Monday, January 11, 2010

From Jaunt- "Who Does That?"

The following is a piece written by Jaunt based on an experience we had a few weeks ago. I like to think that I wasn't audibly laughing when I read this just because I happened to be there. Hopefully you, too, can appreciate the sheer hilarity and start your week off with a good laugh.

Note: I would like to point out that Jaunt's careful attention to detail is rendered beautifully in this script which, I shit you not, is almost verbatim what we witnessed that night. I almost think she must have been taking notes. Also, neither Jaunt nor I wishes to offend anyone with the following dialogue: let it be known that the opinions expressed by "Clint" and "Dory" do not in any way reflect upon the opinions of this blog, or Jaunt or me. We just report what we hear.
Also- YN is Jaunt's cousin/Fun Friend with whom I have enjoyed much merrymaking and dessert-eating.

Thanks, Jaunt, for letting me scavenge this!

Scene: Metropolitan, a coffee shop/bar
Time: 8:27pm
Intention: To consume coffee and dessert
Result: Introduction to "Super Dumb" brothers

On March 26th, 2010, YN and I will be reenacting the events that transpired following Alma's glorious victory over LSU. This story has the potential to seem unbelievable, but this chain of events requires no exaggeration and outshines my creative abilities.

As YN and I were sipping our delicious coffee, two "gentlemen" entered the bar without attracting our attention. We had no idea that they were about to change our lives and patterns of speech forever. Although the following dialogue may seem unbelievable, it is the best attempt at recreation that we can manage. You must imagine if you can the thickest New York accents flowing from the mouths of one extremely attractive young man and one moderately adorable younger brother. Extremely hot big brother (Clint) catches my eye first, and I attempt to make eye contact. He delicately places two steaming mugs of frothy beverage on a table and sits with his back to the wall facing the bar. Moments later he is joined by his brother (Dory).

D: "What is this drink?"

C: "Irish coffee."

D: "Good one dude. Nice going. What are you, gay?"

C: "Just drink your fucking coffee, you moron."

D: "Shut the fuck up."

C: "I am so mad at you right now."

Throughout this interchange, YN and I are laughing out loud. Uproariously. Laughing. We are not understanding the full extent of the animosity between these two unruly gentlemen. Our mocking laughter attracts Dory's attention.

D: "Don't laugh at us. We are having a really bad night. My fucking brother.... So where are you girls from?"

Dory cannot focus on either his predicament or his desire to get in our pants. Or at least into our beds. The reason he was so driven to become our bed partner will be revealed in a few minutes.

YN and I explain that we are from CenPA. It turns out the boys lived in State College for a brief time during hottie's high school years. This time away from New York did nothing to diminish their accents or penchant for ridiculous behavior.

With the overt enthusiasm of an untrained puppy, Dory appeared to be hanging onto our every word. We later learn that these intentions will not translate into understanding.

D: "Yeah. State College and Bellefonte and Centre Hall. I mean Centre is spelled wrong. What is with that? Re instead of er. What is this drink?"

Repeat dialogue lines 1-6. Repeat uproarious laughter.

D: "You girls seem really nice. Where are you from."

As we repeat stories about our shared childhood homes, it dawns on us that this is no ordinary conversation. It seems that Dory cannot retain information for longer than 30 seconds. He also seems unoffended by our blatant laughter. It should be clear that we are laughing AT him, not WITH him.

C: "Yo man, shut the fuck up. What are we going to do?"

D: "Let's consider our options."

C: "We don't have any fucking options. We are up shit creek. There is no chance that I am going to sleep in a warm bed tonight."

D: "Well you and your stupid British girlfriend shouldn't have locked me out of my house."

C: "Who does that? Who loses their keys?"

Our laughter refocuses Dory's attention on us.

D: "So where are you from?"

Repeat conversation held previously - TWICE. Insert more laughter this time. Halfway through his re-realization that we too think Bellefonte is spelled strangely, Clint interrupts Dory's reminiscences.

C: "You need to focus on our situation."

D: "Yeah, what are our options?"

C: "You could go play in traffic."

D: "Yeah, well you could order more Irish coffee. Get me a beer."

C: "Who do you think you are talking to?"

D: "What are we going to do? We could stay with Jamel."

C: "I don't give a fuck about anything."

As Dory attempts to mockingly sip his beverage, he spills the steaming liquid down the front of his North Face fleece. This provokes a series of cursing.

Throughout this interchange, I am desperately trying to get Glitterati over to our table to witness the hilarity. This task is accomplished when she looks up to see Dory standing in front of our table stripping his jacket off. The coffee of course has permeated the jacket and left blotches of moisture on his shirt. It also appears that he has wet himself. A fact he mentions at least 25 times.

