Everyone who has been to “Shoots Magoots” has at least seen someone get thrown out of Big Rapids’ classiest establishment.
I know I have seen multiple friends and strangers alike being escorted out of Star Shooters by the intimidating bouncers dressed in black shirts. To go along with witnessing others being thrown out of Shoots, I myself have been sent packing on two separate occasions.
For the sake of this article, we’ll stick with the more interesting of the two.
After a long, 50-minute class on Friday morning, I returned home to my apartment to find my roommates drinking beer at noon.
“Rough day?” I ask.
“Yeah man, are you trying to go to FAC?” he responds.
After pondering over the question for at least four seconds, I caved in and agreed that we should journey over to Shoots to grab some wings and beer.
Since FAC (Friday After Class) runs from 1-8 p.m., and anybody who is worth their weight in malted hops doesn’t go to Shooters sober, my roommate and I decided we had a couple hours to kill before taking our talents to the bar.
Some friends came over and the pre-game began, lasting for a few hours. After multiple adult beverages, we were well on our way to “getting FAC’d up.” Little did I know, my roommate had been drinking for a while before we began the pre-game.
I called a friend to bring us to Shoots and she reluctantly agreed.
We split some pitchers, ate some wings, played a little pool and called her for a ride home. Being the great person she is, she came to our rescue.
As many of you may know, an after FAC nap is crucial in preparing yourself for the long night ahead of you. After we all went home to nap, we awoke around 8 p.m. and decided to figure out our plans for the night.
After multiple games of quarters, ride the bus and waterfall, we finally came to a decision. We would return to Shooters. This time, we took a cab and arrived at about 10 p.m., which is way too early to go to the bar.
Upon arrival, we noticed that there were only about 20 other patrons strewn about the bar. By this time, my roommate, who was fairly new to Ferris, had consumed a decent amount of alcohol, leading to him having to use the restroom every 30 minutes.
This was probably his third or fourth time at Shooters, and he had no clue where the bathroom was. Instead of asking one of us, he ventured out on his own, searching behind every door.
We lost track of him until about five minutes later when he appeared from a door I had never been through before. I asked him what he was doing and he said looking for the bathroom, but he had something crazy to tell me.
“I just went in their basement, man, and you’re not going to believe this,” said my roommate. “I went down there to find the bathroom and there was someone tied up to a chair. I freaked out and ran back up here to tell you.”
I immediately told my roommate that he was lying through his teeth and that the bathroom is at the other side of the bar. He kept insisting that there was someone tied up in the basement. I still didn’t believe him.
“Dude, how would I make this up? We need to go down there and help them,” he said.
After my mind ran through scenes of Pulp Fiction, I thought to myself, “What if someone IS tied up down there and I didn’t help him or her?”
Reluctantly, my roommate and I snuck downstairs, brandishing beer bottles as potential weapons. My heart was racing in anticipation. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw a large empty room with a single desk on the far side of the room, but didn’t see anyone tied up.
“It’s in the next room,” said my roommate.
We cautiously made our way into the other room, and yet again nobody was tied up, but there were walls and walls of liquor. Every single shelf was covered in booze, resembling the hull of a pirate ship filled with rum.
“Where is this person, man?” I asked.
“Oh, I knew you wouldn’t come down here unless I made up a crazy story, I just wanted you to see how much booze they had down here,” said my roommate.
I was relieved, but also wasn’t very happy that we went down there to see something you can see by entering any liquor store in Big Rapids.
Right as we walked up the stairs, a bouncer told us that we needed to leave. We tried to plead our case, but did so without result.
We were kicked out into the January cold wearing nothing but jeans and a long sleeve shirt.
Thankfully, our friend from before came to the rescue once again and returned us back to our apartment.
Moral of the story: Don’t go into Shooters’ basement. There is no one down there and you will get kicked out.