely lady who has tamed the tiger in him.