There’s nothing like seeing an old friend and calling her by the wrong name. No, no, let me rephrase that. There’s nothing like loudly introducing your co-worker to an old friend, calling her by the wrong name, laughing hysterically, and then blanking for three minutes while trying to recover. Are you kidding me? There is no recovery from that, especially when you’ve been drinking for six hours. Tailgates are always a mess. I stumbled away in shame.
Who thought of tailgating, anyways? What alcoholic decided to wake up at 7am Saturday morning for a 3pm game, and said, “Well, the game starts in eight hours, I better start drinking.” A genius, that’s who. Tailgating is possibly one of my favorite activities. It’s a perfectly logical excuse to drink in the middle of the day in the middle of a big parking lot. Get yourself a grill and a folding chair and you’re set.
Saturday morning started off pretty well. I was chilling in the parking lot in my awesome folding chair (with fancy attachable leg rest) staking out my tailgating spaces. It was my job to hold several spaces for my co-workers, who happened to be a couple hours late. Assholes. It was pretty early, so the parking lot was only a quarter full. Here I am, blond chick, sitting all by herself in an empty parking lot in a folding chair next to a grill and a table full of food. I’m so badass I can’t even stand it.
The parking lot started to fill up, my friends eventually arrived, and the tailgate properly commenced. Twelve hours later I had missed the game (I never bothered to get a ticket, anyway) and I was regretting all those burnt hot dogs I had consumed. Somehow I made it through another tailgate without embarrassing myself too badly (sorry A-Wo if you’re reading this) and with all my possessions and integrity intact.
3 comments:
time check
Post a Comment