Apparently it’s almost prom season? Is that correct? Somehow this information has seeped into my consciousness, via newspaper/television advertising, I guess. So, I thought I’d take the opportunity to briefly tell you about the first of my two proms. That’s right, two.
Sweet sainted mother of TV’s Dwayne Schneider…
Far in advance of the senior prom I started receiving data from my drinking partner Hank (a fake name). His girlfriend, let’s call her Brenda, had a friend who reportedly wanted me to ask her to the Big Shindig. I hadn’t even considered attending, and didn’t know this girl at all; I’d never said a single word to her.
But Hank and Brenda kept pushing me to do it, and lobbying to beat the band. “We’ll go together, the four of us,” they said. “It’ll be great!”
I started noticing Kelly, the girl in question, and she was certainly no hag. She was pretty, and seemed nice. Why did she want to go with me?! Perhaps there was some sort of mental illness at play?
Finally, after a couple weeks of social pressure I called her. And even though it was all set-up in advance — she knew I was going to ask her, and I knew she was going to accept — I was nervous as hell. I probably had a matching pair of serving tray-sized sweat stains.
Shockingly enough, she said she’d LOVE to go to the prom with me, and seemed genuinely excited by the prospect. Weird, man.
So, Hank and I went to the tux store and ordered our hideous 1981-era formal wear. His was white (with tails!), and mine was brown — a brown tuxedo.
My mother informed me I was also expected to present my date with some sort of flower deal that attached to her wrist. I had no idea… Why would a person want to wear a bowling brace constructed of roses? It seemed bizarre to me, but I ordered one anyway.
Hank and I also made arrangements to lay in a large amount of red wine (fancy!) for the evening, and have it properly chilled, etc. Oh, it was all quite complicated…
Between the day I asked Kelly to the prom, and the dance itself, we went out a few times. You know, since we’d never spoken before… And she was great; there was no discernible psychosis, or anything of the sort. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad?
I picked her up in my parents’ white Monte Carlo (I can’t remember people renting limos in those days, but what do I know about it?), her mother took a million pictures, and we followed Hank and Brenda to the restaurant we’d chosen for dinner.
Hank was not only wearing a white tux with tails, but also had a top hat and cane. The dude looked like a logo, and was talking a mile a minute. Later in the evening I found out why…
We’d made reservations at a fancy-ass restaurant in downtown Charleston, called Lindy’s or Lacey’s or something like that. The waiter had a questionable accent, a square of linen across him arm, and a pepper grinder the size of a table leg.
I’d never been in a place like that before. The most upscale restaurant I’d ever experienced was probably, oh I don’t know, the Ponderosa Steakhouse? This joint was ridiculous. The menu was huge and cast a shadow across the entire party seated beside us, but only had about five items listed on it.
I fumbled through the ordering process, trying not to sound like a complete rube, and went with a steak of some sort. I also ordered a 7&7 from the bar, because it was the only cocktail I could remember. Yeah, I didn’t much care for it, but in those days beer wasn’t acceptable in fancy situations.
Anyone care to guess the final tab on that meal? I’ll never forget it, as long as I live: $72! My tux almost turned a darker shade of brown when ol’ Linen Cloth handed me the check. According to this site, today’s equivalent would be $170. And I think I still had my paper route at the time.
I barely remember the prom itself, it was just a bunch people walking around in uncomfortable clothes, trying to be sophisticated. Needless to say, I didn’t engage in any dancing, or anything of the sort. We hung around and talked to people, got our picture taken, and left.
And here’s where things get interesting…
Hank had made arrangements to gain access to a fishing cabin(!) near the Coal River, through a friend of his brother. So, the four of us went there, and immediately broke into that rotgut wine we’d purchased.
The cabin was fairly nice, with a living room/kitchen in the middle, and bedrooms off to the left and right. However, the water was turned-off, so the toilet wouldn’t flush. And after a while it got a little funky in there… like a parking garage stairwell in downtown Atlanta. Romantic!
We sat around drinking for a while, but Hank and Brenda eventually went into one of the bedrooms. Which left me and Kelly, barely acquainted, listening to those two “romance” each other in the next room. The serving trays were probably returning…
I asked Kelly if she noticed how weird Hank and Brenda were acting, and she said they’d been taking “speed” all evening. I didn’t really know what that meant, but didn’t care for it. Drinking is one thing, and popping pills is quite another.
Eventually I got up the nerve to instigate a little light make-out action, but we’d only gotten started when Hank came busting into the room all out of breath. He was wearing nothing but his white tux pants, no shirt or shoes.
“I need your help, guys!” he said. And as he made this confusing statement (our help?) I noticed that the tip of his wiener was hanging out of his zipper. Good God…
“Something’s happening to Brenda!” he said, and we all went running. She was completely naked, atop the bed covers, and was convulsing or somesuch. I couldn’t believe what was happening before me. I mean, I wasn’t the most worldly sumbitch, and here I was looking at a naked cheerleader. Sure, she was having a seizure (I guess), but that was secondary — by a longshot.
I don’t want to be too crass, but everything was neatly trimmed, which seemed wildly exotic in 1981.
I think it was the pills, and all the alcohol she’d guzzled. I don’t know. But she was fine within fifteen minutes. It was one of the more surreal events of my early life.
Some other things happened at that fishing cabin, but I don’t really want to get into it… Let’s just say I left that house of urine a changed “man.”
The prom committee had rented a movie theater in Charleston for the night, and we decided to leave our cabin at two in the morning, or whatever, and see what was showing. It was something incredibly boring, starring Alan Alda (wtf?). Everybody was throwing shit in there, booing, and raising hell.
