My name is not important. I’m a regular guy, like you and the people that you know. Only with two big exceptions. 1) I possess more ruggedly handsome features than you and 2) Although I’m a generally intelligent person, I tend not to put a lot of thought into my actions, which inevitably leads to getting myself into some pretty weird and sometimes frightening situations. Join me on my journey, where I take you through my misadventures as a guide of 1,001 things not to do.
It’s your typical lazy early Saturday afternoon and I’m doing what most college guys are doing. I’m relaxing on my couch, sitting back, and watching some college football, nursing a hangover with a case of cheap beer. Well, “hangover” may not be an accurate description, as most kids at that age are constantly alternating between a state of “hung over”, “drunk”, “wasted”, and then “hung over” all over again, and you’re never really fully immersed in any one state.
So, I’m hanging out in my room, flipping through the channels on my television, and the UNC/NC State game captures my attention for a bit. My friend Kyle stops by. We shoot the shit for a bit and he makes a suggestion that we should head to Chapel Hill, since it looks like UNC’s about to beat NC State and there might be some celebration parties around campus that night as it’s somewhat of a rivalry. I think it over and it adds up. Chapel Hill’s my home town, it’s about an hour drive, there are flocks of attractive women in that town, and we have plenty of places to crash at for the night. We round up a couple of others and we head out. Chapel Hill, here we come.
The other two guys that tag along are the Nicks, as in they’re both named Nick. I had met them through Kyle, who introduced them to me as “Nick” and “b-Nick”, because naturally one is black and that was his quick fix way of differentiating them. “b-Nick” is not particularly fond of this nickname, which is pronounced “Nick”, just with a slight “b” sound preceding it, but it stuck anyways. Despite the fact that he’s a block of muscle, being a former division one point guard, standing around 5’9 and 210 pounds, and he could rearrange any of our faces if he so pleased, he allowed us to call him that. He’s a good spirited guy, nothing but nice, and we’re happy to have him with us. The other Nick is a smooth talker Jersey kid who spoke as soft and reassuring as the game that he spat to the ladies. He doesn’t look or act like a kid from the shit-hole that is New Jersey, but he does wear a hat either sideways or backwards most of the time to keep in touch with his roots, despite the fact that he’s equally as likeable as b-Nick. We all get in Kyle’s SUV and we’re off.
I decide that now’s a good time to check my bank account and withdraw some cash to see how much damage I can afford in Chapel Hill. We stop by an ATM on the way to the interstate and I get out of the car, waiting behind a very large man who stands at least 6’6. I step up to the ATM, enter my code, and withdraw a pathetically meager amount of money from my shriveled checking account when I hear from behind me “Hey!…..Don’t you know to never stand behind somebody at an ATM?” I turn around and it’s the aforementioned very heavily muscular, tall man that was before me in line. His car’s running and he’s in the passenger seat as his driver appears to have stopped the car momentarily just so his friend could talk some shit to me from the passenger seat. Pffft, I pay him hardly any attention, as I give him an unimpressed sneer, turning back around to grab my fifty dollars from the machine. I had quit the track team last year and I’m now a man of somewhat impressive stature who had been kickboxing for the last year or so….I can handle my shit. I’m a former D-1 athlete in the prime of his life….I can handle myself, right?
As I’m grabbing the money, I hear, from directly behind me, the sound of the car’s door opening as the large man who’s going to kick the living shit out of me gets out. “OH SHIT RUN!!!” was my only thought. In one mad dash across the parking lot to Kyle’s car did I go from “ain’t scared” to “smart-ass pussy who ran like a little girl to avoid getting his ass beat”. We drive off, and my friends predictably let me have it the entire duration of the trek to Chapel Hill. “I don’t know why you quit track, your form was looking really good when you were sprinting across the lot.” These jokes went on for the full hour. And I can’t say that I blamed them. Little did I know that this would be just the beginning of this crazy day and night.
