I told you I was going to get around to reader requests, didn’t I? Did you doubt me?? Well that’s OK, I’m kind of a flake, I’m not offended. Anyway, here is my attempt at Lydia’s request for a semi-fictionalized semi-funny account of a real event. Except, it turns out it’s not really terribly fictional, and probably only funny to me.
When I was 18, I moved out* of the dorms at my college and into an apartment with a friend from high school and her boyfriend. We immediately set about rigging free cable, making friends with all our shady/party animal neighbors, and generally turning the place into a pigsty.
We became particularly good friends with the boys who lived a few doors down – A1 and C*. We hung out all the time in each others’ apartments, (doors wide open to be sure as many random bugs as possible took up residence in our kitchens) and generally behaved as if we all lived in one giant suite.
As it so happened (and is, freakishly, often still the case), I was the only one of the bunch with a remotely serviceable vehicle. As such, I was pretty damn popular among this and many other cliques in college. One day, C wandered into my living room. I looked up to greet him and he said, “Hey! Can we borrow your car to go to the grocery store?”
Let me tell you a bit more about C, who I’d known for oh, say, two months at this point. He was a dreadlocked stoner who smelled funny – all OK in my book, but not the sort I’d want operating the most expensive thing I owned and my only way to get back and forth to school and work. (It’s probably also of note that I was the only person in this crew with a job.)
Me: “Uhhh. No, not right now. I’m busy.”
C: “Why not? I’d pick up some stuff for you guys too.”
Me: “Well…” ::casting about desperately for a reason why he can’t borrow it, other than I don’t fully trust him:: “Well I have a rule, see. No one is allowed to drive my car but me.”
C: “Well that’s OK… if you like RULES, mannnn….” ::wanders off in a huff::
Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahaha. I still crack up whenever I replay this scene in my head. “If you like RULES, man….” I love it. I wonder what has become of dear C. Who later, when I was dating A1, got mad at A1 for letting me use C’s bath towel, as it violated his rules of sanitation (I must have posed a very imminent threat, what with my daily showers and safe food handling practices). If you like RULES, myannn… Ohhh the glory days, how I don’t miss them a bit.
*If by “move out” you mean “was kicked out due to general shenanigans” then this statement is accurate.
**Bonus points if you recognize the A1 pseudonym/acronym from other parts of this bloggie