Ah, St. Patrick’s Day in Lincoln Park: a time of jubilant revelry, emerald-hued beer, and, as I discovered, the most bewildering bathroom antics west of the Emerald Isle. Several years ago, the Chicago Tribune’s Metromix section sent me to capture the essence of a popular nightclub’s annual celebration of all things Irish.
The evening started innocuously enough. The air was thick with the scent of spilled Guinness and the sound of boisterous toasts. Patrons, clad in varying shades of green, from neon lime to the deepest forest, danced and swayed, their movements becoming increasingly erratic as the night progressed — a testament to the barkeep’s generosity.
But the real story, the pièce de résistance of my nocturnal expedition, lurked not on the dance floor but in the men’s room. Here, in the dimly lit, questionably sanitary confines, I stumbled upon a bizarre scene that would make a leprechaun blush.
Arrayed before me, five young men stood in a circle, each with a condom in hand — or, more accurately, in use — apparently competing in some urination challenge. Yes, dear reader, you read that correctly. These lads were filling their latex vessels with a fervor typically reserved for beer pong championships.
As I stood there, one of the participants caught my eye. “Hey!” he exclaimed, his voice echoing off the tiled walls, “It’s not what you think! We’re not queer for each other — it’s just easier to fill piss balloons if you’re kinda hard!”
L.T. Hanlon 