I’m such a tool.
Besides that, we had an event at work we had the option of “volunteering” for. By volunteer, I mean get paid overtime, so it’s not volunteering in the strictest sense of the word. Still, I value my Saturdays far more than what they were paying, especially to go to Sesame Place and hang around with a horde of ankle-biters. So it is a sort of diluted philanthropy on my part. Damn I’m generous. Actually, I’m a tool.
So I got up at something like 6:00 AM on a SATURDAY to haul my fatigued buttocks to work where we met at the company RV. Fortunately, I didn’t have to drive, since I got to ride in the RV. We got there, set up, blah blah blah.
The RV was to spend part time as an air-conditioned lobby for what can loosely be defined as the “talent”, a trio of musical groups including a struggling boy-band, a small-time REAL band, and a hopeless group of exceptionally hot chicks who went by “Sugar Sticks” (who left behind some sweaty dicks – I KILL me!). When I wasn’t doing other stuff, it was basically my job to act as security, making sure that the half dozen or so indifferent pre-teens didn’t rush the stage. It ranged between boring when was I standing around in the sun all day, unnerving when I realized that some of those teeny boppers checking me out, and briefly pleasurable when the Sugar Sticks took the stage. MAN they were hot. Annoying to listen to, but easy on the eyes.
All in all it was an easy day. Aside from the heat exhaustion, it wasn’t too bad. I was a little disappointed by how non-prima donna-ish the bands were. I was looking forward to having a few whiskey bottles hurled at me. Heck, the boy band sold 25 CD’s and they were thrilled. It all went pretty smoothly right up until the very end when Nickelodeon was running its final show.
That’s when it started to rain. Being the swell group that we were, we helped the Nick people pack their stuff up out of the rain. They thanked us profusely, saying that most volunteers just run away when the show’s over. Well heck, I thought, if I knew THAT was an option, I would have been gone, too! I’m such a tool.
So we drove home in the RV and got back around 9:00 PM. I went home a gratefully peeled off my wet clothes. I had made plans to hang out later, but inertia had really set in. I just couldn’t force myself to get up again. I did though, because I said I would. I ended up meeting my hang-out acquaintances just as they arrived.
Now it gets interesting. At this particular bar, there seem to always be a dozen or so bachelorette parties going on. Part of such parties is the scavenger hunt. I don’t think I was there an hour before I was accosted by a chick who needed Fruit of the Loom underwear. Fortunately, I was not wearing said brand of underwear, so I was safe. A short time later, though, one of my colleagues met a friend who was on the same or a similar hunt.
It’s truly amazing what a couple of chicks and a couple of beers can do to a guy’s psyche. They can make one do things he would never do otherwise. As you might have gathered, in short order, I was down one pair of underwear. I’m such a TOOL.
Then there was this OTHER bride-to-be with a T-shirt that was a checklist of things she had to do on her bachelorette night. The only two things left were getting a guy’s thong and slow dancing with a dork. Since I was at that time running about with an unfurnished basement, there was only one option left open to me. Unfortunately, she required some convincing that I was dorky enough to slow-dance with. I’m not sure whether it’s good that she didn’t think I qualify as a dork or pathetic that I convinced her that I was. So I got a quick slow dance, signed her shirt, and was on my merry way. I’m SUCH a tool.
I think some guy was hitting on me, too. I’m not a TOTAL tool, though. There are limits to even my tooldom, particularly if it’s a GUY trying to take advantage of it. Estrogen deadens my brain and destroys my will (much like it does to chicks), thus making me a tool. Dudes have no such effect on me. All that guy succeeded in doing was killing my mojo and getting me to flee back to my friends.
Maybe if I go there again, I’ll show a chick MY tool.