D: "It looks like I pissed myself. What is this cup? How does it work? This is the kind of cup you use to dye Easter eggs. How the fuck do you drink out of this? I'm an engineer, I should know."

He is holding the pieces of his broken cup up for our inspection. We are laughing. His brother is not. So far the angry, angry Clint has not smiled once. He is shooting death stares at his guileless brother's back. Dory pulls his chair over to our table and starts explaining the events that have transpired as he attempted to welcome 2010.

D: "I mean I can't even get into my own apartment. I am locked out. I literally do not have a key."

Dory goes on to explain how his brother was visiting from South Carolina and how somehow his brother had managed to lose both keys to the apartment. There were many contradictory statements about when these events occurred and the possibility of three extra keys laying on a dresser in the now locked house. Vital to the understanding of this story is a bedroom window that was meant to serve as the entry point throughout the duration of the lockout. It is unclear how the boys got into the house to open the window, but what Dory made perfectly clear is that Clint shut and locked the window after a directive that forbid this action. As Dory is regaling us with the improbable tale, Clint staggers off in the direction of the bathroom. He knew the location because "Celine Dion" had previously asked the waitress. As he passes our table, he issues another directive for Dory to "play in traffic".

At this point, YN and I control our laughter enough to offer some practical suggestions about locksmiths.

D: "I ain't paying for no locksmith. I don't even care if he misses his flight. Do you just have the number of a locksmith? Do you just carry that around? Who does that?"

YN: "Well, there is probably a phone book."

D: "No, I am not getting a locksmith."

C: "You super dumb asshole. My clothes are in that house. There is no chance that I am going to sleep in a real bed tonight."

D: "My roommate is going to come home at eight tomorrow night. He has a key. The only problem is that my brother's flight is leaving at three. I guess I can just mail him his suitcase."

C: "How the fuck am I supposed to fly without my suitcase."

YN and I inquire about his access to his credit card and ID to assure him that he could catch his flight without anything else. He derides these suggestions as stupid. We are in fact "super dumb" because we cannot understand his dilemma. At this point, Dory has pulled his chair up to our table, and Clint is channeling some of his energy into standing. He alternates between standing in our personal space and in the aisle where people need to walk. At this point, both brothers are drinking beer. Dory forgets about the house momentarily and resumes hitting on us/telling us his life story. He is explaining a typical Christmas and his family's new found love of board games.

D: "You know like that one game. Apples to Apples. Yeah, that is pretty fun. But the one I really like starts with a U."

Dory is trying desperately to remember the name of this mysterious game. YN suggests that he explain the rules to us to help him remember. All the sudden, a light bulb goes off in his head.

D: "Balderdash. That's the best one. My whole family loves that game. Even my brother, but he is too much of a tough guy to admit it.

Clint stumbles close enough to our table to say.

C: "Apples to Apples."

YN and I are laughing.

D: "You girls are alright. You are not fully fraudulent."

As we are laughing at this comment and trying to decipher whether or not he previously thought we are spies, Clint becomes enraged and starts verbally harassing other customers. I try to lecture him about how this is my favorite bar and how it would be lovely if he wouldn't break all the furniture or alienate all the city residents.

C: "I just don't give a fuck about anything. I am a fucking dick."

D: "Yo man, calm down. These girls are really nice. Listen to them."

Just then an elderly couple walks past our table. Clint addresses the lady.

C: "You want to take a mustache ride."

She and her husband hurry past, and YN and I pray that they do not know about We chastise Clint for this comment.

C: "Fine, if you guys don't like me, I will just be friends with these fat retards."

He loudly directs this comment toward a group of four skinny to average sized men sitting beside us. His beer is waving dangerously over their heads, and it is clear that they do not consider friendship an option. During this time, Dory is repeating again the story of how the house became locked. Most of the details have changed, but his incredulity is constant.

D: "How does that happen? How does my brother lose the keys?"

I stupidly interject that the real problem is that he closed the window. This triggers another angry rage from Clint.

C: "You are a super dumb fucker. Who uses a window to get into their house?"

D: "People who lost their keys because of some British chick."

C: "Stinky Beaver"

D: "Doushe bag, OMG its 8:57 I thought it was like 3am, what are we going to do?"

C: "Well I know what we aren't going to do, go to your apartment. Who the fuck gets locked out of their own apartment?"

