This next two posts are forever connected, so I simply cannot re-post without the other. Enjoy!
Chapter 13 - Quarter Beer Night
Back when we were in junior college, me and Stubby were sitting around a college dance and came to the conclusion that the DJ really sucked and that we could have done a better job that he was doing keeping people on the dance floor.
The next day after we sobered up, we re-visited the notion and decided what the hell, let’s give it a shot. So we set out on become DJ’s. We bastardized my stereo, put a shit-load of music on our credit cards and bought a sound system, mixer and amp from a buddy of ours. We also had to give *T* a call since she had broken her foot the night before at the dance trying to do a polka, ala The King and I whilst drunk. While most of the time it requires being drunk to actually polka, trying to learn how to do it drunk it not a good idea. But, I digress…….
One of the places we got a steady job at was the enlisted club at the local Navy base, a little hole in the wall called the Powder Keg. We were pretty much the house DJ for almost 3 years and had developed a pretty good following. We kept the place hopping and a lot of our friends would show up to hang out with us even though they weren’t military. Of course *T*, *S* and *K* already knew about the place and had been hanging out there for a couple of years, hanging out with the enlisted guys and confusing sex with love.
Even after we stopped working there, we’d still stop by on Friday nights and hang out, partly to make fun of the new DJ and partly because the beer was real cheap. One particular night, it was quarter beer night and me, Stubby, *T* and *S* were there. We didn’t properly coordinate with each other before hitting the bar and before you knew it, three of us had gotten $5 worth of quarter beer. Normally, quarter beer comes in small Dixie cup size containers, but not at the Powder Keg, they were full 12 ounce cups! So there we were, standing next to a table with 60 cups of beer on it. We tried as best we could be we couldn’t finish all the beer between the four of us. So we were stopping everybody that walked by our table, offering beer to them and making friends the entire time. In truth, the DJ wasn’t bad and we had a great time. I entered (on a dare) a jalapeno eating contest (I lost), *T* and I participated in a charity auction (more about that in a later chapter) and we all got very, very drunk!
Later this week, the Department of Defense is going to release the list of military bases that they plan on closing. I certainly hope this old base isn’t on the list, as it is one of the largest employers in our small little county and adds a lot to the local economy. But, if for whatever reason it shows up on the hit list, I’ll make sure that me, Stubby, *T*, *S* and the rest of our old crowd gets together one last time at the Powder Keg for a night of drinking and remembering.
We’ll send the old girl off in grand style, she’ll deserve it!
Chapter 14 - Tits and Toliet Seats
Once upon a time, I bought a woman. Now I know what you’re thinking, but she wasn’t a hooker (well, maybe she was but that wasn’t mentioned in the terms of this particular financial transaction). As discussed in the previous chapter, we were all hanging out at a local watering hole on quarter beer night and they were having a charity auction for the American Red Cross or the Heart Association or something like that.
As part of their efforts to raise funds, they auctioned off a dance with a woman and a man from the charitable foundation. The bidding started and (I guess) because we were all pretty hammered due to the quarter beer, *T* and I decide to bid on the guy and the gal respectively. Both of us won and while I don’t remember exactly, I think our winning bids were in the 20-30 dollar range and that was top dollar around those parts. You see, guys from our county would go to the local strip club to watch their sister dance topless and shove dollar bills into their g-strings. So, if blood relatives could only score a dollar, the charity had to be ecstatic to get 20 to 30 times that and no one had to get naked (although from what I remember, *T* tried her damnest to get the guy she bought out of his designer jeans).
Speaking of being naked, *T* reminded me in her comments from the previous chapter that there was somebody else hanging out with us that night, “Neener. ‘Neener didn’t hang out with us all that often and it was probably in part because all of wanted to get naked with her. She had these humungous boobs and all of us guys (and probably some of the girls) all wanted a little bit of that action. I saw ‘Neener’s rack several years later when Stubby and I made a midnight road trip to the beach unannounced.
I had a ’84 Olds Cutlass with the Hurst package. There were only two adjectives you used to describe that car, fast and loud. Stubby and me were sitting around one night during the beginning of the summer; everybody else from the group had already headed to the Eastern Shore of Maryland to the beach. *S*’s family had one of those doublewide trailers there and *T*’s family had a trailer there as well, so everybody always headed there during the summer at one point or another. So there we are, sitting around my house bored out of our skulls and we decide its road trip time. Now from where I lived to the beach was a three and a half hour road trip, but it was worth it because as I said, we both got to see ‘Neener’s hooters. We pulled up outside of the trailer, the car was making all sorts of noise (the car had Hooker Headers, which come to think of it, is pretty fucking fitting for this story). ‘Neener as we would soon find out was in one of the bedrooms in the trailer with her beau and as we sat noisily idling out front, she “sprang from her bed to see what was the matter and torn open the sash” (my apologies to Clement Clarke Moore). And there they were, two of the most spectacular orbs of bulbous fat Stubby and I had ever seen in our life. It was truly a Kodak moment and once she realized that she knew the people she was flashing, she covered up, but as Neil Young once sang, the damage was done.
Anyway, back to quarter beer night, the night wound down and we’re all pretty wasted and *T* decides she’s too drunk to go home so she crashes at my house for the night. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it before, but *T* and I have been thru a lot together and I don’t regret a minute of it and don’t think she does either. Surprisingly thru it all, we’ve never slept together. That’s amazing considering the number of people both of us cannot say that about!! (But that’s just a hypothesis; none of us would keep a list, would we?) You would have thought the sheer logistics of us spending so much time together under the influence would have led to something. But alas, as *K* once broke my heart, all *T* did that night was brake was my toilet seat.
I was a bachelor and I lived in a male-occupied bachelor house. In my bathroom was a well used toilet with a toilet seat that had seen better days. One of the hinges that held it to the bowl was broken. I knew this, and knew how to “adjust” so it didn’t become a factor in my trips to the ‘loo. Sadly, *T* was not aware of the logistics that needed to come into play and shortly after she entered the bathroom, I heard a loud “crash”. I called her name, got no answer, so I tried the door. It was unlocked so I opened it. There, on the floor, shooting me a full-moon was *T*, and my toilet seat; well it was lying under the sink, halfway across the room. I helped *T* up, and put her back on the couch. She doesn’t remember much of this (had I mentioned we were REALLY drunk?) but best I can put together is that her approach to my toilet seat had taken on the characteristics of a base-runner stealing second, and when she hit the seat on an angle she (and the seat) just kept on going. Now I’m not a sentimental guy but I really liked that toilet seat. It cradled my head many a night while I was praying to the porcelain gods. When I came back out of the bathroom, *T* had gotten ready to crash on the couch and was sitting there in nothing but her panties. Naturally the next thing that came out of my mouth was “nice tits”.
And so goes the story of most of my twenties, I start out the night wanting to see one girl naked, end up seeing a completely different one naked, and still go to bed alone.
This story has distracted me. I wonder if it’s happy hour at Hooters yet? Hummm………
