Carolina Road Trip (deux)
When we last left our protagonists the good rev was allowing himself to flirt with the captain
of the cheerleaders (she not only leads the cheers but also leads the leaders of the cheers)
while speeding along a dirt road behind UNC. The tar-heeled gumshoes in hot pursuit.
Well, we were actually traveling 25mph. When the security turned off a side road I heard Eric
yell, "HAHAHA we win you fucking pigs!" Which I considered amusing that of all of us in the
car the late (LATE) 30-yr old, decided to yell at a cop car.
Julie talked about her cool roommates (also cheerleaders or students I think) mentioned
something that sounded like it could be taken the wrong way, and pulled up to her house. Now
at this point, it was possible that our hearts were racing as much as they had been with the
cops. No one really could say anything, but I'll be damned if we all didn't have our own plans
on how to continue the evening. She got out, we thanked her and said we would see each other
again at the team party.
With that she was inside and we were, most definitely, not.
We took a moment to clear the air about what had just happened. (or rather what had not
happened) I wont say from who... but the phrase, "There are three of us and you..." was
mentioned in her absence.
We all came to the conclusion that the hot little number was only going to get us into more
trouble (the car). So Eric took us 1/2 mile to a place called the "Port Land Grille" (I
didn't mention the obvious misspellings).
It was a nice place, the kind you might consider sneaking in an expensive bottle of scotch. We
ordered drinks fitting of the establishment:
"GreyGoose vodka twist"
"Yea that sounds good"
"The same"
"Can of Hamms, I mean Rum and Coke, I mean Bombay Saphire Gimlet." It has been hard shaking my cheap upbringing.
Getting a cab to pick you up in the suburbs is a challenge, but Eric was on a mission and
manned his cell phone with great vigilance. Precious min passed, and it was then revealed to
us why Eric was so overcome with anti police rhetoric.
"My licence is suspended. I got a DUII a few months ago. They couldn't prove that I drove the
vehicle to the game..." he went on. I hid my dropping jaw and bulging eyes.
"Gotta hand it to campus security, they really do good work."
"you'd think that since they carry sidearms they would be a little more though." Jude said.
I was convinced I was going to be arrested that night.
The smells from inside the minivan cab that finally came to pick us up gave me the impression it was better I not see where I
was sitting. We went downtown.
I don't want to try and count drinks, or money. One is just as painful a memory as the other.
And sense I only picked up a couple of rounds, it must have been even more so those around me.
The bars themselves provided much of the nights entertainment. "What is that Thing?" was a
game we took up playing. Followed by "Get Closer" and "You Touch It".
At some point shots were ordered. Shortly thereafter we were presented with cloudy plastic
thimbles filled with an unknown substance. Dont chalk that up to North Carolina, even the
locals were confused by what passes for a shot at that place.
At some point I was talking with a beautiful girl from Eastern Europe (I assume). I had seen
her by herself, excused myself from the group I was with turned and watched a man so fat (enter
fat joke) sit next to her.
What an overwhelming dilemma. Normally I would have no problem talking to a girl, or even with
a girl who was talking to a guy (if I had been properly lubricated) with the intention of
pulling her away. But this was a really, really fat guy. How many times has this guy struck
out? Hell, how many times has my own appearance been my downfall? This guy was actually
talking to a girl... Could I be so bold as to steal from the poor? I decided that I would go
dance on the floor below (did I mention we were on the roof of a building that was just one big
bar?)
Dancing was good, and drinks were plentiful, "Bud Light? Are we in the Port Land Grille? Ok
then."
After a few songs, a few more rounds and no outstanding prospects, I decided demand was now
sufficient and supply was not forthcoming so I went back up to confront the evil hoard that
beat me to the punch earlier.
"He's still there, but there is no conversation. This might work." I thought...
When a pretty girl is just sitting next to a smoking, fat guy at a bar with a bored look on her
face, you gotta figure one's odds of laying the Mac down improve on the order of magnitudes.
"Hi, how would you like to go down stairs and dance." --given blood alcohol content, time
remaining before last call and my tendency to stumble over polysyllabic words I went right for
the jugular.
"umm... no. I dont think so..." --She was very kind in her method of denial.
Now at this point there really is no way to turn this around. I have convinced girls who
originally said no to dance... and in that dream I am one hell of a dancer.
I can either take it on the chin and make a quick exit stage right, or make a scene.
"Too bad... dancing is a lot more fun than just sitting around." -- Words to exit by, and I
had begun to turn to do just that... but then
"You know he's right," a thin guy to the right says. Suddenly I realize this girl is not
flying solo. She has her friend and some outspoken guy with her. couples night? maybe, these
guys looked way out of their league.
Conversation is sparked and I am not getting anywhere. It's nearing 3am and I've got miles to
dance before I sleep.
I imagine they went a long time without talking before I showed up because they all jumped into
debate so vigorous even I felt out of place.
I break in; try to say something smooth and get out. In this situation I am actually rooting
for fatty. I have such sympathy...
What I said I cant remember. I tried to booster him up, but I think I said something about
being really bold and corpulent.
More dancing... more beer...
Now they are closing down; we make our exit.
At a pizza place I flirt with the girl behind the counter. She complains about not getting a
tip from Eric. I reach for my wallet, she says that its fine, asks me to put my money away.
We eat outside. The pizza is good, and Dex goes in for another; I shake hands with the
unemployed. Coming out of the can, she spots me and yells, "I thought I told you to leave!"
I pause, look at Dexter, he averts my eyes so as to avoid guilt by association. I am sure this
is some joke they pull on the drunks as they roll in after 3.
"Get out of here!"
I am a little frazzled. I point at Dexter for help, "But I'm with him."
"I'm calling the police."
(Dexter told me later that as I was being exiled a coworker picked up the phone and started
talking to "the police" with out even dialing)
I have been confused while drunk before, but usually I can figure it out later. I still
haven't put this all together.
Back home...
I sprained my thumb on a coffee table while throwing a volleyball at Chris. Some water spilt,
and before I knew it a pair of Birkenstocks hit me in the face. I told Jude that this was
"unacceptable behavior". He responded by using my prized 1977 Star Wars pillow case as a mop
for the spilt water.
That was it. Rarely do I find it necessary to resort to brute physical strength... but seeing
Princess Leigh being stepped on was more than I could take.
Jude was placed not gently on the sofa while I tended to my childhood friend.
This concludes the drinking day.
On Sunday we boated and drank and tried to piece together what had happened 12 hrs before.
All and all a good road trip.