Pathetic and somewhat horrific true story.
I loved the classes because I already had good study habits, but the professors, as well as the material were way more interesting. I breezed through the first three years partying my brains out, but during the fall of my senior year I began to wonder just what the hell I was supposed to do when I graduated.
Corporate representatives had been interviewing the next batch of seniors getting ready to graduate. After lunch, I would scan the list to see if there was anything that looked even mildly interesting. The only thing left were insurance companies which only seemed to present this picture of Woody Allen in "Take the Money and Run", climbing down into a pit, forced to listen to an insurance salesman for some prison violation.
I didn't mind dressing up in a suit and tie. It was occasionally required attire at a number of social events, but the thought of doing this repeatedly for the next 30 or 40 years was not something that appealed to me. I had been working part time doing odd jobs here and there. There was a job board in the center of campus which I would quite regularly consult for some mad money.
After three and a half years I was already taking some and investing it. The previous month I had made over $2k, and realized that I would rather stick with the variety of opportunities available than selling insurance for the next few decades; which reminds me of a story:
On occasion I would see this guy Ron at a bartending or moving job. We didn't run with the same crowd, but after a while I began to hang with him and his friends from the City. They had all grown up in the City and were quite the cast of characters. I wasn't one of them, but I would hang out with them from time to time.
With one semester to go before graduation I didn't see any point in continuing on and dropped out. I still had lots of free time, and when graduation arrived I decided to run out to the campus and congratulate all of my friends on their accomplishments as well as wish them the best in their future careers. As I made my way around the campus crashing each graduation party, someone would catch my eye and whisper the latest gossip. As it turns out this one was a splendid example to finish off the school year.
By the time I made it over to Ron's townhouse, things were really starting to pick up. The living room was packed with parents, siblings and friends. I congratulated a few people and after a short interval I asked where Ron was hiding. They said he was in his room. After knocking on the door and being admitted, I asked him why he was hiding out. He had an embarrassed smile on his face and asked if I hadn't heard the rumor. I feigned ignorance because I always enjoyed a good story, and wanted to hear his version.
He had hooked up with a black woman the previous evening at the local tavern, brought her back to his place and had some somewhat drunk sexual relations with her. This was the basic story that had been making its way around the campus that day. It was big news and seemed to almost eclipse the graduation celebrations.
I asked, "So why are you hanging out here all alone?" He looked at me almost apologetically and said, "She dried up. I had to pull out and jerk off". He hadn't told anyone. He was embarrassed at this insult to his masculinity. I was oblivious as I'm quite sure most of the other guys would have been at this revelation. Being able to say they had made it with a Negress was no small thing, and It wasn't every day one encountered someone who had been lucky enough to have sexual congress with one.
Just then there was a knock at his door. He opened it, and in walked what I assumed was his father. "There he is!", he exclaimed with a beaming smile on his face. "Atta boy Ron, that's my boy!" He then put his arm around him and rubbed his side against Ron's, saying, "Is there some way I might be able to get some of that to rub off on me"? He was of course, referring to Ron's conquest the night before. Ron took it all in stride and there was a lot of laughing and reminiscing.
About five or six years later after doing some traveling, I looked Ron up. He was living about a mile from Candlestick Park with some of the same guys from college. I stopped by and as we sipped on drinks and got caught up, someone suggested an adventure. "Who's up for a trip over to the headlands?", and almost in an effort to sweeten the deal, he added "I've got some really good mescaline".
I hadn't done any psychedelics in quite a while, and I was ambivalent about tripping over to Marin. A designated driver was elected and we piled into Ferris' old Dodge. Ferris had worked for a machine shop and had a quite nice and horrifically fast 68 or 69 Firebird. It was the one with the tachometer protruding from the engine compartment in front of the windshield. However, this evening he was driving some old two door green Dodge which we all piled into after downing our drinks with the mescaline chaser.
As we climbed around the old battery like a bunch of little kids who have skipped dinner and are well on their way to getting into trouble, we burned a joint and contemplated our next move. Pier 39 was to be the next stop, and while in one of the many shops, I noticed a woman's legs looked quite strange, and thought the others might find it interesting as well. I considered alerting them to this fascinating spectacle, but then realized that I was actually verbalizing what I thought I was thinking.
She was embarrassed and the guys were rolling their eyes at my indiscretion. A few other stops and after a lively discussion I found that a point I wanted to make had gotten lost somewhere. It was important that I find it and share it with my companions, but walking and thinking were becoming impossible to do simultaneously.
Ferris then suggested that we take a ride over to South San Francisco and see Ron's parents. At this suggestion, I found my voice and immediately pointed out that this was not a good idea. I pointed out that I had already made a fool of myself a few times, and I could tell that I was nowhere near ready to engage in polite conversation with Ron's parents. I was sure I would blow it. They told me to stop tripping, and reassured me that everything would be fine. "Just say something nice and then be quiet. It will be fine", they reassured me. At this point I had regressed to an infant scolded for drooling on my new shirt and filling my diaper after just having it changed. Stop tripping? What were they thinking?
We drove up into the old development. The homes and yards were meticulously neat and manicured. It was probably initially a middle class development, but over the years one needed to be quite well off to afford a piece of this real estate. It was just a mile or so from the ocean, and the climate was quite pleasant. Most, if not all the homes were built over their garages, and as we ascended the stairs to his parent's front door, Ron opened the door and we made our introductions.
After being offered a beer I complimented them on their nice home and placed the beer next to my chest, nursing it in an effort to make it last until it was time to leave. We probably weren't there for more than an hour before it was decided that we would be on our way. I again complimented them on their nice home, and thanked them for their hospitality. The sun had set and it had gotten dark during our visit. As we piled into what was now a white sedan that Ron was driving, I wondered what had happened to the green Dodge we were riding around in, and wondered if this was even Ron's car.
I was sitting in the back seat behind Ron, the windows were all rolled down as Ron talked with his father, his mother had gone back into the house. There were a few last short stories to tell and then Ron's father looked at me, addressed me by name and while reaching in to shake my hand, said, "It was very nice to meet you".
On the surface this wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but somewhere in the recesses of my mind there was a clerk frantically fumbling through my memory looking for a certain set of facts that established that we were not recent acquaintances, but had long been acquainted.
"Well actually we already met quite some time ago.", I interjected. "It was at graduation, don't you remember? It was right after Ron fucked that black chic", I replied, eagerly inspecting his face for that look of recognition.
Ferris' head dropped as he slapped it. Ron's father released his grip on my hand and pulled his arm from the rear window. He had a confused look on his face. and looked at his son in the front seat. Ron's only response was to point out that it was Ferris' father, that I had met at graduation.
(?)
(Huh?)
(Uh, oh.)
I simultaneously wiped and slurped some drool from the corners of my mouth.
I was sure the man I had just shook hands with looked like the same man who had been razzing Ron after graduation in his room, but the sound of jaws dropping and sighs of disgust from throughout the car hit their mark as the reality of what had just happened began to slowly sink in.
Pathetic and somewhat horrific, but true story.