My friends have never needed an excuse to drink. They’re the type of fellows that would celebrate the Norman Invasion with a three-day binge…provided they were sober long enough to look up the date in the first place. So when one of our gang announced a birthday celebration, my friends needed no further prompting.
The day began with cans of beer at 10 AM in the state park. It was June, so those of us who chose to wear shirts (an overpowering minority) were showing our high social standing and fine fashion sense with wife-beaters. The plan had been to go fishing, but honestly, I don’t remember anyone actually catching anything or attending to the lines. It’s always amused me how a bunch of dudes drinking down by the river is considered “loitering”—unless they happen to be doing it behind fishing poles. In which case it is suddenly a “sport.”
The drinking continued until about 9:30 at night, with only a brief halt for a wardrobe change and steaks, before the party was moved into New York. Somehow, we all managed to pack ourselves into two cars: my friend leading the way in his new 745i series, and me following in my considerably less flashy Honda accord. Both vehicles were filled to the rafters with rowdy, drunk, hollering guys, so as we approached a pair of ladies walking down the street, it came as little surprise when the car ahead of me slowed down to holler at them.
What was shocking was that the women didn’t immediately mace the driver and scream for the cops. My friends are generally nice guys…but after 11 hours of drinking in all-male environment, all bets are off. In fact, I was putting the odds at about 2:1 that everyone in the car would be wearing unsoiled pants at the end of the drive.
“What the fuck are they saying to these chicks?” I asked my passengers. The car had come to a dead halt, and the girls were leaning in to speak to the driver.
Then the girls got into the car. That’s when I realized the evening had taken a turn. “Holy shit!” I announced. “I think they just negotiated a price to gang-bang those two hookers!” The odds that everyone’s trousers would remain on for the duration of the trip had suddenly plummeted.
Two blocks up we arrived at the parking garage, and the boys introduced the rest of us to their conquests.
“Ehren, this is Crystal.” I gingerly reached out to shake the hand of a skanky-looking female. I was sure I had just caught 70 here-to-fore unknown sexual ailments.
“And this is Misty*.” And suddenly I was looking dead into the eyes of a girl that I knew.
Before I had a real job, I used to work as a music teacher at a day camp. The girl shaking my hand had also spent a lot of time at the place—as a camper. She wasn’t a day over 14.
“What the fuck are you doing getting into cars with strange men???” I barked, instantly reverting from sorry-my-friends-are-going-to-run-train-on-your-ass mode to protector of kids in my charge.
“E, don’t be a dick.” said my friend, completely missing the fact that I had a prior relationship with Misty…and that he would be doing serious 15-20 if the evening went the way he envisioned it. “I’m going to make sure nothing happens to this lady tonight.”
And with that he put his arm around the girl and they started off down the street. All I could do was collapse in laughter on the pavement.
When I finally regained breath, one of my friends came up to me and asked, “What the fuck is so funny?”
“It’s just that neither of them have any clue what they’re getting into. What he doesn’t know is that Misty is 14 years-old. What she doesn’t know is that he’s married with two kids.”
Karma is awesome.
*The names of both girls have been changed because they're embarrassingly under-age. For the record, I would have stepped in had things escalated. Turns out it wasn't necissary.
1 comment:
That was one of the best birthdays ever!
PS I was not one of the guys that was pimpin those girls but I was in the car when we picked them up, the exact line used to get them to come with us was "are you going to stair or get in" the rest is history.
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