The other night, sometime last week, I headed to my friends’ new apartment to get a briefing on the cat care procedure we’d be executing (see visual aid… which is more for me than it is for you, but I figure this would be boring without some kind of an image so… that’s what I have for you.).
JayBanzia and I drove out to Pasadena to 1. see our friends one last time before we wished them well on their extended trip to the beautiful islands of Hawai’i, 2. re-acquaint with cat, Pippin (cat lovers should click this), who has interestingly chilled out a lot now that he’s older, and 3. to get a cat care tutorial (wet food? dry food? rotation of key usage? preferred cat toy in certain times of day? etc.).
What we ended up with was something wholly different when we stepped out of my car and into the driveway of a complete stranger.
Maybe I’ve gotten too used to reading web fonts… but upon trying to find their unit which I had not yet seen until that night, I stumbled upon what I thought was the address, only what I’d thought was a “1″ was actually a “7″.
Pasadena, your addressing could use some goddam serifs already.
After making a phone call to say “we’re here” to Pippin’s parents, we stood idly in the stranger’s driveway. We saw a door open. A young man in a towel and flip flops shuffled his way towards us, and greeted us with: “I don’t know who you guys are, but I freaking love you!”
Interested in getting to the point, I responded, “Hi, is Evan or Mahea around?”
He was confused. “Erm,” he says with a cigarette in his mouth, “I don’t know who that is.”
Nico: “Oh, we’re just looking for our friends. #1## Unit A?”
Towel Guy: “OH! This is #7##! Yeah, this one’s a house.”
Nico: “Oh! Shit man, sorry to like, get you out of the shower or something for a wrong address!”
Towel Guy: “Oh, no I just had sex!”
Nico: “Oh… congratulations?”
Towel Guy: “Hey, do you have a light? This one’s not working.”
Nico: “Yeah, sure.” [lights his cigarette]
Towel Guy: “Thanks! Yeah, so…” [shuffles more towards the street, hand gestures] “…the apartment complexes are more that way.”
Nico: “Ah! Cool, thanks. We just totally misread the address so… well, here we are.”
Towel Guy: “No worries. No worries. At. All. Hey, you’re not from around here, are you?”
Nico: “Actually, I’m from Pasadena. I was born in…” [points across the street] “That hospital.”
Towel Guy: “HOLY SHIT I WAS BORN THERE, TOO!” [he high fives Nico and then laughs hysterically into the night air]
Nico: “Small fuckin’ world!”
Towel Guy: “TOTALLY! Oh hey, you wouldn’t happen to have any more smokes would you? This is my last one.”
Nico: “Yep, I got that, too.” [hands him a couple of cigarettes] “And one for the road.”
Towel Guy: “AWESOME! You guys are so awesome! Dude I know we just met, but I hope I run into you again.”
Nico: “You too, dude, take care.”
Perhaps it’s exciting to meet someone in your hometown who is actually from your hometown when you know that so many of the residents are transplants, but this kid’s sheer elation was infectious and exciting.
Also, I am pretty sure he was coked up.
My evidence: The fact that he is a suburban white kid with bedhead and from my hometown probably makes him a musician (access to drugs), really energetic after sex (Normal people cuddle… or raid the fridge. Depends on the kind of sex.), willing to meet and greet strangers in his driveway while dressed in a towel… I mean, it all just adds up. I’m just sayin’.
In any case, I have been posting a lot lately about things I’ve learned from what I’ve experienced.
From this experience, I have learned that kids from my hometown get raised pretty similarly. And that’s about it.
Wait, this is not to say that I do coke before having sex which precedes talking to strangers. I was more talking about the musicianship and access to drugs and…
You know what, let’s just say I didn’t learn anything from this.