We arrive in Chapel Hill around six in the evening and we park along the much famed Franklin Street that my friends had been anxious to see. We don’t really have a plan, so I whip out the cell phone and my contacts in Chapel Hill aren’t answering their phones. I know that I’m an asshole that nobody wants to talk to, but come on, I’ve got people to entertain. We’re all pretty hungry, so we decide to pass some time by heading across the street to Hamm’s to get a bite to eat which will also give us some time to formulate a plan. While there, a realization dawned on me… when I was digging into my wallet to pay my bill, MY DEBIT CARD WAS MISSING. Yes, I had left it at the ATM while that 200 and something pound behemoth was stalking me. Thankfully, the problem is quickly resolved as I call up my bank, find out that nobody had withdrawn from my account, and cancel my card. All is normal again.
In the meantime, Kyle’s friend “Jenny” who’s a UNC student gives him a call back while we’re screwing around in Hamm’s and we agree to meet her at her dorm to pregame a little bit. None of us were 21 yet, so we were shaking from lack of alcohol intake, and Jenny’s promises of vodka at her place excite us. We make our way to Granville Towers, where Jenny’s dorm room is located, and begin phase one of my essentials to a good time: alcohol consumption.
My two best friends, Tim and Diana, forever joined at the hip, join us at Jenny’s and partake in this alcohol consumption. They’re technically dating. Although they attend different schools many miles away from each other, they somehow travel to Chapel Hill from western North Carolina virtually every weekend. Tim has a job bartending at a local bar on Franklin Street on weekends but he’s off for the night and free to party, which means that our night is about to consequently get a little bit crazier. You, the reader, may want to keep an eye on this character, as he will be contributing to EJSIC shortly while we’re making our way through Southeast Asia as the most idiotic duo imaginable, which is the very reason that I started this journal: to document these future disastrous trips.
We’re all getting pretty wasted in Jenny’s dorm room and having a good time getting to know each other. Nick wants to know if Diana’s single, which I regretfully inform him that she’s not and b-Nick disappears for a bit as the token black guy often does. Or he could have been there talking to me the entire time. I don’t really remember. But what’s important is that my friend Sean calls me back from a party that he’s at, telling me to come on down and to bring my friends. It’s supposedly pretty wild, with many attractive women, beer-pong, and attractive women playing beer pong. Immediately we head out. One vehicle carrying seven of us, on our way to meet up with Sean at this kickass party. Tim’s the only driver because Kyle’s too wasted to drive by this point, since Tim had joined us late and he’s relatively sober.
We get there and it’s everything that it was supposed to be. I immediately fall in lust with half of the girls there. Turns out it’s a party hosted by the track team, which means a bunch of athletic, in shape women. I can’t decide whether I want to hit the keg or stick my finger up a girl’s bum. I decide the keg’s probably the option least likely to lead to jail time (which is humorous, as I’m not yet legally allowed to drink) and phase 2 to a good time commences: more alcohol consumption.
About an hour passes by, my friend Sean had left, and I somehow manage to strike up a conversation with two highly attractive girls. I use the fact that I’m a former track athlete to my full advantage to relating to them, and the only thing going through my head is which one of these girls should I focus on and where am I going to bang her. That is, until Tim comes along and makes his presence known.
I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. He’s a pale skinned fellow that stands 6’3 so he’s not hard to miss, but I just didn’t want him around at the moment. He’s a tall, good looking, Dutch guy…so he should theoretically be a ladies’ man, but my God, he’s even less smooth than I am with the opposite sex.
As he approaches our trio, I know what’s coming. He’s wearing khakis, a sweater vest, and fancy loafers, and he had warned me at Jenny’s that “Timothy” is coming out tonight. All hope is immediately lost, as I am absolutely certain of the next eight words that are about to come out of his mouth…..”Hello ladies, I’m Timothy….and I’m from Hah-Vuhd”, he says matter-of-factly, in his best New England, elitist accent, which is see through at best, obnoxious and reason enough to leave the party at worst. “Timothy” is his alias that makes a 4.0 at Harvard and comes out every now and then at parties. I’m not really sure what its mission is. Tim thinks it’s a good way to impress women, but results and common sense say otherwise.
