Wednesday night, "Ladies Night", at Bucks (the bar in town you go to if you're into hanging out in large crowds, not being able to have any conversations due to very loud rap music, and like watching your average North Dakotan pretend they know how to dance to said music) my buddy texted me at 12:40 AM, just about the time bars close around here, with a text that said "This is the worst night of my life.." I replied with a "really..?" because, if you know this guy, there's no way he can top other worst nights of his life. For the remainder of this story, I'll refer to him as Keith, to protect his identity.
(I'll give a good history of things Keith has done that probably can't equate to him deciding he can still have worse nights than what he's already been through)
Keith, since he moved to Bismarck in 4th grade, has always been an on-again off-again friend. He's a great guy, always well-meaning, but usually doesn't think before saying something, or just generally doesn't realize what it is he's actually doing. For instance, in 4th grade, we had a school-wide talent show the 2nd week that he attended the school. Keith, wearing the same oversized Barry Sanders jersey and sweatpants, decides that he wants to sing "Cheap Seats" by Alabama, a decent country song. Once he gets up in front of everyone, he freezes. His huge glasses are falling off of his face, his hair looking grungy, and he tells the assembly that he's going to sing his favorite song, one he learned on the 12 hour road trip coming to Bismarck from a land far away, Kingsford, whose mascot was apparently the "Flivvers", according to the non-Barry Sanders shirt he wouldwear to school. Mrs. Huovinen, the 4th grade teacher, hits the play button on the tape player and Keith starts "singing". Singing is not really the word for it, but it's more like following along with the tape to a song no one's ever heard, occasionally singing the chorus and a couple words he remembers while tapping his foot. Extremely embarassing for him, as when he sat down, the whole school found out who the new kid was: a Lions loving, country music singing, 4'6", 80 pound 4th grader with glasses over half the size of his sickly "monkey" looking head. Monkey was his nickname (given not by me, but by the 6th grader) because in 4th grade he honestly did not look as evolved as the rest of us.
My parents, upon meeting him, decided he looked like this kid, from the Little Giants, and were not far off..
Going through a few years of this, and developing a little guy against the world attitude, he went on to eventually get some girlfriends, though none from our schools, but usually rather from a small surrounding town with girls not knowing of his previous prowess. He then started cruising Main, where he didn't really have to meet girls, just drive next to them and get a number, which would inevitably mean they would soon hang out. One of these girls, Crystal,now a waitress at Paradiso, led to a huge moment for Keith. While watching what I presume is the 1999 version of the Notebook on his parents leather couch, Keith performed his crowning achievement up this point in his life, and let everyone know about it, via telephone calls, instant message conversations, you name it. HE DF'D A GIRL. I had never heard of this phrase, but he explained to me and probably thousands around the world, that it meant he and this girl had dry humped. To hear his excitement was amazing!
In sophomore year of high school, me and Keith both played football. Neither of us were very good, but we got playing time on the team. One game, I believe it was against a Class B school's varsity team, was played at the Bismarck Community Bowl, which was relatively new and required special turf shoes, not our normal cleats. Keith didn't have these shoes and didn't want to buy them for this one game. HUGE mistake. It was raining out and the turf was slick. I played Left Tackle on offense, and on the sideline to watch the biggest play of Keith's sports career. Keith, a 5'7", 150-pound cornerback, was backpedaling when the quarterback threw up a terrible pass to a receiver that already slipped about 5 yards prior to the spot the ball was thrown. Keith hadn't slipped however, and had to take maybe one step to the right for the ball, which looked like a punt at this point, to fall into his arms and return the interception for a 75-yard Touchdown. While taking this one step however, Keith slipped, didn't intercept the ball, didn't take it to the house for a touchdown, and didn't prove to be the game-winning hero, basically ending his high school sports career. Also, just an update, this is what Keith looks like now:
Keith, however, still played unorganized football, which we did in high school quite a bit. It would consist of 7-10 of us getting together, grabbing a glow in the dark football, and and playing until too many guys got hurt. One night, when we got enough guys, we planned to go out to Keith's house and play before drinking that night because his parents were out of town. Two of us stopped to get the beer, from Lander's, a local convenience store, and the other two, including Keith, stopped at Pizza Hut, where Keith worked, to get some pizza. While we're in the parking lot waiting for beer, the guy with Keith, Travis, called and told us "Keith shit his pants". We didn't believe it, but he seriously shit his pants. Travis drove Keith home, about 15 minutes out of town, in December, so windows couldn't be rolled down, with the scent of shit and pepperoni pizza wafting through the car. Once Keith got done changing pants and such, we did end up playing football. Keith still gets made fun of for the time he shit his pants, but no one's really sure what/why/how he did it.
Now, for the most recent, and earlier briefly described gaffe, in Keith's long career. Wednesday night, when Keith texted me, he told me about how it was the worst night of his life, which you can obviously imagine would leave me shocked because, of my friends, he's probably had the worst life. Once I replied to his worst night ever text and he didn't immediately text back, I decided to call him in case he got a DUI or something, as this, in pizza delivery career, would make for a possible worst night ever text. As he picked up the phone, he was saying "F*** YOU!!" to whoever he was with so I wasn't sure what to expect. Once he actually answered, I asked him what was going on.
Keith told me he just got done grinding with a transsexual. I didn't really know what to say, but if you're dancing too close to a transsexual, I'd assume you would know. He didn't. Once he got off the dance floor, the guy he was with, Hands, told him that a whole bunch of people were laughing because Keith was getting freaky with she-male in the middle of the bar. Keith was pissed beyond belief that nobody had told him, as now people were looking at the short sweaty kid that just got done embarrassing himself dancing with a guy that looked so much like a girl that Keith would actually dance with him (Not that this takes much, because Keith's choice in women usually ranges from Down Syndrome to ugly, with a couple hot chicks mixed in). This probably was the worst night of his life, and I feel bad for him. On the bright side, it does make me laugh and gave me the opportunity to write for the first 3 hours of my day, killing time at my new job.
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