Earlier, I was sitting in a co-worker’s (and friend) office chatting a bit. She and her girlfriend had just gotten back from a small vacation and I came by to see how it went. We usually end up talking about all manner of things and ultimately, one of my stories ends up being told.
Those of you who have visited this blog on a regular basis have read some of my stories. But according to our friends, you haven’t lived until you’ve actually heard one in person. I tend to get very animated, both physically and facially… and have been known to use accents and sound effects.
As I was planning my exit, so I could head back to my office to finish up some maintenance that was running on the server, an old 80s song by the group A-HA came on the radio on my friend’s desk. It was “Take On Me“. It’s one of those songs you love to hate.
I love to hate it for a reason most others don’t. We went to their concert in Hawaii at the Waikiki Shell back in 1986. “We” meaing my ex and I. I can remember bringing bottles of vodka and orange juice in with us in brown paper bags. Didn’t they check shit like that back then? Anway, the only song I can remember from the actual concert was “Take On Me”. Can’t remember a thing other than that.
However, I do remember the events following the stupid concert. We stumbled to the car only to find we’d lost our keys. We stumbled back to the auditorium only to find it was locked up and everyone was gone. Don’t ask me how time flew like that — I was quite drunk.
We again stumbled back to the car. The locked car.
We sat on the hood in the dark, griping, groaning, mumbling and barfing. Yes, barfing. Over the side of the car as we sat on the hood. Yay. Then, we both passed out. On the hood.
Next thing I remember, the police were rousting us out of our drunken stupor. They asked us what we were doing. I attempted to calmly explain about the lost keys. My girlfriend ranted about what the hell did they think we were doing — sleeping, obviously. She then proceeded to inform them that her (estranged) father was the captain of the police. He was, but at that time, he didn’t know her from cat poo.
This ploy, however, apparently worked, because the police pointed to a nearby house and suggested we go over and ask to use their phone and call someone for a ride. They then left us there on the hood of our locked car with the barf puddles surrounding it.
My girlfriend stumbled off toward the house belonging to an unsuspecting family. She planned to ask to use their phone. I followed. She banged on the front door. A small, older Japanese gentleman opened the door. He didn’t speak a lick of English. My girlfriend was yelling slowly at the man, “WE…NEED…TO…USE…PHONE”. She made a “Y” with her hand and placed it along the side of her head — sort of like a phone. He looked at her as if she were an idiot… she was.
Having lived in Japan for several years prior to my moving to Hawaii (where almost everyone was Japanese anyway), I knew the word for telephone in Japanese was “denwa”. So, I shoved my moron girlfriend out of the way, smiled and slightly bowed. I then said, “denwa”? The Japanese gentleman smiled and motioned for us to come in. He then led us down a hallway to a large family room, where his family was watching a movie.
The movie was the 1978 hit, “Superman“. My girlfriend exclaimed, “I’ve been wanting to see this again!” and plopped her butt down next to the kids on the couch and excitedly began watching the movie with them. This poor Japanese family was trying to be so polite while this drunken little jerk was taking over their family room.
I was shown the phone and began dialing my girlfriend’s home. Her ex at that time was still living there (with us). She hated me. She answered the phone. I’ll call her D. “What the hell do you want?”, D asked. I explained what was going on. D asked what I expected her to do about it. I then explained that I knew she had a spare of the key for the car… however, I also explained that the police suggested that someone come and pick us up.
Having to admit that we were both stupid and drunk to my then girlfriend’s ex was quite humiliating. Meanwhile, my idiot girlfriend sat there watching a movie with perfect strangers, seeing nothing wrong with it or the fact that I was having to deal with her angry ex.
D finally said she’d come by. I told her where we’d be waiting — next to the locked car with the puddles of barf. Under protest, I was able to wrest my girlfriend away from her new buddies and out of the house. We left, with me apologizing profusely and thanking our hosts just as much.
About an hour later, D drove up. She stopped, reached over and rolled down the passenger side window of her car. I bent down a bit and started toward her. Suddenly, the spare keys flew out the window, hitting me in the chest. Tires squealed, and D was gone. “Thank you”, I yelled at the disappearing tail lights, while flipping her the bird.
My girlfriend was sleeping, standing up, against the locked car. Her right foot was in a puddle of barf. I thought long and hard about leaving her there. I figured I could carry her over to the playground in front of where we were parked. I could pose her on the merry-go-round, and then just head home. Some little kid could find her in the morning, all hung-over and with dried barf on her right shoe.
Of course, I didn’t do that. I unlocked the car, picked her up and placed her in the back seat. I then drove us home. Home — where D still lived. Ugh.
Anyway, I related this story to my friend at work this morning. All while that stupid ass song was playing from the radio on her desk. Of course, she was laughing so hard, tears were coming down her face. Like I said, it’s much more funny when you get to hear one of my stories in person.
I really hate A-HA.Powered by Sidelines