Late one night, some friends from an improv class invited me to a party at their house. I agreed because it was either that or eating frozen yogurt in bed, and I knew deep down I preferred the froyo. Guys, this isn’t how I want to go: ‘The victim was found dead in bed with frozen yogurt.’ Fearing for my future, I biked to the party. When I got to their porch, I was confronted by two different doorways and a stairwell. I stared at my phone trying to figure out where this party was when two very drunk guys stumbled up to the door in front of me. I immediately recognized them from my high school. One of the guys was familiar looking but I didn’t remember his name. The other was one half of a pair of identical twins that were cute, popular, and talented x 2. Since they were identical, I had no idea which one was standing in front of me. It was either Jimmy or Joey (names changed for anonymity – I’m sorry I couldn’t think of better names than Jimmy and Joey). Normally when I see someone from high school, I duck and hide until they go away. But, for some weird reason (I think the threat of dying alone was looming above my head), I asked, “Did you guys go to Bishop’s?” They turned to look at me. I could immediately tell Jimmy/Joey was extremely drunk. And in an all white sailor uniform. Not Jimmy/Joey stared at me. “Yeah, did you?” Of course they wouldn’t remember me. I was awkward, self-conscious, and barely spoke to guys in high school. “Yeah, I’m a senior now.” “At Bishop’s?” I just love looking like a senior in high school. “No. At USC.” At this point, the guy that was Not Jimmy/Joey lost interest in the conversation (ironically how most my dates end) and went upstairs, leaving Jimmy/Joey and I alone in the stairwell.
Jimmy-or-Joey moved closer and began a slurred, convoluted conversation that I couldn’t transcribe even if I tried. I think it had something to do with him thinking I was on the water polo team. He insisted over and over again that I say, “I’m in one of the best programs.” “But I’m not on the water—” He drunkenly waved a hand at my face. “Don’t lie! You’re in the best program!” “Okay, okay, I’m in the best program.” He grinned and grabbed my hand, pulling me towards the stairs. At this point, a million thoughts went through my very sober head in a fraction of a second. Here in front of me was Jimmy-or-Joey, who I would’ve killed to have made out with in high school. The world probably would’ve imploded if that had happened to me at fifteen. This could be my chance to take back that awkward high school girl who didn’t kiss a boy until college, who was attracted to any guy that showed her attention, who never so much as held someone’s hand. And in that moment, as a senior in college with Jimmy-or-Joey standing in front of me, dilated eyes hinting at a sloppy makeout session that would probably end with his vomit on my shirt, I knew I would go back to my high school friends a victor.
Jimmy-or-Joey swayed on the steps, eyes kind of rolling back into his head. I giggled. “I’m actually gonna go find my friends.” He slowly nodded, attempted to walk up the stairs and pretended to almost fall. I screamed and he laughed. Drunk guys are lucky sober girls actually take their death threats seriously. Jimmy-or-Joey smiled as I shoved his ass up the steps and finally helped him through the door. As I went to find my own party, I had to fully accept that I didn’t redeem my high school love life. But you know what, I’m proud to say I didn’t take advantage of an extremely drunk person just to make myself feel better.
Recently, I went to a party with some old high school friends and fuck standards, that story would’ve been totally worth it.