So I'm out with this girl who I have no business being out with. I'm running my game like only Vinny Mic can-which is to say I'm drinking shots and feeding as much alcohol to my date as possible. We start off with a fancy dinner at Applebees. The conversation is flowing, the date is going great, and we're getting along nicely. After dinner, we hit this bar where a terrific band is playing, we continue to have some laughs and do some shots and there's no doubt in my mind that I'm getting laid that night. No doubt.
As the night progressed, and I became more inebriated, I realized...."Oh shit, I'm about to say or do something completely retarded", (it's ok, I have a retarded brother), so I start to panic. Believe me, I've ruined many a chance with women in the past mirroring this exact scenario.
In my tequila soaked brain, I made the only decision that would save the night, or so I thought. Hot chick, who was now becoming increasingly flirtatious, excused herself and went to the restroom at this very busy bar. I executed the only game plan that I thought would salvage my chances at a later date. I left. No goodbye, no nothing. I just snuck out and left her there. (Don't worry, she drove herself, so she wasn't completely abandoned.)
As I exited, I ran into a young black chap in the parking lot who was completely freaking out. (I'm not racist, mostly, but the fact that the kid was black is an integral part of the story...bare with me, ok?) Anyways, the dude is yelling and screaming something about a ride or being abandoned because his friends took off without him or some such shit. I was blasted so I forget exactly what the hell he was screaming about. First of all, I kind of laughed a bit at the irony that I, myself, just ditched MY hot lady friend no more than 30 seconds ago.
Normally, I would not have given a shit about this poor soul. I would have entered my Audi A8, (pause for laughter), driven off, and honestly not cared about whether or not this crackhead made it home or not. Shit, to be honest, I would not have really cared if the dude lived or died. In my drunken state, I elected to not ignore the situation, but to engage the situation dead on.
I walked up to my soon-to-be new friend and attempted to diffuse the situation. "Whoa, whoa! What seems to be the problem, citizen?" Crackhead looked at me, his pupils the size of half dollars, with a sense of disbelief that my white ass even approached him in the first place. "Man, my friends left without me...I gotta get home and I'm stuck here!" My first thoughts-taxi cab? cell phone? fucking jog? He obviously had crack super powers and the energy to get home by foot.
"You're in luck my friend, I happen to be heading in the same direction...hop in bud!"
After offering to suck my dick, (not true) Crackhead called across the parking lot to his 300 pound, white-trash girlfriend. "Yo boo, we got a ride!!" His excitement was palpable. Though I felt at the time happy to help my fellow man in need, a sharp panic crept into my soul when I saw this tank begin to walk towards my car. Crackhead hopped in the front seat and his girlfriend opened the rear passenger door. She placed a large piece of plastic on the back seat, and settled in for what was sure to be the most interesting ride home in history. I still don't know what the plastic was for. Did she shit her pants? Fall in mud? It's a mystery to this day.
As soon as I fired up the Audi, Creedance Clearwater Rivival began blaring from my c.d. player. Yes, I still listen to c.d.'s. I quickly reached for the stereo, embarrassed by my whiteness, and turned it to a rap channel, not wanting to freak out Crackhead any further. We began our journey to our destination, making small talk as we departed the parking lot.
Now the only way I knew to get to Crackhead's house, was through a rural, wooded area. Out of nowhere, over the snoring of the Tank in the backseat, who was now passed out, Crackhead turned to me, terror in his silver dollar eyes, and asked, dead serious...."Hey man, this is some backwoods shit, you gonna jack us?"
After processing this ridiculous question, I retorted, "Nah dude, are you gonna jack me?"
"Why, cause I'm black?"
"NO! You just seem like the kinda dude that might be carrying a weapon of some kind."
Crackhead paused for a minute, stared at me, and proclaimed, "Man...you're a fucking racist." I couldn't help but laugh and told him. "Buddy, if I was racist, you sure as shit would not be in my car right now and you'd still be bugging out in the bar parking lot." Understanding that my logic held up, Crackhead nodded and said, "Ya know what....I'm just kidding you cracker motherfucker, hahahahaha!"
This is the point where I started to realize that I just left an incredibly attractive girl at a bar, without saying anything, in order to go completely out of my way to drive this maniac home. The good news, I made it alive and without getting shanked, there was no shit stain on my back seat, and I even made $4 that backseat Tank crumpled up and threw into the front seat before they both exited at Crackhead's shack, never to be heard from again.
After gathering my composure, I checked my phone and realized I had three angry texts. "Where the fuck did u go?" "Did u get sick?" "Call me 2morrow and let me know you made it home, k?...I can't believe you took off w/o saying anything!!"
What I took from the texts? "Nice! She wants me to call her tomorrow!"
As it turns out, it didn't work out between us.
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