With some clever planning, The Wingman and I were determined to make Toronto 3 even better than Toronto 2. We decided to head up on a Thursday rather than a Friday in order to have the extra night to go out, as Sunday nights are just not that eventful anywhere. I arrange through work to obtain a loaner phone, seeing the value of being able to call someone while in a strange town, but also seeing the greater value of being able to dispose of the phone once the trip was over. The true measure of a person is their ability to learn from their mistakes. The journey is slightly delayed due to a chaotic morning routine getting the boys ready for daycare. I return from the drop off and hit the road with Bob. The car ride is uneventful except for a phone call in which I arrange for beer to be delivered to our hotel in time for our check in. This not only sets the tone of the trip, but also asserts me as the Mack Daddy or Daddy Mack if you will, of the group. Nothing like calling in favors owed. The only other significant occurrence on the ride out is we developed 3 lines that we were going to try to work in to a conversation (inspired again by the Scare a Skank story) that we have determined will rid us of any women that we come across.
1. “You speak French? Interesting. How do you say ‘Yes, that is my semen, but she was dead when I got here.’”
2. “That’s funny, cows are normally known for their docile behavior.” (The Wingman wanted this one, he has issues with another buddy’s baby mama that he needs to work out.)
3. Last but not least, though this one was going to take a set up, we thought it was worth it. Bob would get them to ask me if I worked out or if I played any sports and I’d respond with: “Well I used to wrestle a little bit in college. They used to call me the Tyranical Teabagger. Why, do you work out/play any sports?”
Yes, we know we are very bad people. We also came up with a safe word in order to identify to one another when we think the situation has turned and we need to make a hasty exit. Any good dominatrix will tell you that you need a safe word, ours was ‘poodle.’
So we arrive finally at the hotel and there are 4 very attractive business women outside of the entrance talking and we immediately make eye contact. I’m dressed in gym shorts and athletic cut t shirt to show off the guns (they’ll getcha) but I’m convinced this is to my advantage. My casual ‘don’t give a fuck’ manner of dress will make them find me mysterious and intriguing. I really am a genius. I step out of the car, reach into the back seat and once I raise my arm I realize I forgot to put on deodorant this morning. I am a genius, a retarded genius. Once I raise my arms, the seal is broken and you can smell me from 6 feet away. I am horrid. The Wingman is repulsed, and refuses to let me stand near him even though the uber hot receptionist at the check in desk thinks I’m a riot.
We get up to the room and I immediately get ready to shower, only to realize I not only forgot to put on deodorant this morning, I also forgot to pack it. Maybe retarded genius is giving me too much credit. After a 2 mile walk to find deodorant because I refused to pay $7 for a stick at the hotel gift shop, I settle for a nice $6 stick from some deli 6 blocks away, not realizing we were right next to a mall. I’m an embarrassment to retards everywhere.
We got in early, and the game plan is to try and nap before we go out knowing that heading out too early is a recipe for disaster that I’ve executed on more than one occasion. We are way too giddy to be able to sleep, so we just end up resting in bed. At 7 we finally give in, crack one of the beers that were delivered and I down a second while Bob drops a deuce before we hit the road. We get to our favorite steakhouse and we are put on the waiting list. They hand me a placard identifying our party so that when they have our table, they can find us. The hostess tells me to keep the placard where it can be seen, so I put it hanging out of my back pocket.
Bob: Dude, she said put it where they can see it.
Me: Dude, it’s on my ass, every chick in here will be looking at it. They’ll definitely see it.
Yes the beers have kicked in. After sitting at the bar for 20 minutes I eventually concede and put the placard on the bar. Within 3 minutes we get our table, only a minor shot to the ego, no big deal. We are seated next to a table of 5 women who must have been coworkers going out to dinner, but I immediately spot the very attractive brunette in a purple top. We start making eye contact and it’s on. The Wingman and I are sitting next to each other at the table so we can easily converse without any one hearing. Then it hits me, Bob is wearing a nice white short sleeve t shirt, jeans and black shoes, I’m wearing a nice white long sleeve t shirt, jeans and black shoes. We look like one of those obnoxious couples who dress alike and go to the mall in matching outfits, only horribly gay. This causes me to spill my beer on my shirt. Yes, I have a drinking problem. Obviously I don’t look that gay because the brunette in purple is still making eye contact. I get up to break the seal and collect myself in the bathroom. I get back to the table again and am determined to start really making contact with the brunette.
The Wingman: Dude…
Me: Wait.. that chick in purple just eye fucked the shit out of me.
TW: No, you don’t understand.
Me: What?
TW: Look under the table.
Me: Dude, that chick in the wheelchair just eye fucked the shit out of me.
And in that one moment, I was flustered. On the one hand, she instantly became hotter, but on the other, not only was she surrounded by coworkers, at 6’ 2” and her in a wheel chair, it became virtually impossible to approach her. Again, I’m thrown off my game, but I am truly inspired now for evil. Bob and I determine this is a great sign that we’re starting this trip off on the right foot… so to speak. She ends up leaving with her group, and we are determined to press forward. We go around the corner to a Scottish style bar (we go there for the pleated skirts) and as we enter, it becomes clear that I am not the loudest, most obnoxious person in the bar. This upsets me, I hold myself to the highest standards. There’s a party of 12 or so who are hooting it up with one guy in a polo shirt being the loudest of the bunch. We go to the bar and order our first round, I look at The Wingman and tell him ‘We should go over there and steal their bitches from them, just on principle.’ He agrees, and it’s game on. It’s not a long game though, by sip number three, their bitches came to us. We are approached by an attractive girl with a dark complexion, and a chubby girl – by chubby – I mean 250 pounds.
