Filed under: Musings of a Random Nature
A couple of weeks ago my friend Brittani and her roommates played host to a 21 year old couch surfer from England. If you’re not familiar with couch surfing, check out the website for more info. Being an only child and therefore being raised by the parents of an only child, this practice strikes me as astonishingly dangerous, likely to end in one of two outcomes: your bones as wind chimes, or your skin as lampshades. Possibly both. But I understand the theory behind couch surfing, because traveling is expensive and no one knows a place better than the locals and we are the world, blah blah, blah. Just check references so you don’t end up in Hostel situation, is all I’m saying.
The 21 year old, Nick, had a sort of Michael Cera-esque, charmingly awkward at the age of 21 but likely to be flat out bird faced and chicken-legged by the age of 26, thing going on. Brittani and I took Nick to Adams Morgan and during the car ride, he had some words of wisdom:
“There are a lot of hipsters in America, but not real hipsters. The ones that think they’re hipsters really aren’t. It the ones that don’t know they’re hipsters that are actual hipsters, in the real sense of the world.”
“That group of shirtless black men looks rather dodgy. We should keep driving.”
“I’ve noticed that black people love McDonald’s.”
Then Nick decided it was time to get serious about his drinking and took a bunch of shots, then got mad at me because he thought I was purposely not getting as drunk as he was (even though we had the same amount to drink). It’s not my fault those British wankers can’t handle their liquor.
Yeah, it was that kind of night.
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