Once more, in keeping with the spirit of Valentine’s Day, today’s entry will look at a tale of love gone wrong on the road.
My recent trip to Columbus was doomed from the start. After receiving a cancellation from my friend (who’s boss threatened to fire her for even dreaming of taking Boxing Day off), I was at a loss to find a replacement so last minute, and at the height of the holiday season. I’ve realized now that in a lot of the American markets, it is very difficult to sell extra tickets. It’s not like Toronto wherein the worst seats will still induce heated bidding wars! So, I decided to brainstorm the best way to make use of this extra seat. I was feeling amorous, so the most enticing idea was to find and lure a hot boy that would otherwise be way out of my league at home and take him to the game. I was on a mission!
And that mission was surprisingly easy! My biggest fear was that Columbus would be a bit of a dog park (like certain other destinations that shall remain nameless), but low and behold, my waiter at dinner was definite eye candy. He had one of those movie star smiles. So, I asked him out (in a roundabout way) to hang out after his shift. He told me his shift ended at midnight, and I agreed to meet him back there at that time. However, just as I was leaving he dropped a major bomb that I should have taken as a clue to walk away and not come back. He referred to himself as a student, which seemed fine at first, but then I realized that “students” everywhere but U of T are no older than 21! He was a baby!!
I went back to my room to check in on the Flyers/Blackhawks game that was in progress in Chicago and had a bit of a laugh over their travelling problems that day *tee hee* – welcome to my world, boys! Anyway, so the clock struck midnight and I went back to junior’s place of employment. He wasn’t alone now. His “ride” also known as his “housemate” was there (who was also cute). Apparently, this favourite bar of his was actually close to their house, which was not walking distance from there – I kept forgetting that four miles wasn’t the same as four kilometres!
So, now I’m getting into a car with two strange boys that I don’t know. You know those girls that turn up murdered because they were hitchhiking and got picked up by strange men. Yeah, that would be me. During this five minute car ride, both boys felt that they should partake in a couple beers and a bit of the wacky tobaccy! Yes, they couldn’t wait five minutes until they got home! Luckily, the window was open and my hair didn’t get ruined. My whole hockey life started to flash before my eyes. I knew all too well what would happen to me if these guys were to get pulled over!
I was out for dinner the night before one of the Flyers games in Toronto last season. There was this odd couple sitting next to us. The woman was one of those sweet-looking, closeted little things, and the guy was this big grotesque beast that was trying to splash his money around as a way to come off as a total high roller. His conversation turned to his love for New York City (big surprise), to which the woman began the harrowing story behind her inability to legally enter the States. Apparently, on a road trip with friends (by the way, the tables were really close together I wasn’t trying to eaves drop), a routine car search turned ugly when one of the passengers was revealed to be carrying a “thumbnail” size amount of hash. All of the passengers were banned from crossing the border. Much to the distress of her (clearly) lavalife date, he wouldn’t be able to further his big pimpin’ spree by offering to show her the bright lights of Broadway from the comfort of his private jet.
From the back seat of the only car I have ever seen dirtier than mine, this story began to play back in my mind over and over and over again. I wasn’t worried so much about prison; my major concern was the status of my passport! What would I, the psycho hockey addict, do if I couldn’t cross the border on a biweekly basis? I wouldn’t even be able to go to hockey games in Buffalo! I’d be limited to six regular season Flyers games a year! That’s just unacceptable. I would die a thousand slow painful deaths! I started examining the handles on the door of the car trying to formulate some type of escape tactic, but then the vehicle came to a halt and we were home safe. Well safe enough. I still had to deal with the two infants.
Their house was like every frat house I have ever seen (except Delta Upsilon –Toronto), and this alleged awesome bar was totally dead! After playing a couple courtesy rounds of pool (which revealed all kinds of horrific truths, such as, “I was born in 1987!” – he was a “hockey player” too, by the way), I made my escape. It wasn’t easy they were trying to lure me with promises of golfing (real golfing) the next day, and I got that extremely close lean in that guys do that is practically impossible to resist. Ahh! Hockey…must…think…hockey. I couldn’t run the risk of travelling around in a car with open booze and narcotics, so I got in my cab (after declining the offer to crash at their place where an inevitable gang bang would have ensued) and headed back to my hotel – alone.
The next day, I sold my extra ticket to a scalper for a measly twenty bucks! I was told if I didn’t like that to “call my husband!” Anyway, after the Flyers had their asses handed to them by the Blue Jackets, I headed out for a walk down High Street. About three blocks away from the Arena District, High St. becomes really shady, like Market and 22nd (Philadelphia) shady. Every guy I passed was trying to pick me up in a way that came across as menacing. Finally I decided to turn around and head home before I started flipping off every car that stopped to talk to me. While I was waiting for the lights to change, another guy stopped because he wanted to take me out. (I’m sorry but do girls ever say yes to these guys?) I told him I wasn’t from there, and he said “Yeah, your accent sounds Russian or something.” Uhhh, you mean, Canadian?
Back at my hotel room I pranced around in my underwear feeling sorry for myself that I was the only one who got to see it. The next day I went home to start the countdown to my next adventure.
[...] This is why you don’t get into cars with strange boys. Date: February 13, 2009 Highlight: From the back seat of the only car I have ever seen dirtier than [...]
[...] I was noticing between my trip to Columbus last season, and my first night in St. Louis. I even noticed the same restaurant I picked up that boy in last season…you remember…how I learn… Anyway, I noticed myself in the same mindset while I was having dinner. I was sitting there trying [...]