21 April 2003

Quasimodo Goes to Town

This morning, anyway. Hopefully I heal quickly, as I have a show on Friday. That would be a week. This all started on Friday three days ago, two days before Easter.

Amanda had mentioned to me the day before that they'd be happy-houring at Don Carlos. Free chips/salsa/wings; drink specials; whatever. I didn't want to go by myself, so I got a hold of M (name left off to protect the not-so-innocent). We had gone out a few years ago, and after a recent breakup he was looking to hang out again.

Everyone (oops, that's Amanda, her boyfriend and another couple) had a couple hours head start before M and I got there, but we caught up quick. He was ordering beers still on happy hour special by the handful. I just had a couple of my usual SoCo and Cokes, but pretty soon the tequila shooters started showing up...I think it was just 3 or 4 before we left, but I wasn't feeling much pain. M was feeling even less. Totally off-topic note? I was really groovin' with the Spanish tunes rendered by 'chick wandering with string instrument.' Told everyone of my dream of someday being a lounge singer. Ohhh yeah.

Somehow, even hanging out with someone making more money than me just by drawing unemployment, I ended up $30 lighter before we made it out the door. Ouch. Luckily we were just heading back to Amanda's apartment, so I figured nothing else should cost me much more.

After walking a few blocks back to Amanda's, I was still feeling happy. I hadn't been out in a long time; this is what my youth (what was left of it) should be about, right? At Amanda's, not much was going on. We were all just kinda hanging out, so I decided to head out for a walk (if you know me, this is what I do when drinking...even if you don't know me, I suppose...). M came with me. Liking animals better than people, I quickly met Moira (a springer spaniel, maybe?) right across the street. She invited us to join her owners' party and pointed her nose in the direction of the keg. M wasted no time. We had a few beers and chatted with some really nice grad students. M was totally getting off on the fact that we had just walked into this yard party. Whatever. It was the last nice part of my evening.

When we finally headed back to Amanda's, the other couple had left, she was passed out in her bedroom, and her boyfriend was warning us against going in the bathroom. He made it sound like a really good idea, so we just left.

This is where the pain part started. M, at 6'5", decided the best way to navigate his drunken frame around was to lean on all 5'8" of me. "Stop it," I kept snapping, "that hurts." In true drunken fashion, he took no heed. Jackass. He kept whining about being hungry, so I asked him if he could afford to eat and where he wanted to go.

"Of course," he slurred, as he steered us toward the Fleetwood. Odds are, if you've ever been drinking in our college town you've been to the Fleetwood. Unfortunately, this is where our story starts going downhill fast. After I finished my cheese sticks, I left the mostly incoherent M with his breakfast and went across to the other side of the diner to talk and people watch with a nice guy named Aaron (thanks, Aaron). When I was ready to leave, M was passed out face down in his plate of food. Great.

I jostled him enough to get his wallet, where he had only credit cards. Aaron quickly confirmed my fear: the Fleetwood is cash only. I got really angry at M really fast. Our fabulous waitress helped me wake the loser up, and I gave her my last $10 while apologizing profusely (I'll get you the rest of that money this week!). We finally headed back to get the car from the parking garage, with him trying to lean on me the whole way. Ouch.

As we approached the car my anger did nothing but grow. I called a friend whose number was in my phone and gave a summary of my unpleasant evening (to his voice mail, sorry, J) , as talking to the drunk relieved none of my impotent fury! Thank goodness the night was almost over. The parking garage lady was nice enough to write me a 'no money' slip, and I called another friend trying to find where exactly M lived so I could throw his carcass out of my car. He certainly couldn’t communicate!

The next day he couldn't understand why I was mad. Because he's an idiot seemed like too simple an explanation.

The good news is, this is a lesson I won't forget even when I can stand up straight again. I don't plan on going out again for a looonnnnggg time. And as far as faith in the opposite sex? You're kidding, right? I dated enough 10 years ago; I'm done now.

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