After around a minute and a half of the “Timothy” routine, the two girls decide that it’s time to head home, as another reality crashed upon me….the fact that they were roommates, which means that a threesome, if I had continued to play my cards right, although a long shot, was a possibility that had been ruined by “Timothy”. During that minute and a half, I didn’t even bother to say anything, as it’s pretty useless when “Timothy” is in full swing. It’s like Ebola that spreads through the host’s body. You can do everything possible to counter the symptoms that “Timothy” produces, but those efforts will ultimately be wasted as the host dies anyways. I watch the two beautiful, charming ladies walk off.
My feelings are conflicted at this point. Tim is one of the best people that I have ever known. The most loyal friend that one could ask for and I’d known him for years, but I’m so angry at Timothy right now. If I assault Timothy, will Tim feel the brunt of it? I start yelling at him anyways, releasing my anger and letting him know that he really just fucked up royally at my expense. While we’re conversing, Kyle makes his way over and taps on Tim’s shoulder to inform him that some random guy is hitting on Diana and that he may want to do something about it.
We glance over at Diana, who is within earshot, engaged in a conversation with some guy we played beer pong against earlier. We can hear the words from their conversation and this guy seems to be getting pretty overly agressive and frisky, which upsets Tim. He walks over in Rambo mode, only without the machine gun, which would be useful for the events that are about to take place.
I just shake my head, as I know that some drama is coming. Tim predictably starts yelling at this guy and he doesn’t take kindly to it. The guy picks up a Tiki Torch a couple of feet away and starts waving it in Tim’s face, trying to ward him off and intimidate him. I walk over and just grab the torch away from him and try to calm him down. We don’t want any trouble. I’m ready for this night to be over, Kyle’s in good with Jenny and the Nicks are ready to pass out wherever.
That option is immediately thrown out the window as I divert my attention towards the large flock of people rushing towards Tim and I. There’s literally about 30 people coming down the road that is a driveway to the house party. I had been too busy paying attention to the hot girls I was trying to hook up with and the idiot holding the Tiki torch to notice why everybody was at the top of the hill/driveway the entire time, but nevertheless, here they come…and they don’t look very pleased with what appears to be two guys about to kick their friend’s ass.
To illustrate a picture of what this looked like, I would say that it was pretty similar to the people at that beach resort in Thailand as the tsunami came crashing towards them. Or in the movie “300″ when the hundreds of thousands of Persians descended upon the couple hundred Spartans. Only Spartans were badass, and we’re two drunken idiots with one of us being a goofy, red-headed dutch guy.
I let go of the torch and hold my hands forward, trying to make it clear that we mean no harm and I’m just trying to break up a very minor skirmish. These efforts are immediately reduced to nothing as I hear Tim yelling obscenities and talking shit to the sizeable crowd headed our way. Whether I like it or not, it’s on. You can’t stop an angry mob, just like you can’t stop millions of gallons of sea-water coming towards you.
I immediately feel multiple hands pushing me in directions that I wasn’t aware even existed. I’m just a human pinball for the time being, unsure of whether I should be striking back, or just allowing myself to bounce around freely and hoping that it ends quickly with minor whiplash. I start slinging my arms wildly, in drunken punching form, and soon find myself on the ground from a series of punches from every which way.
I cover my face as I lay sideways on the cold, wet grass, because it’s the money-maker and the only reason that women even consider continuing a conversation with me. God knows it’s not my personality or my charm. I feel the kicks coming down. That’s fine, ribs are okay. I think it only takes a couple of months to recover from a broken rib…..do your worst. They eventually stop. Turns out they’ve got more compassion than millions of gallons of sea-water and it appears that I’m going to be able to limp to Tim’s Jeep in one piece.
The seven of us are walking back to Tim’s ride and the crowd is following us close behind. I’m not entirely sure of everybody’s status, but the two girls appear unharmed thankfully, and the rest of us only have a few minor bruises, cuts, etc. We pile into the car and since the jeep’s facing the opposite direction of the road that we need to take to leave the area, we actually have to make a U-Turn. As we’re coming back towards the driveway, one of them throws a beer bottle at Tim’s jeep, cracking one of his windows. Classy.
