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June 10, 2005

Adventures of Acinom, take 5

I'm officially on vacation right now, which means I probably won't post as regularly for the next couple weeks. I apologize to all the loyal readers out there (all two of you). In the meantime, I'll need some "filler" to take the place of regular content. And by filler, I mean another installment of The Adventures of Acinom.

I now turn it over to the intern:

Last weekend I had the honor of serving as the “decoy.” Ok let’s rewind:

It was my five-year reunion last weekend. I had plans on dropping by until I heard that it cost $85. Yeah you read right. $85 per head. EIGHT FIVE with a Y in the middle. Now the $85 doesn’t really get you anything—that’s just for the pleasure of showing up. Drinks cost extra. Food costs extra. The snazzy alumni golf tournament costs EXTRA. The real kick in the shnaseberry is that I LIVE near my alma mater so its like I’m paying to go to this place that I see on average of once or twice a week. Did I mention it was EIGHTY FIVE FREAKING DOLLARS?

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6….Okay I’m calm. And here’s another thing. It’s not as if it was the Class of 2000 reunion. It was the 5 and 0’s reunion. Which means that if your class graduated in a year that ended in five or zero, it is your reunion. Doesn’t this make it that much more personal and meaningful? Does this sound like a pyramid scam to anyone else? (If it doesn’t that is because, and I will be honest with you, I don’t really know what a pyramid scam is—aside from that it sucks…)

Basically the school is hosting hundreds of old and middle aged folks and they are making a killing charging 85$ a head and $45 for kids. Ironically, 2 people from my class showed up to the actual reunion. Everybody else who came into town just skipped the damn thing and went out to spend their $85 bucks elsewhere.

Which brings me to my decoy duty. We went out to a bar and by mid-evening, we were pretty hammered—Don’t judge, we were celebrating our unofficial five year psuedo-reunion. I was with a friend of mine talking to these two girls who liked us enough to spend the rest of the night at the bar with us. Anyways after an hour or so of heavy drinking and not-so-subtle flirting, this girl’s cell phone rings—I know: ACINOM, ALWAYS WITH THE FUCKING CELL PHONES!

She gets real quiet and puts her phone down and glances nervously at her friend. The phone is still ringing so, amazing drunk that I am, I pick it up and answer it for her.

“WHAAAATTSSSSSAAAAPPPPP?” I slur stupidly forgetting that it has been in years since that was couth (word of day calender hollaaaa).

“WHO THE SHIT IS THIS?” I hear.

“Hey you called me,” I said. By now our lady friends are rolling. So they ask me to be a “decoy.”

I told my phone buddy to hold on. “What’s a decoy?” I asked. They told me that I was talking to one of the girl’s ex-boyfriend, Drew B. Drew had cheated on Heather (one of our companions) with his ex girlfriend. So Heather had deep-sixed Drew B. (Does this sound like a bad R&B name to anyone else or is it just me?) and now Drew B. was back with his ex. Heather and the ex, Stephanie, were not quite friendly.

I agreed to this decoy duty and decided to take the Drunk Phone Guy route. OK, it wasn’t much of a decision because I was, in fact, drunk and on the phone.

The following conversation ensued:

Me: Drew B. My man, whatsup?

D.B.: I want to talk to Heather.

Me: So do I.

D.B.: You got her phone.

Me: Its one of em video phone jobbers. Its nice. Who are you?

D.B.: It’s DREW. Where is Heather?

I decided to begin my attack.

Me: Heather is with Stephanie.

Heather and her friend nearly died of laughter.

D.B.: BULLSHIT.

Me: NOSHIT. They are fighting. They are engaged in hand to hand combat.

Note: I get a little dramatic and wordy when I’m hammered.

D.B.: BULLSHIT. Stephanie is right here with me. And she wants to talk to Heather.

Me: A lot of people want to talk to Heather. (Pausing) Ok. Let’s quid pro quo.

D.B.: WHAT?

Me: (Feigning exasperation) Quid pro quo, Drew B. What kind of R&B singer are you anyways

D.B.: (Utterly confused) What are you talking about?

