Horribly Wrong!

Are you going to call me again, I was asked as she stepped out of the car infront of the gates of the McGill University ghetto? Sure, I said; not even knowing her name.

Stewart Michaelson
Sep 5, 2018 · 4 min read

You don’t even know my name do you? she exclaimed! How could you take me up to the lookout, fool around with me and not even know my name?? I’ve got so many names in my head, I said, I can’t be expected to remember everyone! I was laughing inside.

With that comment, she slammed the door, I never heard from her again and the date that started so well ended like a complete shit show!

You see, it was homecoming in Montreal and my good friend Marty was in town because his Kingston University football team was playing McGill. Neither of us played ball but the McGill fraternity was holding a costume party and we figured it was an excellent place to pick up for an evening. Little did I know what was in store for me that night.

Marty and I arrived pretty early at the fraternity house, the queue to get in was snaking around the corner of the street. We weren’t dressed in costume because we were unaware of the party’s attire until we got into the house. Yet, getting in was going to prove a challenge.

You see, this was ‘RIVAL’ weekend in Montreal. These two universities were not friends and their football squads were less than hospitable with each other.

Getting back to Marty and I standing outside the frat house, our first ‘faux pas’ was Marty’s attire. As I mentioned, this was homecoming for McGill, a tradition for university students to drown themselves in anything alcohol related and a football game to give the weekend a meaning. As we were making our way up the stairs to the front door, a burly linebacker stood between us and our freedom of booze and babes.

Marty was sporting a t-shirt, which read ‘Kill McGill’. Now, normally, on homecoming weekend, this type event of enthusiasm for your football team would be commended. Though, we were trying to get into the lion’s den; insulting them probably wasn’t the most intelligent thing in our favour. The bouncer at the door asked Marty to kindly remove his t-shirt if he wanted to avoid trouble. Marty, being the class clown that he always was, insisted on keeping his t-shirt despite my attempts to offer him my sweat top so we could avoid a problem.

At a standoff, the Guardian of the front door made sure Marty knew the rules of engagement. As he stood in front of the door, this husky ball player promptly removed Marty’s t-shirt in the same fashion as Hulk Hogan used to his own prior to a match in the squared arena; he tore it off his chest.

Shirtless and embarrassed, Marty decided to take my sweat shirt so we could continue our evening. Inside, whatever lingering animosity disappeared as we began chugging glasses of cheap keg beer. While putting back the warm renditions of liquid love, we began to mingle with the party goers.

Being in costume, the majority of people were enjoying their anonymity behind their attire. Marty and I were taking stock of the situation, though as the old saying goes: ‘everything looks good after 1 am’. As we began to grind our way with the natives, a girl and I locked eyes and began to rip the floor in dance. She was voluptuous and rather drunk. As the evening progressed, so did our alcohol consumption. Remember, this is freshman week in university, not a care in the world for the future consequences.

My dancing partner and I decided it was time to leave to get better acquainted, my sole problem; I had to take Marty home. The thought of getting lucky that night was powerful but a friendship was more important to me. So I drove 25 minutes out of my way to bring Marty Home, which left plenty of time for me and the mademoiselle.

When we finally got to the ‘mountain’, that’s what we call the lookout on Mont-Royal; we were both ready and willing participants. As the windows became cloudy with the heat rising from our combined body movements, I was in a primal state. To my surprise, as I wondered whether I was in proper position and trajectory; she had whispered that I was already there.

A frightening feeling came over me. She said I was there yet I couldn’t feel anything. My mind was racing, with so many negative images; if I were hard inside I wasn’t any longer. On the quiet ride back to the McGill ghetto as it is known in Montreal, I knew we wouldn’t meet again. My mind was relieved when I didn’t recall her name and she bolted angrily.

An evening that was supposed to be a victory for mankind turned into a nightmare I knowingly forgot, I am able to look back at it and say to myself, what the hell was I thinking!

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