We’re back on Franklin Street minutes later and we decide to stop by the bar that Tim works at to settle ourselves down. We’re part relieved that we didn’t all get our faces kicked in, yet humiliated and yearning for revenge. Kyle’s the only one of us with any sense, as he’s using every bit of his minor injury to gain some sympathy points with Jenny, and he closes, letting us know that he’s going to sleep at her place. We say goodbye, and the rest of us brain-storm on our next move.
It’s past the bars’ business hours at this point and we’ve got the place pretty much to ourselves. We’re receiving free drinks which is every man’s dream, but we don’t care. We’re pissed. The bartender sees where this is going and she tries to calm us down, telling us “Every guy needs to get his ass kicked a couple of times in his life. It builds character.” Despite the optimistic point of view, this does little to nothing to settle us down. Tim and I are talking to the Nicks who are seated at one of the tables, collecting themselves, and we apologize for the situation that we had put them in. b-Nick is his usual calm and collected self, telling me not to worry about it and that it’s all in the past. Nick, however, has the exact opposite attitude, wanting to get back at them more than anybody. They did quite the number on him and the Jersey-ness was coming out in full force. How they so quickly realized which seven of us were “outsiders” is still a bit of a mystery to me. I guess Kyle and the Nicks tried to hold back some of the guys beating the hell out of Tim and I….who knows? The funny thing though is that not one of them dared to touch b-Nick.
I grab Tim for a second and we leave the bar to smoke a cigarrette on the street and assess the situation. Yes, I eat healthy and exercise rigorously, only to drink and smoke my health away…two steps forward, one step back is my way of life. What’s your point?
We’re conversing, trying to figure out a good way to get back at them, when we notice two guys on the street right in front of us, hitting on some poor girl mercilessly. They appear to be friends and trying to set up a tag-team with this girl. She’s on her cell and trying to pay them as little attention as possible, yet still appearing somewhat intrigued as they tell her some of the filthiest stuff you can even imagine about what they want to do to her. She waves down a taxi and she’s gone, as they continue yelling at her from afar.
These two guys appear to be pretty psychotic. Very well built dudes, probably in their mid 20′s, with no awareness of the consequences of their actions….a light bulb flickers in our heads at that exact moment.
“Fellas, how would you like to take part in a fight?” I reach out to them. They appear pretty confused at first, as it sounds like Tim and I are trying to pick a fight with them or something. But we invite them inside the bar and explain the situation of an hour ago to them as we hand them a couple of drinks from behind the counter. They needed a surprisingly very little amount of convincing. They’re seriously more amped to fight these guys than any of us are. Well mission accomplished, I guess? We figure that the number of track guys that will still be hanging around the party will have been reduced significantly. We’ve only got six guys with us, but all of us are physically fit and two of us are borderline psychotic, so we can take six to ten guys no problem we figure.
Tim is parked right outside the bar and we hop into his jeep, all of us overflowing with adrenaline as we’re about to recapture our honor, fighting to clear our names from the hall of shame. There’s six guys and Diana in the vehicle, I’ve thankfully reserved the passenger seat, and a couple of people are crammed into the very back with three fit into the back seats. Tim turns on the radio, saying that we need some music to pump us up for the epic fight on the horizon. I’m expecting something out of the “Rocky” soundtrack, or anything to that degree. Something fast paced, maybe even techno if he wants to go softer. Just something FAST, something with a STATEMENT, that we’re about to kick some ASS!!!
But no…I’m not kidding when I say that Bruce Springsteen’s “Summer of ’69″ is the song that Tim settles on as he’s scanning the stations. I’m dumbfounded, as I turn around and literally everybody, even b-Nick and the psychos, starts singing along as we make our way back to the house party. Are we going to pick a fight, or send them early Christmas presents? This is a mistake, I’m thinking…..if this is the mindset we’ve got….it was becoming painfully obvious to me that we’re cruising for another bruising.
“I got my first real six-string
Bought it at the five-and-dime
Played ’til my fingers bled
It was summer of ’69
Me and some guys from school
Had a Band and we tried real hard
Jimmy quit and Jody got married
I shoulda known we’d never get far”
We literally don’t even make it a mile down the road when flashing blue and white lights appear in the rear-view mirror. Immediately the letters “D-U-I” flash in Tim’s brain as he realizes why we’re being pulled over. He forgot to turn on his headlights. It dawns upon us that we’re a little more drunk than we had thought.