Then we went to a place known as “Party Hill” and drank some more, with a bunch of other couples — including Bill from WV and his date.
As the sun was coming up, all four of us were having breakfast at a home-cooking restaurant in Dunbar. And my Dad was getting ready for work when I finally dragged my ass through the door.
“Have a good time?” he asked, not mentioning that it was 6:30 AM.
“Yeah, it was great,” I said, and went upstairs. I kicked off my shoes, turned on some music (Tommy Tutone), and laid there reflecting on the previous twelve hours. It really had been great.
Kelly and I continued seeing each other — for the next six years. And as far as I know Hank and Brenda are still together, married for decades.
Now it’s your turn… Did you go to the prom? How was it? If you have any stories to tell, use the comments link below.
And I’ll see ya tomorrow.
Is that how you got your name, Skid Marks?
@ Buck – You can’t use the same line you used on the first twelve. You had a target rich environment when you where helping with the setup. Tools are like date magnets dude! Chicks dig dudes with tools…
@ Gretchen – i wasn’t gonna go there and you did…
Oh, Shiny Rod. You can always count on me to go there and Jason to take it all the way out to BFE. ;o)
@ Lee Harvey Ramone – You and Buck weren’t involved in one of those Broke Back Mountain things where you? Seeing both of you went “Fishing” on Prom night…hhhmmmm!!!
I didn’t go to my junior prom for lack of a date.
My senior prom I had to ask him, so I picked a guy I knew had a crush on me since we were freshman. 2 weeks before prom he started dating one of my friends. We still went together, but I had to deal with him ditching me at our post-prom party to go do her.
@ Gretchen – Hey, I just scanned the page and where your Prom story?
@ Lew in Bama – That was such a prick move from him. the gentleman thing would have been that he at least have the decency to take you home before he planned his poking party with his skag girl friend. That was so uncool.
Fine, dammit. My first one started going down just like Marge Simpson’s (and apparently also Maki’s, see above), ‘cept I got off the crazy bus right before the guy’s prom when it became apparent he wouldn’t accept the whole “just friends” concept. I managed to return the gown and he was forced to madly scramble for a new date. Despite the passage of twenty years, he’s still pissed off at me. But his Captain Kirk action figure with inflatable ego understands him.
Second prom, my senior one, I was set up with some asshat from another school who acted like a total douche at my prom and got me in big shit with his ma later when Mr. Grabby Hands refused to remove himself from the couch where I was trying to sleep at his house. Yeah, I’m leading your precious boy to ruin.
Shoulda gone fishin’.
@ Gretchen – Some guys just don’t accept the concept of Prom (date) thing, they think it’s wo-ho time and evey girl is just ready to get her bones jumped because she accepted the offer of going out for and what should be an enjoyable and rememberable date. I was always taught to be the gentleman and let the young lady set the tone. If she likes you, she will let you know and you take your cues from her. No amount of liqour is going to change a NO to a yes. She may forget she said no uder the influence, but no means no no matter how much alcohol or drugs you give her. There should once a year be a “Prom” for those who missed their Prom or for some reason or another, their Prom got screwed up. complete with pictures and all the Prom trimmings.
Thanks, Shiny Rod. I second the motion. So where were you when I was looking for a prom date? ;o)
My rule has always been that if I go through the trouble of wearing my black t-shirt with a moon and a wolf’s head on the front, and I splash on the Brut 33, and I bring a bucket of imitation crab meat and a bottle of Strawberry Hill wine to your house and pick you up in my El Camino (complete with Astro Turf in the bed) so that we can go have a picnic, then yes, you’re going to need to let me run you through. There’s nothing wrong with that.
And there we go, straight to Bumble Fuck Egypt.
HAHAHA
@Jason – “you’re going to need to let me run you through”.
Pure Classic!
@ Gretchen , Shiny Rod. A local radio station has a “Time Warp” prom every year. Check it out here:http://www.mix1077.com/pages/Time_Warp_Prom_2009_Photos.html
Those are hilarious pictures, Doug2. Thanks!
I lived in the sticks so we had to drive to the next town to go to dinner before the prom. My 83 Shitvette (aptly poo brown in color) broke down and we had to hitch a ride to dinner with some dunk half-dressed hicks in n RV. All I can remember is that they kept talking about Mrs. Doubtfire and how he “Burned his boobs! har har…!”
Then we had to hitch back. we left my car on the side of the highway….
So my mother happens to go to town… sees my car… and… calls the police. The police come to my prom. Misselle (me), date, and friends are exceedingly stoned and can’t remember where the car went… which led to an APB for carjackers….
Oh God. The aftermath. Grounded UNTIL I LEFT FOR COLLEGE two months later.
I’m so lonely, I wish I had someone to talk to – and that’s no joke. My wife is from Germany and her English is worse than mine.
In the absence of updates I’m forced to over-comment.
This morning an old man said to me, “The economy is shit, son, and all the jacking off in the world won’t change that.” And I said, “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing hiding under my desk?”
I know this is late and no one will read it 🙁 but skidmarks wins hands down. Took a shit on him and still had the teenage lust to pull it off? Damn, you the man. I don’t know if I could have pulled that off (ha! you know how Jeff would’ve reacted… “and I can’t have that”). But nowadays I think that would’ve killed the mood.
And @Great Googly Moogly, I’m with’ya man. High school sucked.
Late I know…
Well, I never shit on anyone at prom…went to 3, got pretty f’ed up and still never shit on anyone… lucky me (and them). I didn’t really have much fun at prom the first time or the 3rd…the 2nd I went with a great guy I was dating and we had a total blast (that I barely remember). And I looked smokin’ hot each year. SMOKIN. 🙂