Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Giving Thanks
I have one of those unfortunate dates of birth that falls near a holiday and I’ve learned over the years that it’s common for friends to skip my birthday-related functions to be with family instead. After high school, most of my friends moved out to the city, so this holiday they would all be back to town for the weekend. To celebrate, I decided to have a party. A big one.
I had one of those big water coolers filled with rum and Coke. I had a couple flats of beer. I had coolers, chips, loud music, and – what I thought was the best part – a solid number of guests coming over. My parents were out of town that weekend and had no idea that I was going to trash their house, but in all fairness, I didn’t know that second part either.
By the end of the night, the party was well out of control. There were friends of friends that had shown up, a lot that I didn’t know very well, and they were, to say the least, taking advantage of my good nature. The flats of beer disappeared, as I expected them to, but there were no empty cans anywhere. The cooler of rum and Coke was ruined with ashes and what I suspected was pubic hair. The bowls of chips were dumped on the floor, drinks were intentionally spilled, the banister going downstairs was ripped off, there was a hole punched through a wall, and there was glass broken on the kitchen floor. Even one of my mother’s antique bowls was placed out on the road filled with some clever joker’s urine.
As soon as I started catching on to what was going on in my house – because I wasn’t being as diligent as I should have been – I kicked everyone out. (It was actually the second time that I kicked them all out because the first time I was talked out of it by one of my friends, who incorrectly advised me that nothing worse was going to happen.)
I scrubbed that floor until the earliest hours of the morning, then took a nap before scrubbing some more. I washed it five times before it was nearly clean.
A year later, I saw one of the rowdier guys, Keith, at a bar, and like the fool I always was, I bought him a drink. In my mind I think I was telling him that I didn’t have any hard feelings, but now that I reflect, all I was really doing was telling him that I didn’t mind being treated like dirt. Some things never change, I guess. ¶ 1:57 PM
I had one of those big water coolers filled with rum and Coke. I had a couple flats of beer. I had coolers, chips, loud music, and – what I thought was the best part – a solid number of guests coming over. My parents were out of town that weekend and had no idea that I was going to trash their house, but in all fairness, I didn’t know that second part either.
By the end of the night, the party was well out of control. There were friends of friends that had shown up, a lot that I didn’t know very well, and they were, to say the least, taking advantage of my good nature. The flats of beer disappeared, as I expected them to, but there were no empty cans anywhere. The cooler of rum and Coke was ruined with ashes and what I suspected was pubic hair. The bowls of chips were dumped on the floor, drinks were intentionally spilled, the banister going downstairs was ripped off, there was a hole punched through a wall, and there was glass broken on the kitchen floor. Even one of my mother’s antique bowls was placed out on the road filled with some clever joker’s urine.
As soon as I started catching on to what was going on in my house – because I wasn’t being as diligent as I should have been – I kicked everyone out. (It was actually the second time that I kicked them all out because the first time I was talked out of it by one of my friends, who incorrectly advised me that nothing worse was going to happen.)
I scrubbed that floor until the earliest hours of the morning, then took a nap before scrubbing some more. I washed it five times before it was nearly clean.
A year later, I saw one of the rowdier guys, Keith, at a bar, and like the fool I always was, I bought him a drink. In my mind I think I was telling him that I didn’t have any hard feelings, but now that I reflect, all I was really doing was telling him that I didn’t mind being treated like dirt. Some things never change, I guess. ¶ 1:57 PM