We pull over and we’re in the midst of our freak-out. Tim was smart enough to pop in some gum though before driving to cover his breath, and if there’s one talent that he’s got, it’s getting out of tight situations when it seems that FML is inevitable.
He rolls his window down and the cop asks for his license. Tim hands it to him, nonchalantly, and comments about how he has to take all of these drunk people home, and that Franklin Street is so bright with the overhead lights that he didn’t even realize his headlights weren’t yet turned on. This seems like a plausible excuse to the officer, as he undoubtedly thinks that Tim’s efforts to navigate all of the drunk people home is an honorable thing to do, and the “everybody in this car’s drunk” excuse explains why they’re a strong alcoholic odor is coming to his nose.
“Well be careful and turn those light on”, are the words that the officer leaves us with as he heads back to his car. I don’t know about everybody else in the car, but I’m shocked. Tim’s piss drunk and he just smooth-talked his way out of a DUI. How can somebody with these people skills be so terrible with women?
I don’t even say a word as we continue onward. We just got out of a DUI and underage drinking, but we feel it’s necessary to push our luck with potential assault charges, as we approach the house’s driveway.
Everybody’s a little bit shy to open the jeep doors, as we realize that this is it. It’s like a 100 Meter sprinter lining up at the starting line of the Olympic Games’ finals. Or an NBA player about to sink the game tying free throws at the end of regulation in Game 7 of the Finals. Everybody, that is, except for the two psychos, who are making plenty of noise. You know the “Joe Swanson” character on that show “Family Guy”? Yeah, that’s them. “LET’S DO THIS SHIT!!!” These guys likely had very rough childhoods.
Anyways, we make our way down the driveway and we start to collaborate. We’ve come all this way, but never really devised a plan on what we’re going to do. The garage was open during the party, and is now closed, and there is nobody at all on the lawn. The place is void of any traces of anybody and all of the lights inside are turned off. They must be sleeping, we thought. We don’t know exactly who’s inside, who left, and who’s the most deserving of an ass kicking after the events of only an hour or two ago, but some heads are going to roll, and it’s gonna be sweet.
One of us comes up with the idea of Diana knocking on the door to get one of them to open it. Obviously if all of us knock on the door and somebody sees seven people in the peep-hole, they are going to be suspicious and probably not open it. So being the brave men that we are, we let Diana, the only girl, do our dirty work.
All six of us are standing right behind a wall about twenty feet away, watching Diana intently as she rings the doorbell to draw out whoever comes to answer the door. We instruct her to tell them that she had lost her engagement ring at the party, and she needs help finding it. What are the chances that a 19 year old college girl is engaged? We don’t bother with these common sensical details.
Nevertheless, just as we’d hoped, a young man comes out and he follows suit, going to plan accordingly. There are literally five testerosterone filled men, waiting to start beating the living hell out of anybody coming out of that door behind me. I whisper to them to relax for a second and let Diana work her magic. She draws him out and tells the guy that the ring’s probably in the garage, and at that moment is when all hell breaks loose.
I’d been trying to hold everybody behind me back for some time now and I sense that this is our time. This is the time for the offenders to reap what they have sewn. THIS….IS….SPARTA!!!
I run maniacally into the house with no idea of what’s going on behind me or what to expect, just ready to destroy anything that resembles a male human being that dares to cross my path. “AAAAHHHHHHH!!!” is probably what I sounded like.
I’m in the house, it’s dark, and I need to find somebody to beat the shit out of before this insane rush of adrenaline wears off. In the back of my mind is the angel on my right shoulder, informing me that I’m technically committing breaking and entering. “Shut the fuck up” I tell it….too late to turn back now.
I start running around the house, just looking for somebody to start wailing on and I find some random guy sleeping on the couch in the living room, curled up beside some girl. His eyes open as he studies me, some random guy who he did not recognize, now in his living room, looking at me menacingly, with a blood-thirsty look on my face.
