This story isn’t particularly funny, but posting it is a good excuse to tell one of my own that’s significantly better. In fact it’s one of my favourite stories to tell, but this is going to be my first crack at writing it down so I hope I can do it justice without being able to do the actions and impressions.
On a friday night long ago, so long ago that there was no Vomit Comet, our old roommate decided that he was going out to see some friends. Being the gentleman that he is, he asked if I would like to accompany him. Being tired and not quite up for it I politely declined, but told him to have fun and that I would make sure the door was open for him. Keep this in mind, it becomes important.
Time passes as it so often tends to do in life and eventually I decide it’s time to crash. I further decide that the couch would be just the place to do so, and promptly settle in for a long summer’s nap.
More time passes, then some more and some more until the clock on the wall says 1 o’clock.
In my sleepy haze I’m pretty sure I hear footsteps coming up the building stairs. I realize that yes I do hear them and they appear to be getting closer.
“Roommate must be coming home” I think to myself, trying to muster enough sense to say hello when he gets in.
The door opens.
“Hey man,” I say. “How was your night?”
“bazzabuzzawoogggooogogogoaboa,” he replies.
“What” I ask.
The answer comes in the form of a thud as he crashes face first to the wooden floor.
“Jesus, I wish I’d tagged along. Sounds like a hell of a time,” I joke while trying to open my eyes and figure out just what to do.
“fluhbuvvvvvergaboggaluzzzzerggabacka” is the only reply.
“Can you get up” I ask, pulling my own self off of the couch.
That seems to mean yes, as he stumbles to his feet and tries once again to walk across the room.
Ok, perhaps I thought too soon.
That one I think I know. I’m pretty sure it means help me dude, I’m fucked.
Wait, he’s getting up again, and by God I think he’s going to make it to the love seat.
Well, maybe not. He was close though, I’ll give him that much. Close enough to fall into it and slide down, taking the cushions and the embarrassingly large pile of junk on top of them with him.
“Shit man, let me help you.”
“Ok, have it your way, I’m going to bed.”
And so I do.
Once again, time passes. I wake up and realize that gees, I need to pass something of my own and step out of the bedroom.
From down the hall I hear snoring.
“Good” I say to myself, “nobody died.”
I notice that the snoring isn’t coming from the floor anymore, but rather from the very couch I had been sleeping on right before everything went to hell.
“Wow, he made it, this is good.”
I go back to bed and give him no more thought.
Yet again, time passes.
It’s time for a shower. I leave the room again and head into the bathroom, not listening for any sound from the other parts of the house, confident that Roommate is ok. I even manage to shower
you’ll be happy to know.
Then the fun begins.
I’m standing in the bathroom drying myself off when in the distance I hear the front door open.
“Morning dude,” a far too cheerful voice says.
“Um…hey,” I respond. “How you feeling?”
“Great,” the voice of Roommate replies.
“Wow, I’m impressed” I say, trying to wrap my head around what exactly is happening here.
“Why’s that,” he enquires.
“Well, considering the shape you were in when you got home last night I figured you were done for til Monday.”
The next words out of his mouth were ones I was not expecting.
“I never came home last night, I stayed at Buddy’s house.”
“No you didn’t,” I argue. “You came in about 1 or so and fucking fell on the floor 3 or 4 times. And man, you smelled like a distillery, it was something.”
“Nope, I just got in. I went for a run with the guys and now here I am.”
“Nope, that’s impossible.”
“I’m telling you that’s what happened.”
“And I’m telling you it’s not. Quit messing with me.”
“I’m dead serious man, I just got home. I didn’t come back here.”
“Wow, you really are serious” I decide, hearing the honesty that you can hear in people’s voices when you know them well. “So if you didn’t sleep here, then who did?”
“No way somebody walked in and slept here,” he says. “that’s messed up.”
“They did unless it was the most vivid dream in history. Yeah, maybe that’s what it was, let me check the living room.”
I walk out and find what I knew I would find, a complete mess of cushions and junkmail strewn over the floor.
“Yes, we had company,” I confirm.”
“We had company, but where is it now?”
I check the couch. It’s empty.
“I think it’s gone,” I say. “Hopefully it didn’t take any of our stuff with it.”
We set about looking around the place to make sure that nothing is out of order. Eventually we’re satisfied that everything is fine and I tell him the whole story, concluding by saying that he’s got to get new keys, because if he doesn’t I’m locking his dumb ass out next time. He laughs and we proceed to have a fine rest of the weekend.
I’m sure that many of you are wondering how something so major could have slipped bye somebody who rags on stupid people for fun and profit. Ok, mostly fun, but whatever. To understand how this happened you need to know 2 things about me. The most important is that I’m blind, so I didn’t get a good look at the guy. The second is that I was half asleep at the time, and to me the strange alcoholic sounded a lot like good old Roommate.
We never did find out who it was that helped us throw an unwanted slumber party. I even told the story on my old radio show hoping somebody would call in and fess up, but it just wasn’t to be. I have an idea, but I think it’s probably for the best that I don’t know. I’ll settle for knowing that I wasn’t robbed or worse. the story is a lot funnier that way.