The Garage Story

Or, the reason I decided to start a blog.

Once upon a time, I had a close friend, Samantha. Sam was the kind of friend who rallied with you three nights in a row over Christmas break when no one else was free. She was the friend who showed up after every break-up with tequila, not ice cream. She even actively encouraged extra-relational activity at one point. She was also my roommate for a very long summer... but that's another story. If you had asked me 18 months ago, I would probably have equated her with a female version of NPH in Harold and Kumar.

And then she met Jeff at a Starbucks I think (seriously, who gets picked up buying overpriced coffee?) The short story of Jeff is that he can't wait to procreate and marry. Needless to say, after only 6 short months of dating, Sam and Jeff were cohabitating.

And the best part of moving in is... the housewarming party you get to have.

In previous instances, housewarmings among my circle of friends had an unofficial checklist:

1. Several rounds of King's cup

2. Partial nudity (often related to the previous item)

3. At least one couple would do it in the new house

and my favorite:

4. Excessive pot smoking

This time, however, was different. I showed up at 11 or so, after getting lost in what can only be described as the Labyrinth of Suburbia, to find Sam, Jeff, and perhaps 10 more couples casually drinking glasses of red wine, listening to Barry White in their newly-furnished living room.

It was like a scene from a movie. I heard a woman comment on "the lovely cornices". Several men laughed at a golf joke. There was no sign of a bong or another single person. (Ok there clearly were others... but they seemed not to notice that talking about drapes is a serious party foul). Perhaps these individuals had also gotten lost and were not in full party mode? The only solution that came to mind was to grab a drink... a stiff one.

The kitchen, however, was not well-stocked. Sam apparently had spent her gin/vodka/olive budget on marble countertops; even her staple tequila hadn't survived the shift to suburbia. Sherri, the new neighbor, offered me a glass of her homemade merlot: there's a chance that she was hoping to get me drunk before introducing me to her "very funny" coworker Dave, perhaps to rope me into joining Couple-palooza.

Sadly, in this case, funny = ugly.

And yeah, Dave was very funny under this excessively broad definition.

Dave had me cornered in minutes, as I suppose 30-ish unattractive males are accustomed to doing at these types of events. Now, I like to think of myself as a superhero sometimes--except that instead of having a Batmobile or boomerang tiara, my arsenal includes a martini and a Marlboro. Normally, I would have thrown back my drink and excused myself to refresh it... but whatever Sherri was brewing in her basement was NOT to be chugged. So instead I played the Marlboro card and went in search of Sam.

Now, a bit of background information is key right now: when Sam and I roomed together, that long summer, she was still a smoker too. We had a rule: any room with a fan could be smoked in: kitchens, bathrooms, even bedrooms if you were lucky. This rule stuck, and had been enforced in all apartments since then, even after she quit smoking entirely.

Back to the party--
I searched out Sam, hoping to drag her into the kitchen and comiserate over Dave Funny-Ugly. But then, the shock of my life: as I pulled out a lighter and cigarette, she stopped me.

"El, you can't smoke in here". Long pause.

"No really. Jeff and I want this to be our home, not some new frat house. But come with me, I'll show you where you can smoke."

The way she said "home" made me feel like she had aged 20 years over the course of finishing the sentence. I was pretty sure that neither of us had ever lived in a frat house. I'm still not even sure that frat guys are big smokers. Aren't they big on funnelling beer?

Sam took me through a side door and into the garage. "Look, there's even an ashtray! Just turn off the light when you're done and come back in!"

I could barely get out a "Thanks" and she was out the door, back to Jeff's lap. All alone in the cool garage, I knew a few things for sure:

1. That I was all alone, being singled out for being both single and smoker

2. That Sam was never going to want to do shots again, and

3. That Jeff must have been making way more than Sam led on, because I was looking at a brand new Mercedes.

In an act of defiance, I put out my cigarette on said vehicle... but not in a very visible place, because it's a sweet ride and I can't hate on that.

When I came back inside, it looked like someone had passed a new law that prevented the croch area of men's pants from being exposed. All the happy-ish couples were sitting in a circle, talking again about carpet samples and antique lamps (although, to give them credit, they were a bit more boisterous care of Sherri's home blend). I excused myself ("long drive home, have to work tomorrow morning") and set out to the car.

"Someone HAS to think this was wierd!" I exclaimed to myself. I reached for my phone, and started scrolling for a friend to share this bizarre encounter with. And that's when I realized I had no single friends any more.

So, dear reader(s?), hear my tales of woe.