Chubby girl: Do you know what a tea candle is?
Me: What?
Dark Skinned girl: A tea candle, my boss over there is using it as a slang term but won’t tell us what it means.
Me: I’m sorry, that sounds similar to teabagging, which is a little too homo erotic for me. HR has trained me to say that I’m uncomfortable with this conversation.
DSG: (laughing) I work in HR
Me: So should I report you to your boss, Teabag?
We immediately get into a conversation where I inform her that I’m the biggest asshole she’ll ever meet, but for just this one night, she can use it to her advantage and I will abuse her boss for her free of charge. She loves this idea, and I start calling her boss over by his new name. The Wingman looks at me in astonishment, thinking I had just dropped the tyrannical teabagger line without his help. He decides I must be on a roll, so it’s best to stay close to me for crowd control and raw entertainment. Chubby Girl is soon replaced by Stuck Up, Moderately Attractive Girl. The conversation turns to a subject most men and women discuss when they meet in a bar: starting a bar room brawl.
Me:Ok if the shit hits the fan, I want her on my side (pointing to DSG) because I don’t know if you know this or not… but (whispering very loudly) she’s black!
DSG: (Looking me dead in the eye with a straight face) I’m not black, I’m Mexican.
Me: That’s fine, either way I still wouldn’t park my car next to you.
Stuck Up Moderately Attractive Girl gets this look of horror and disgust on her face, The Wingman – sensing potential disaster – starts shouting ‘Poodle! Poodle!’ but DSG just starts cracking up. Ladies and Gentlemen, we have won an audience. SUMAG sees the reaction, and decides she’s going to give us a second chance I guess.
SUMAG: Guess what nationality I am, you’ll never guess.
Me: (Looking at her pasty complexion and curly hair) I don’t know, Filipino?
SUMAG: Filipino? (turning to The Wingman) What about you, any idea?
The Wingman: Yeah.. I gotta tell you…I honestly don’t care.
SUMAG: What do you mean ‘you don’t care!’ (and walks off)
Me: Dude…maybe you should have said Samoan.
Over the next hour I spew my views on everything from domestic violence to the age of consent, and offend everyone in the bar except for my new Black Mexican friend who finds me handsome and charming, and is cozying up quite nicely. Bob called Poodle at least 3 times during the evening, but I waved him off like Pedro Martinez shaking off signs against the Yankees, I was in a zone and I wasn’t going to let a bar full of people hating me stop me from hooking up with my first black Mexican.
Eventually Polo Shirt Guy has caught on that he isn’t the loudest nor the most obnoxious in the bar anymore and has decided to size me up. He starts telling me how unfunny I am. I explain to him that I never said I was funny, I just announced that I was an asshole, there’s a difference, and if he didn’t understand the difference, he could discuss it with Teabag. (‘Poodle!’)
PSG: (poking me in the chest with his index finger) I think I need to show you how unfunny you are.
Me: Dude, I’ve beaten up autistic kids half your size.
Very awkward pause, as no one knows how to react to that one.
The Wingman: Hey man, relax, everyone’s just having a good time, let us buy you a drink.
PSG: …..ok……
Black Mexican: If a brawl breaks out, I’m going to be on the side of my peeps and I’m going to kick your ass.
Me: I’ll bet you’d like that
Bob is using his people skills in order to settle PSG, and to give me some quality alone time with Black Mexican. She’s getting very close to me now.
BM: I’m not going home with you tonight to sleep with you.
Me: (knowing I’m in) That’s fine, I wouldn’t want to sleep with any woman who’d want to sleep with me anyway.
BM: You smell really nice, what is it that you’re wearing?
Me: It’s called deodorant, I just learned how to use it today. It’s great.
PSG sees the inevitable and decides to use the good cop approach this time since the bad cop approach didn’t work so well. He’s totally playing up the drunken buddy angle with me, puts his arm around me and gets me to turn away from Bob and the Black Mexican so we can have a heart to heart.
PSG: I know you’re taking her home tonight, I can accept that, but if you hurt her, I’m going to kick your ass.
Me: I’m not going home with her tonight (always filled with self confidence) and hurt her? You mean with like coat hangers or something?
PSG: I’m serious…
Me: So am I, I’m not going home with her, she’s not interested. I can appreciate your concern. I have many female friends, and if I saw one of them talking to a guy like me, I’d be concerned, but you have nothing to fear, she’s not going home with me.
PSG: You better be nice to her or…
Me: What is it about my game that makes you think that girls would actually want to sleep with me? Oh and she’s playing with my bald spot, thanks for playing…
After that, the night deteriorated quickly. I showed my true inability to close the deal, and she eventually left alone. The Wingman and I decide to head out shortly thereafter. The bartender chases after us in front of everyone and has us go back in to settle the bill (whoops). He then chases us again, to give Bob back his credit card. We take a cab back to the hotel and neither of us remember the ride or ever getting up to the room. Yet another shining example of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
Part 2 Soon..