D: (checks phone again) "Dude its 9:00 I thought it was at least midnight we can't get into my apartment until at least 8 tomorrow night"

C: "I'm going to fucking miss my flight, why don't you go play in traffic"

After a loving brotherly name calling exchange. Dory proceeds to turn his attention back to us and inquire "Where are you guys from?" In midst of laughing at Dory's unfortunate lack of memory, we again attempt to politely suggest ways that may improve the brothers' lot in life. After asking if Dory had heard back from his friend about whether they could stay at his apartment, Dory returns our suggestion made approximately one hour earlier

D: "You guys wouldn't happen to have the number for a locksmith?"

Surprisingly, Dory has a moment of clarity and begins dialing the number that YN had found for him. While making the call Dory continues to explain that he has no faith that this will actually correct his problem of being locked out of his apartment. His conversation with the locksmith is punctuated by asides to us.

D: "He actually answered"

Dory then proceeds to inquire if the locksmith did in fact have the ability to help him with his dilemma. Worried that Dory's short term memory problems would confuse the locksmith on the other side of the phone, I offerred to speak for Dory, but was refused. Miraculously Dory is able to convey the necessary information to the locksmith. After hanging up the phone Dory appears invigorated with new hope that he may enter his apartment in 2010. After a few moments, his phone rings again and Dory appears to be instructing the person on the other line that he will in fact be at his apartment in a few minutes. During this exhange, Dory covers the phone to whisper to us, "He's Mexican."

Dory then proceeds to get ready to rush to his apartment. In his haste he puts his jacket on inside out and is confused when he's unable to work the zipper. I kindly advise him that it might work if he put his jacket on the other way.

D: "I just realized that when you were telling me."

Dory was by far the nicest of the brothers, if not the most intelligent. This left us alone in the presence of Clint. Glitterati gets off work and she joins us at our table with a glass of wine. In this bizarre dinner theater, the audience has grown as the number of actors shrank. Without even trying to disguise our laughter, YN and I are filling Glitterati in on the events of the first act. I am literally crying when I recount the "fraudulent" compliment that we received. Clint seems to be sobering up a bit due to the coffee without alcohol that I keep ordering for him, and he is mostly quiet as he is sitting at our table staring at us. However, any time the words key, house, bed, or brother are mentioned, he starts cursing and shaking his head anew. He repeats the same story over and over again and keeps asking, "Who gets locked out of their own apartment." I share with Glitterati that a sure fire way to rile the beast is to mention the window. She tries it. It works. These boys are nothing if not predictable in their repetition. As Clint recounts his brother's past history of idiocy, we are staring on in amusement.

C: "Why are you looking at me. Am I a clown? I am. I am a clown. I am a dick. I am an asshole. What do you think? You think we are some lost causes. My fucking brother comes in here like if he sits in a bar long enough the house will magically unlock itself."

We try again to explain that his brother has left to go meet the locksmith. This does nothing to appease his anger over all the ways his little brother has failed him. We try to distract him with new topics of conversation. Glitterati asks what he does in Charleston.

C: "I work in a resteraunt. It's simple."

We try in vain to learn more about his life, but he refuses to elaborate on his declarations that "it's simple." Clint fumbles with his phone for a few minutes. It is unclear if there is anyone on the line, and when we ask if it is Dory, he tells us that he has "not heard from that kid." We resume talking, but a couple of minutes later Clint gets a little emotional. He clutches his chest around the heart region and starts professing his love for his brother.

C: "It is like my brother is doing something. He is really trying to get the house unlocked. I thought he was going to sit here and just wait for magic, but he is really out there trying to get into his house. He isn't even breaking the window or nothing."

We have no idea what prompted the sudden realization that Dory was in fact meeting with a locksmith. He had rejected this notion the hundreds of times that we brought it up. Not willing to risk a return to his feelings of animosity, we encouraged him to pay his tab and go meet his brother at the house. There was only one explosion of anger.

Glitterati: "You have a great smile."

C: "What? Are you being sarcastic. Are you being condescending? You are a super bitch. I love bitches."

Glitterati: "You are not good at accepting compliments."

C: "Shut up."

Eventually the tab is paid and Clint departs. We sit there laughing for another 20 minutes before we leave as changed women. We swear that we are going to stop using the word asshole so liberally because it really only applies to boys who ask 80 year old women if they want a mustache ride. We promise ourselves that we will make extra copies of our house keys to distribute to friends. We reaffirm our love for our less caustic siblings. We know that in the future we will compliment people by assuring them that they are not "fully fraudulent". We make plans to use this plot line to pick up boys on our birthday. We acknowledge that 2010 has already provided us with as much laughter as all the months of 2009 combined.

Thank god those boys were pretty - their survival is dependent upon their dimples.

1 comment:

The Hearty Project said...

Wow, that made me burst into laughter several times... I think my co-workers are slightly annoyed. Whatever, they love bitches too. "Fully Fraudulent"-might have to steal that.