My favorite Creative Loafing misadventure happens to be based on an idea of mine. One day during the spring of 2007, the CL editorial staff sat around a large table brainstorming ideas for the upcoming summer guide. We wanted to focus on activities possible in Florida’s unbearable summer heat. I knew my favorite Florida summer activity would be a hit: drinking on the beach. And what better way to involve our readership?

Thus, the Beach Trolley Pub Crawl was born.

We set a date and our ad reps persuaded a handful of bars from the Undertow to The Pub to offer drink specials. Then, we put out the word to readers.

They responded well. On Sat., April 28, more than 70 staffers, friends and random readers met up on Corey Avenue. The first problem was readily apparent: the wait. During the half hour before the first trolley pulled up, we lost a dozen crawlers. When it finally arrived, a second problem arose. The trolleys were woefully unprepared to handle such a large crowd. As each person boarded, the horrified driver’s eyes widened until he began yelling, “No more! No more! There’s just … too … many!” We eventually convinced him to allow our whole group, much to the chagrin of those already on the trolley. One female rider threatened to call the fire marshal. Someone in our group called her a bitch.

So much for being ambassadors of the beach.

From Caddy’s to Daiquiri Deck to Gator’s, our thirsty crew invaded tranquil bars and rushed bartenders, attempting to guzzle enough alcohol to make it through the wait at the next trolley stop.

And wait we did. Our pub crawl completely destroyed the trolley schedule. At one point, three trolleys followed each other north in our direction, while those trolley riders wishing to go south sat on benches upwards of an hour. Each time we boarded a trolley — many of us now holding bottles of liquor we’d purchased in between stops — the drivers would roll their eyes, pick up their radio receivers and gruffly announce our position to the other drivers.

By the time we descended upon the elderly cove of the Pub on Indian Rocks Beach, everyone on the beach knew about us. And hated us. The manager at the Pub calmly suggested we sit outside away from the wealthy, elderly couples in the dining hall and “watch our language.”

After drinks there, our pub crawl crew dwindled to about nine, including myself, the CL publisher, five other staffers and two readers. We narrowly caught the last trolley of the night.

The next week, as we wrote our stories for the Summer Guide, most CL staffers agreed: The Beach Trolley Pub Crawl of 2007 was the worst idea ever.

But for me, it was one of the best nights of my CL career. And, frankly, I think it’s time for another one.

Alex Pickett was staff writer from 2006-2008. He is now a Courthouse News Service reporter.

This article appears in Apr 18-24, 2013.