Worst Date EVER

It was a normal day at UT. I was crossing the Quad, heading to catch a bus back to my apartment, after avoiding some class or other. I heard someone yell my first name. I didn’t pause or look around. When you are 1/500th of your Chem class and you happen to be walking through the busiest part of the campus of a large university, just because you hear a name the same as yours- doesn’t mean you stop. Then that someone shouted my full name, and with a 13-letter long last name like mine….
I scanned the crowd to see a small woman heading towards me, smiling. It was Joy- a friend from high school. Well, not my high school. I went to Catholic school and she went to public but we lived fairly close by and had went out a coupla times. She looked the same- a tiny Asian woman, pretty, no bridge to her nose, and breasts that G*d was extremely generous with.
She came up to me, hugged me, and we chatted. I had briefly lost contact with her over the summer, and had no idea she even went to UT. After a bit, she asked if I wanted to go out that night with her and some of her friends. I said “maybe” and got her number- just a formality as I intended to blow it off. We said our “see you later”s and I caught my bus.

When I got to my apartment, I relayed the events to my two roommates. They had both heard of her- although I believe my descriptions of her breasts were what they really remembered. They proceeded to goad me about my plans on canceling. I was having some troubles with my LD relationship and had been, as they put it, a “mopey lil’ bitch”. All day, they continued to pick at me, peck at me, push me. Their idea was that if I got out, I might cheer up a bit. After several, SEVERAL hours, I finally caved into the peer pressure, stating I was only going out so they would “get off my ass” about it. Seriously- I did not really feel like going but preferred it to listening to them all damn night.

I called Joy and got the time and place to meet her. I got gussied up, and drove to her place. It was a trailer park. I realize that these days, that would seem to have been my first clue that the night was off to a bad start. But this was Austin where housing was at a premium and most students had to take what they could get. I found her trailer, parked, and knocked on the door. A few moments later, the door was opened.
Was opened by an overweight peroxide blonde in a white spandex cowgirl outfit. I stood there for a moment, tilted my head slightly, and asked “uh, is Joy here?”
The “blonde” (notice I used quotes) said “oh, you must be Joy's friend. She's still gettin’ ready. C’mon in.”
I stepped inside and was immediately assaulted by the smell of dog poo. Didn’t see a dog though. As I stood in their entrance way, I saw what at first I thought to be an odd polka-dotted pattern on their tile, was actually dog shit. Dog shit all over their floor, piles on the tile as far as I could see.
The blonde turned and said, “you can c’mon in all th’ way.”
Shaking my head slightly, I said as politely as you could without breathing, “no thanks, I’m good here.”

Luckily, Joy didn’t take much longer getting ready. And the three of us piled into her compact car and drove to another section of the trailer park to pick up the rest of her friends- a set of twins and a very thin, very quiet guy. Their trailer was quite different- unusually neat and tidy, and VERY Star Trek. Everything I saw was Star Trek. The posters on the walls? Star Trek. Books on the shelves? Star Trek. Videos? Star Trek. TV’s on and playing… can you guess? Iitttt’ss Star Trek.
So now the six of us packed ourselves into Joy’s car like circus clowns. The two ladies had the front with we four guys in the back. I somehow got stuck between the twins who continued a heated debate, all the time leaning directly in front of me. Their hot topic? Which captain was better- Kirk or Picard.

The first place we stopped was the local drug dealer so they could get some coke. Just me- but I don’t like anything that involves needles or stuff going up your nose. Just me, I guess. What was interesting about their dealer was that he lived in the exact same apartment as my sister did when she first moved to Austin (she had, by that time, had several other residences). When they were at the callbox at the gate, trying to remember what apartment he was in, I asked, “that one there? 304.” Got some raised eyebrows from that.
Once their transaction was completed, they went to a head shop to buy bullets. In case you’re unaware of what bullets are in drug terms: bullets are a sort of snuff box. They look like lighters and when you flick the switch, they shoot a small amount of “snuff” straight up. They filled them and used them, all the time I’m politely sarcasming, “no thanks, I had some glue before I left.”

