Once, long, long ago (about 9 years ago, actually), I was a lowly college student with nary a fake ID. So, instead of being all cool and hanging out in bars, I had to hang out with other criminal-types who wanted beer and weren’t old enough to imbibe. There was a vibe similar to the those at an illegal opium den or a gin club during Prohibition.
One such place went by the shady name “Joel’s.” My best friend in crime (Sara) and I frequented that haunt the second semester of our sophomore year in college. There were definitely regulars there. We drank cheap beer (my first, and only, beer bong experience), smoked a lot of…cigarettes, and played games. Card games. Board games. (ha ha – once, during a game of “Passout” I swear every person around the board had at least four lit cigarettes and six beers. We were crazy!) Mess with Al games. (he was such a whiner! In an effort to try to help him feel welcome, we threw him a 20th birthday party. With Jell-O shots! When he showed up, he produced a prescription bottle and said he couldn’t drink because he was on antibiotics. We happily did the Jell-O shots for him, and later, someone stole his prescription, and it was full of Flintstone vitamins. I think that was his last party there. His defense? “It wasn’t very special, anyways – we just did the same thing as we always do. It’s not like anyone even cared it was my birthday.” Hey Al! There were freaking Jell-O shots! JELLO SHOTS. Plus, there were streamers. That is caring, people.)
Ahem…anyways. So, we hung out there a lot, and often left in various states of inebriation, of many sorts. One of the fun games was to make fun of how short I was. Compared to the tallest member of our group, who towered above me at 6’7”, I was pretty short. We were leaving once, and the giant & I were the first ones out of the den of iniquity. He decided we should race to the car for that coveted “shot-gun” seat. I agreed. After all, I had the advantage of not having to go around the large obstacle between us & the parking lot.
I am (almost) 5’2”. I am (possibly) drunk. I will run under the sign. Unfortunately for everyone (well, at least, unfortunately for me), the sign’s ground clearance was more like 4’11”. Scott (the giant), did not win the race to the car, though. After I was knocked to the ground, he also fell down. He was laughing so hard, I’m surprised the big drunk didn’t piss himself.
When the others came out, he was still rolling on the grass, hysterical. I was, understandably, I think, loathe to tell them why he was laughing so hard. I don’t remember if I eventually spilled it, or if he finally pulled himself together enough to tell them, but before I knew what was happening, there were a few more people in hysterics. I’m surprised the cops didn’t show up.
I? am graceful…graceful like a gazelle…on CRACK.