August 11, 2011 § 1 Comment
I have a job interview tomorrow! Exciting!
My first in four years…less exciting!
But that said, I feel the need to burn off my manic energy. Writing is unlikely going to happen, so we can instead play a rousing game of “My Embarrassing Stories”
Once, when I was a young man a hopelessly long time ago, I was in Ireland on a school trip. We were all youngsters, we were, in the tender bloom of our youth, far below the legal limit of 18. So naturally, we were blasted off our minds constantly.
One night a councillor came to our room to talk to someone about something rather serious. I forget what it was, but it was legitimately a concern. Either a visa problem or a family emergency, but something that would actually cause concern. That wasn’t the problem however (apologies to the person with the personal crisis).
The problem was the several bottles of vodka on the table about five feet from the councillor.
Naturally, the program demanded that we follow Canadian drinking laws, namely, that we must be nineteen to drink. I think…one of us was 18? Maybe? I was 16, and I was certainly not alone in that. Further, being the cool, collected men of action that we were, my buddy Mike leans over and says,
“SHIT MAN WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO OH SHIT OH SHIT”
We were lucky because the room was dark (we were watching a movie or something), and the councillor’s attention was elsewhere. I, being the astute young man that I was/am, smirked my most confident smirk, and said,
“I got this.” And I really thought I did.
Someone cued up “99 problems” and I sauntered (like a baus) to the fridge which was at a right angle to the councillor. My plan was simple. Show him just how confident we were by distracting him with my ravishing, almost-shoulder length hair, while simultaneously playing it cool by getting orange juice, showing him how much we were not drinking, but also getting me delicious orange juice. His suspicions thus deflected, we could continue our vodka and movies in peace.
It works like a charm. I saunter, I procure OJ, I drink OJ, I saunter back. Everything is kosher.
Then the councillor says, “John, come here for a second.”
To my credit, I totally saunter over, flip my second-best smirk, and say, “What, man?”
He, in turn, totally out-smirks me and says, “Dude, I’ll let you off this time, but get that beer out of that fridge tonight. I’ll check back tomorrow.”
My plan, which was so damn impressive, unfortunately failed because I forgot about the enormous quantity of beer we had in the fridge. Which he could totally see from his position at the door looking at me drinking my orange juice and being lit by the fridge light.
The good news was that we got really, really drunk that night. The bad news is that I was barred from the fridge for awhile.
I am slick.