We then proceeded to 6th Street. Although I was/am not a bar or club person by nature, everyone knows all the good bars and clubs in Austin are on 6th Street. So basically, I had no idea what any of these places would be like. They headed off with me following, and went into a small-ish club. Stone Temple Pilots blared from the speakers at a volume just shy of being able to rend chrome steel. So loud, in fact, the vibrations worked loose the 2-inch support screws of a piece of framed art the size of a dining table for 8, and it came crashing down behind us.
These were the days of early alternative, and grunge was in full swing. Everyone was wearing black and somewhat smelled. Frankly, I kinda liked it. Loud, good music. Nobody was talking because being social wasn’t cool. Everybody just sitting back, drinking, wearing black, and being dicks. Perfect club for the antisocial.
There was a small, raised stage next to the side of the bar I was at, gated off by a railing and occupied by a lone wooden chair. After a time, two very yummy women came out- wearing very little. I thought, “hey- gogo dancers!” And my night got a little bit better. Then a guy, even more scantily clad, came out and the ladies then tied him to the chair and began whipping him. Turns out this was not a grunge bar, but rather an S&M club and this was their nightly performance piece.
“When in Rome,” I thought and leaned back to enjoy the show.
Directly between me and the stage was an older couple (early 40s at best) at a table. The woman was wearing something black and stretchy and she really shouldn’t have been, and I recall the man was wearing a dog collar that included tags. They seemed to be enjoying the show also. Too much so. They began making out and more- quickly moving from 1st base, skipping 2nd altogether, and rounding 3rd. There’s little more unappealing to me then watching old, unfit, unattractive people having bad sex in front of me. I literally held my left hand in front of my face- blocking them out while still allowing me to view the goings-on on the stage.
Halfway into the show (either one), Joy came up and said they were ready to go.

Again we shoe-horned into her car, and they drove around a bit more. Parking next to a vacant lot, they did more blow- again offering me some. The “blonde” stated I was making her nervous by not accepting. I only shrugged at this.
We walked through the vacant lot to out next destination.

In hindsight, I now realize the five were deliberately herding me against the wall of the club, blocking me from seeing the name on the marquee. When we rounded the corner and reached to the bouncers, the quiet, thin guy (by this time, I had almost forgot he was there) squealed SQUEALED and launched himself bodily at/on one of the male bouncers, knocking him onto a table, where they had a very energetic make-out session.
I stood, blinking, at this. “Well, this is college,” I thought.
Once inside the club, I noted that everyone had lined up behind me, making an arrowhead formation. They began moving me towards a crowd near the back of the club. Having no control over the four people (one was still enjoying his evening with the bouncer) pushing me, I could only apologize to people as I bumped into them. They keep pushing me through the crowd, until I broke though to the other side.
To get hit in the face by a gold lame thong immediately formerly worn by a short, round, Puerto Rican man. The club was called Oil Can Harry’s: a gay club and it was amateur strip night. The look that passed my face was said to have contained shock, dismay, revulsion, panic, and up near one of the corners- a little more shock. All occurring at the same time.
I looked down to realize the gold lame thong on gotten caught on one of the buttons of my shirt. More shock. Without taking my eyes off the gold lame thong, I grabbed the straw out of the person next to me’s drink. I didn’t know the person, and didn’t care. I proceeded to make several attempts to remove the gold lame thong, eventually snagged it with the straw and shakingly offered it back to the stripper who winked and whispered “thanks, sweetie.”
“TIME FOR A DRINK,” I said far too loudly to no one in particular and anyone who would listen. I did a prompt about-face and a beeline for the bar. My ass was grabbed twice on my way there; I did not look around to see who did it.
I plunked myself down at the bar and ordered “whatever you have that doesn’t come with fruit or umbrellas”. I was given a martini. I spent the rest of the night on my swivel barstool, twisting back and forth- giving them a moving target.
After too long, Joy wandered up- her pupils engulfing the rest of her eyes. “Are you not having fun,” she slurred.
I did not respond with words but with a look that could melt granite. Despite her drug haze, she got the idea, gathered up her friends, we loaded into her tin car again, and headed back to the trailer park.

I made certain to get a door seat this time, and was in my car before hers came to a complete stop. On my way back to my apartment, my shell-shocked, not entirely sober mind kept replaying the “highlights” of the night. It also began searching for why the hell I went out in the first place.
The guys. My roommates. They talked me into it. This was their fault. Those bastards!

I peeled to a stop in my parking lot. Once inside, I went to their room (there were three of us in a two bedroom apartment: they shared the large bedroom and I had the small one) kicked- literally, kicked their door in. They bolted straight upright in their beds, instantly awake.
What occurred next had to be related to me, as I have no clear memory of it- only this sort of red haze. I began shouting in what they described as “tongues”- few recognizable words, mostly only garbled sounds.
“YOUBASTARDS-ILLYOU-GRRR-WOOHAW-GEEZITS-FUCK-IMA-ANDTHEN-SONOVA- RINGGIN- GOLD LAME THONG- YOU-ARRRGGHHH!!!" Etc. For about seven minutes.
Eventually, I calmed down (well, I think I was actually hyperventilating) and they were able to get the whole story from me. Didn’t help that they were laughing most of the time.

What was funny to me about all this was that one of my roommates would use this story and other personal Dramas from my life to pick up women at parties.
I had heard more than one proclaim to him, “oh you are SO funny to make up stories like that!”