Me: You put Stephanie on and I’ll put Heather on.

D.B.: Fine.

Stephanie: Heather?

Me: (In Dark Helmet Spaceballs voice) FOOLED YOUUUUU!!!!

Stephanie: I want to talk to that BITCH!

Me: Which one?

Stephanie: HEATHER. Tell her that if that fat ass bitch wants to fight I’ll whup her ass.

So I started staring at Heather’s ass and for the life of me it wasn’t very fat. And honestly, I was kind of aroused that she wasn’t offended at me for so blatantly staring at her beedonk.

Me: I’m sorry Steph. But Heather don’t got a fat ass. Its nice in fact.

Stephanie: Well, you are probably gonna get to know it at the end of the night. That slut.

Me: YES!!

Stephanie: You tell that chicken I’ll kick her ass next time I see her. I don’t mess around.

Me: Steph what does your ass look like?

Stephanie: Whatever I’ll beat that skinny bitch down.

Me: Why’d you call her fat ass then?

Stephanie: You just tell her I’m gonna destroy her.

Me: Why are you taller than her or something?

Stephanie: I’m 5’4.

Me: That’s not very tall.

Stephanie: I don’t need to be tall. I’ll whup her ass.

I asked Heather how tall she was. She said 5’8 and 125 lbs.

Me: Sorry Steph, but Heather here’s got a good four inches on you.

Stephanie: Yeah well does her four inches and 90-pound anorexic ass want to mess with 227 pounds of pissed off bitch?

Now this latest comment kind of caught me off guard. See, I’m 6’2 and around 225 lbs. I’m not a small kid. So when I hear this girl telling me that she is 5’4 and 227 lbs I’m rather caught off guard. My state of sobriety coupled with that tidbit of information made for a bit of a volatile situation. And I’m not insensitive to weight issues either. I was a lineman in my football days so I know what’s its like to carry a little extra weight. But this was too much. DAMN YOU SHINERBOCK FOR TURNING ME INTO A DICK!!!

Me: (Incredulously) 227 lbs and 5’4. Um Steph, you are a hoss.

At this point Heather and her friend are dying of laughter. In retrospect I feel bad for Steph but I guess I don’t know the whole story and let’s be honest….she walked herself into that one with all the fat ass and skinny references.

Stephanie: Listen you asshole, I’ve had three kids.

Me: Then maybe you should be home with your kids on a Saturday night instead of worrying about kicking Heather’s ass.

Stephanie: I’m still 24 and I’m gonna work it for as long as I can.

The idea of 5’4 treetrunk working it was too much to handle.

Me: Listen I gotta go.

Drew B.: What did you say to my girl mother fucker?

Me: Dude I’m gonna go.

D.B.: No man, you disrespected me and my girl and now I’m coming for you.

Me: You’re coming for me?

D.B.: Yeah man. How big a boy are ya?

I looked over at Heather and my friend and reported what he’d just said. They got wide-eyed and told me that Drew B. loved Roy D. Mercer. They also told me Drew was a shrimp.

Me: What’s with all the weight talk tonight? I’m a big guy man. How big are you?

D.B.: 5’4 and 119.

It was at this point that I imagined a kid that was 5’4 and 119lbs. It took me back to sixth grade when I was around both. And why the heck where these people so frank about their bulk or, in Drew’s case, utter lack thereof?

Me: (after a long pause) Sorry Drew, I was just trying to picture a guy next to a girl whose got over 100 lbs on him. Dude, have a good night. (hanging up)

Now, I’m not a bully but I had mixed feelings after this conversation. First, I really was sorry for making anyone feel bad but they sort of walked themselves into it. Apparently after I left with my buddies Drew B. showed up with Stephanie in tow and tried to find me. I’m a regular and the other regulars told me that they were rather amused that this short kid was so determined to find me. What are you gonna do? So ends my duty as a decoy.

Posted by Elyas at 12:49 PM | Comments (9) | TrackBack

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