I just realized last weekend was the decade anniversary of living in Columbus, Ohio. I celebrated by doing nothing. The story of my first couple weeks here is funny, so that’s what you get today. I had just got a job after searching for a couple months, so needless to say, I was poor. I was talked into going to a St. Patty’s party with thousands of people present, which was a horrible idea because I had a whopping $27 to last me until Friday (it was Sunday). I drank until I ran out of all but $5, then went to take a leak.
The lines were long, but when I got back to my spot, I didn’t see my ride. After six calls, he answered (I could barely hear, also). “You took too long, I left.” I don’t have a ride. “Get a taxi. I’m almost home.” You asshole, I have $5 and my credit card is maxed out! “Hit on some chicks and get a ride.” Click.
This was not good, as my game, especially back then, was to drink a lot and sidle up to some semi-attractive lush of girl and hoped she had no morals. I knew I would have to use all my powers this day, or risk missing work on the sixth day of employment. I was macking on this dame (I told you I have no game) and we started making out aggressively. She talked her portly pal into giving me a ride late night. Of course, the big girl wanted to stop for a steak, probably to compensate for the no men with her that night. This was even worse, since I had no money and hadn’t eaten since before noon. I remember just hoping she would throw a roll at me, but the rolls were hoarded like Scrooge’s gold that evening. Coming off a buzz and staving, I finally got home around midnight and told my roommate I would piss on his grave.
I called the young lady once and she did not return my call, which was fine with me, since I got a 15 mile taxi ride out of the brief and torrid affair, which was better than most of my relationships. I was at a bar about three months later and this chick approached me. As she said hi, I realized it was St. Patty’s girl. “Can we talk?” Sure, I said. “I think we should just be friends.” Me – We’re not even acquaintences. Are you nuts? Her – “I’m glad you agree. Cool!” Then she walked out of my life forever…and probably into a pysch ward. I always miss, you, drunken makeout taxi girl, whatever your name is. You, and your surly fat friend too. Can I at least have a saltine packet next time we dine?