“GET UP, BITCH!” I yell, as I grab his collar and hurl him towards the wall. Wow! This whole adrenaline thing really does increase one’s strength, I notice, as I so easily flung him against the wall, and notice that I had just smashed the back of his head into the wall, creating new damages to his home.
“That’s breaking and entering, assault, and destruction of private property!” The angel once again informs me as a minute by minute update. He’s really starting to get annoying….did I not already tell him to shut the fuck up?
“WHERE THE FUCK IS EVERYBODY?!” I was loud while yelling this, but trying to channel my inner creepy and menacing voice at the same time. Think Christian Bale’s Batman character in “The Dark Knight” as he completely overdid the deep, intimidating voice.
“This is a house full of girls!” the poor sap who was pinned against the wall exclaimed, half yelping as a plea not to hurt him, half crying. I turned my head to his girl, and saw in her eyes, all of the respect she had for him dissolve. “I don’t even live here!” A thousand possibilities rushed into my mind at that time. But one thing was for certain….we were in the wrong fucking house.
I had only gone inside the house one time while I was at the party, as I’d spent 99 percent of my time outside, taking advantage of the keg and hitting on those girls on the lawn. But one thing that I did notice when I was inside, talking to Sean, was that it was a beach party and there were ornaments hanging from the walls, it was looking very festive, and that the place was just so messy, probably taking at least a couple of hours to clean up at the very least.
But no, after this guy had informed me that this was apparently a “house full of girls” did I look around and observe the harsh reality that we were in the wrong place….this is the incorrect house.
All of the driveways in the neighborhood looked really similar as we pulled up to the house, but were we really off enough to have misjudged which fucking house we were at?! It would appear so, as I released this frightened young man from my clench, and retreated through the entrance.
As I stepped outside, I couldn’t help but laugh, as I saw the initial guy who had opened the door to the flood-gates of hell being pushed around by the two psychos like a human pinball that I had once experienced a short time ago. But at the same time, this guy may have had nothing to do with the beating that occured, so I rushed over and pleaded with these certifiably insane people, wondering to myself what percentage of their futures they would spend in prison.
I finally got them to stop shoving this poor kid around (but not before one of them hocked a loogie on the guy’s face as a parting present….classy) and my attention drew to my friends, as one of the girls from the house had made her way out, and she was on her cell phone, frantically yelling about who knows what. What I DID know though, was that there was a police station about two miles away, and that I had just broken a multitude of laws.
I quickly gathered my friends and got them into Tim’s jeep in a quick fashion, thankful that we were going to be gone by the time the cops had gotten there. As I got in the passenger seat, I looked back and saw that all of the usual faces were there. Tim was driving, the Nicks were accounted for, and Diana was present. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!” I yelled, and Tim slammed his foot on the gas, wasting no time getting out of the neighborhood.
It was only a short while down the road did I realize that we had left the two psychos behind. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel even a bit of remorse, and neither did anybody else in the car, as we all decided it was a night and Tim dropped me and the Nicks off at my dad’s apartment across town. I hadn’t even told him that I was in town and he hadn’t heard from me in months, but hey, parents are there to host you and your drunk friends with zero notice, right? We barged in, awoke my father, and watched TV for a while, drinking all of his beer, talking about how crazy of a night it was as we passed out one by one.
Like I stated before in my last entry, I’m not very good with endings, but as Kyle came to pick us up the next morning, we did hear a funny story. UNC runs a sort of “drunk shuttle” bus service across campus during the midnight hours, and as Kyle and Jenny were leaving the bar while we were deciding on how to properly avenge our humiliation, they took this campus bus to get back to Jenny’s dorm room. While sitting in the seats, Jenny and Kyle immediately recognized numerous faces on the bus from the party, as these people were all high-fiving and congratulating each other about the “beat-down” they had just laid on “those assholes that tried to step” to them…..little did they know that one of those “assholes” was among them, keeping his head down, trying to go unnoticed.
All in all, it was a fun night to look back on and it’s a fun story to tell, but we still to this day have no clue what happened with the two psychos, nor do any of us really care. Oh and West Virginia still sucks in every way possible.