As I walked out of the HSN Cafeteria the other day, I was balancing several of those little soufflé cups filled with mustard, ketchup, and mayo on top of my plastic-boxed hamburger. There were two thirty-something women walking in front of me and they were going v e r y s l o w l y. They were both wearing white pants. As I tried to maneuver around them down the stairs, one of them reached into her purse to get a cigarette. All this happened in slow-motion, of course. I was … jostled. The soufflé cups were … jostled. They tumbled slowly towards the ground at my feet. I watched them spinning. I was dumbstruck and unable to move. My only thought: “Shit!” The women were staring at the soufflé cups as well. All three hit the ground and spewed red, yellow, and white in every direction. Miraculously, not a drop of condiment hit any of our clothes. I expect that in that instant I wasted every bit of good karma I have coming to me this year.
As I walked out of Tropicana Field with my friend Jay after the Devil Rays / Braves game Tuesday night, a twenty-something couple passed us and stopped. She was drunk. She was very drunk. He was not. She grabbed my arm.
“I love this guy!” she exclaimed, meaning her partner. “I treat him like shit, but I love him!”
“I’m sure you do,” I assured her.
He gave me a look as if to say, “My apologies, sir. She gets like this sometimes.” Jay and I sort of laughed and continued on our way. She wouldn’t let go of my arm.
“This guy,” pointing to him, “he puts up with all my sh*t! He followed me from Cleveland!”
I laughed. “I know a few people from Cleveland. Nice place.”
“I’m sorry, man,” he said.
I gave him one of those “guy nods” to let him know I wasn’t upset or anything.
“Well,” I said, “he must love you, too, eh?”
“You know what I’m gonna do for you, Brian?” she yelled. “When we get back to the car,” she bellowed in that timbre that you can only attain when really drunk, “I’m gonna … suck … your … COCK!”
It was quite hysterical.