The other day I came across a campus tour, and decided to lend a hand. I grabbed a red-shirt, found a gaggle of touristy looking kids and lead them on, what I like to call, Dan's Tour of the UW Campus, and its Auxiliary Bars, Head Shops and Porn Stores in Driving Distance.
I didn't really know much about the history of the campus, nor did I really know where the Chem building was. But I did teach them valuable lessons on what bars had the best drink specials, where you could score coke, and how to spot a coastie.
A lot of the kids didn't really seem to enjoy my lessons, and those kids were nerds, so I didn't care. What I did care about was this nubile looking brunette who kept giving me the doe eyes. I figured the best way into her pa... heart... was by losing the rest of the jerk-offs on the tour, and getting her drunk. Very drunk.
I couldn't get her drunk right away, since as you recall, I had a bunch of incoming freshmen to contend with. They started asking me all sorts of lame ass questions about the library, and the professors, and where John Muir's dorm was. Maybe they were just interested in the school they were going to go to in a few months, or they were trying to get between me and the nubile brunette.
I decided the best way to shut the tour group up, and get distract them while I went to my car and banged the brunette, was to take them to a bar, and get them hammered.
Sounds easy, right? Wrong. These kids must have been from out of state, because right before they entered the bar they hesitated. Classic newbie move. When you're going into a bar, and you're underage, you should never hesitate. That's a sure way to get carded. Thankfully it was a campus bar, so no one cared.
I knew that these kids had probably never touched a drop of booze in their life, so I bought the first round for all of them. One pitcher of Schlitz, and a for the lady I ordered a Bastard on the Beach. If you're unfamiliar with Bastard on the Beach, look it up. http://hubpages.com/hub/five-most-alcoholic-drinks
I knew this girl would be all over me by stage two, The Dying Bastard, so I tried my best to separate myself and the girl from the tour group. It was going just fine until this walking Aeropostale ad comes over and starts telling me how awesome I am.
Now, I love me some compliments, but not when they get in the way of me taking advantage of a naive 18 year old. No sir. That is number one on my list of pet peeves, followed closely by girls that say "no".
But this kid isn't leaving, and he's coming dangerously close to my prey. It's about there that my Columbo investigatory skills pick up on what's going down. This kid is her boyfriend.
No matter, I say to myself, you've wormed your way into tighter positions. It's just a high school romance, their love isn't real. Besides, the pickings are still easy. Sure the younger guy may have been there for her when she got her first abortion, and sure he may still have hope in humanity, but I'm no slough. I have a car, a backseat, I can buy booze, and I have a cooler life than they could ever dream.
So I do what I had to do. I bought the guy a pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea, and pointed him towards the sluttiest girl in the tour. Thank God for rum, because the kid started taking some sips, and before any of us knew it he was talking about the Porsche his daddy bought him for graduation.
God damn it, a Porsche? All I got for graduation was a Wal-Mart gift card for $3.50.
There I was alone with this girl. Then I realized she drank all of the Bastard on the Beach. She was lights out, slurring, purring, and just about everywhere. Then she uttered the words every guy like me hates to hear, "w-where's my b-boyfriend?"
"Cheating on you in the alleyway."
"That prick, his daddy bought h-him a Porsche, y-you know?"
"Well, I bought myself a Milan. Want to see it..."