A Lesson Learned

It was noisy.

Imagine being surrounded by a group of loud drunken College kids at a Thursday night party.

Partying like there was no tomorrow.

The Deltas had the best Fraternity digs and threw the best parties at Chico State.

Yeah, it was a beautiful warm evening in the Spring of 1975. 

And there I was knockin’ back keg-tapped beer and shots of tequila as if trying to put a fire out in my belly. 

The booze was cheap and I knew I was gonna have one helluva of a hangover in the morning.

But I didn’t care.

I was having fun. 

Or at least trying to. 

But for some odd reason, I was getting the cold shoulder from the chicks that night.

Also, my better Angel was already warning me to pump the brakes. I could begin to taste the acidic bile in the back of my throat as my stomach was starting to rebel from my lack of discretion.

“Slow down, dude,” it said. “You’ll never impress the ladies if you end up barfing in mid-conversation.”

Conversations? 

Now that was a laugh. 

Who could hear anything over a hundred drunken kids partyin’ while Peter Frampton warbled through a couple of busted stereo speakers “Do You? You! Feel Like I Do”?

The crowded room was stifling and hot.

My polyester shirt was soaked with sweat from the press of bodies and my Levi button-fly 501 jeans looked like I had put them on wet after the washer spin cycle.

Despite a curious draft, I was running hot and not in a good way.

Then I saw HER.

She was a cute blonde wearing a blue Alpha Gamma sweatshirt sitting alone in the corner of the room.

She looked bored as if the whole proceedings were beneath her. Her facial expression was of one who smelled something bad in the room.

Now, in normal situations, I would have taken a pass. 

Ice Maiden brrrrrrrr!

But, I was feeling cocky. 

And who knows? 

I might get lucky.

Yep, It was time to turn on the ol’ Bucklin charm.

“Hey!” I said sauntering over.

“Hello,” she said.

“What’s your name?”

“Mary.”

“Cool.”

“This party sucks,” she said.

“Yeah, I hate parties. What a bunch of losers, huh?”

“Most of these “losers” are my Sorority Sisters.”

“Oh…ah…Cough…Cough…I meant the dudes. Trust me most of these guys are Neanderthals.”

“Uh-huh. So what’s your name?”

“Chuck!”

“What’s your last name?”

“Bucklin,” I said doing my best impersonation of Chuck Connors.

“Chuck? Bucklin?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a funny name,” she said. 

“Really?”

“It sounds fake.”

“Uh, okay “

“Look, I’m gonna go. But by the way “Chuck,” your fly is open and your junk is hanging out,” she said, getting up and walking away.

Suddenly the room went silent.

Ohhhhhhh…shiiiiiitttttt…

Ya know I don’t recall what happened later that night (besides hiding in a closet for two hours) but, I do remember that I made it a point to start calling myself “Charles” afterwards.

And to start buttoning my damn 501 jeans!