A long time ago I told a tale titled, “It is not what it looks like”. At the time it felt like a one off occurrence but let’s face it. Life is plagued with numerous moments of a similar nature. So consider this my sequel. Possibly the first of many. Now, if this were a television series, I would lead with a “Previously on… blah blah blah (Complete with captivating transitions and sound effects. But seeing as how it is not, just use your imagination. If I ever do get my amateur YouTube channel of the ground, then you can look forward to such nitty gritty being thrown in. Well, with all that said and done, let us jump into it (Yes, I am a Philip DeFranco fan. Sue me).
The following events transpired years ago while I was still navigating the tumultuous rapids of campus life. A friend approached me and invited me to an exclusive party organized by geeks, for geeks. This was a much welcome invite as the previous one I had attended had been quite enjoyable. Unlike most parties where people go to dance and drink themselves silly, these parties usually involved congregating in someone’s house and consuming multimedia content like Japanese anime, comics, movies etc. All you needed to show up with was a laptop, hard drive large enough for the endless copy pasting that would transpire all through the night and enough facts to back up any claim you made about which superhero, anime, show, movie etc. was the GOAT.
Yes, as you can probably tell, it was not your average house party. Hell, if you walked in on us you might have thought it was just some really rowdy study group. Laptops everywhere. Passionate fan boys and fan girls arguing about this and that. Tech heads going off about how much RAM they upgraded their PCs to. Game consoles plugged in with eager players lined up, spectating and heckling as they awaited their turn to “show how it is done”.
The particular party I was invited to was being hosted by some girl whose name I forget (Do not judge me. You have probably done the same). It was at some huge house with enough room to hold all the revelers of the night. We as the guests began streaming in at around 7:30 PM. And may I just say, that guest list was diverse. Height, gender, race, foreign accents, local accents, foreign-wannabe accents (You know the ones I mean. The excessive twengers who make you want to dish out bitch slaps left right and center). So much diversity (Insert Trump accent and hand gestures for emphasis).
I showed up to the party exhausted. The previous night had been spent on a coding spree with some Red Bull aid. 24hrs typing away nonstop at a computer on an empty stomach save for the occasional ingestion of Red Bull sips. Everything was fine until the crash came and boy did it hit me hard. The next day was spent looking at the world through two cameras with amazingly slow shutter speed so to speak. I would blink and what felt like two seconds later would turn out to be anything from 20 minutes to almost an hour passed. In an effort to keep up with the night’s activities, I did the “smart thing” and purchased an extra can of Red Bull. Once on the premises, I downed it like a glass of water and proceeded in to the house. What’s the worst that could happen I thought? (Lesson learned: Never tempt fate. For she is a cruel and heartless mistress)
Everything was going well at first. Games were played, new friends were made and the teetotalers drank lemonade (See what I did there?). I was operating at 110%. Focused, alert and active when suddenly… The energy drink seemed to stop working. My level of alertness began to drop. It was as if my body was saying, “Eh! Wena! Braada, I need sleep!” (Insert Trevor Noah SA accent). There I was amidst a group of fun and active people about to hit the hay hard. I quickly grabbed my jacket, sat on one of the couches and threw it over my face. Why, you ask? Well, remember these are millennials we are dealing with. Get caught sleeping off guard and you may just find weird photos of yourself plastered all over the internet the next day. Had to make sure that I would have plausible deniability (Been spending lots of time with lawyers lately). So that I could confidently pull a Shaggy and say, “Wasn’t me”. Or better yet a Trump, “Fake news folks. So much fake news”. Imagine running for president then someone posts such pictures to ruin your campaign. They could accuse you of using drugs and with a bit of Photoshop, some would actually be convinced it was true.
So anyway, there I am asleep on the couch, face covered being completely anonymous. Then the event’s “MC” announces dinner is served. I managed to extricate myself from the comfy couch, grab my food, devour it and quickly retreat to the safe zone before some were even done serving.
Now as the night wore on, and people continued to mingle, there would be the occasional stranger who would come join me and take a peek beneath the jacket to ascertain my identity and/or life status. Wouldn’t want to go about your business with a corpse in the same room right? Enter Tanya (Name changed for reasons that will become clear shortly). She was a curvy girl who for all intents and purposes could be safely described as “blessed”. Tanya approached the couch I had by this time colonized half of and decided to take up residence on the “no-man’s land” beside me. When she sat I felt her presence and no, not in a cool Star Wars feel the force kind of way. She basically cannonballed onto the cushion and I had no choice but to wake up and assess what creature had come to disturb my slumber.
She pulled off my jacket slightly and begun a lengthy conversation about so many things. She was all over the place. Spiderman, samurais, pets, cars, fashion… so many topics to keep track of until my head hurt. I slowly retreated into my jacket cocoon and she popped her head in giggling. It was then that I realized, the girl was on something. So there we are faces under the jacket, me trying to get some sleep and her telling me how high she is. I tried playing possum to discourage any further attempts at conversation but she kept going. Suddenly, she said she was feeling thirsty. There was some commotion from her side then, I felt my thighs get drenched with some liquid. “What the hell?” I thought, but was too tired to seek out the person responsible for my predicament. Seemingly out of nowhere, Tanya cried out, “AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! YOU’RE MAKING ME WET!!!”.
An eerie silence fell across the room. I too was stunned. I slowly pulled my jacket off my face ready to pass judgement on the classless individual who would carry out such acts in public view. The word shame was at the tip of my tongue. All that was missing was a bell to go with the forthcoming chant. I looked at Tanya as she sat there, a bottle in her hand and sure enough she was wet. From her chest all the way down to her pants. We suddenly noticed that all eyes in the room were on both of us. “Oh, Sugar Honey Iced Tea”, I thought.
It did not look good. When Tanya had popped into my jacket to carry on with the unwanted conversation, she had pulled it towards her a bit which meant that to anyone spectating, we were both under the jacket. The revelers thought that I had tried to get frisky with her and I could feel the judgement emanating from their eyes. “It is not what it looks like…”. That Is what I would have said but the evidence was overwhelming. Tanya did not help matters either. She just sat there giggling. Any attempts to explain would have probably ended with me looking like Bill Clinton during the Monica Lewinsky scandal. I could just see it. There I am with a judgmental audience before me as I say, “I did not have sexual relations with that woman…”.
So now, allow me to reconstruct the “crime scene” like a literary Sherlock. When Tanya had said she was thirsty, someone from the end of the room had tossed her a bottle of water. The bottle however, was not closed properly so when she caught it, the water splashed out drenching both her and I with its contents.
The explanation makes sense now but at the time I did not bother. People would think what they wanted to think and believe what they wanted to believe. I just had to stay low key. Which was hard because now all the girls at the party were looking at me like a piece of desirable meat that they knew might be dangerous but still worth tasting. But ladies, I am a classic man. I keep my gloves dirty but my hands clean (It sounds way cooler when Jidenna says it). I spent the rest of the night nestled in large groups in fear of getting ambushed while alone. Do not judge me. Not everyone can handle that kind of pressure. If you can, then by all means play on player.
I do hope you enjoyed the tale. I have been having trouble getting my head in the game but once I started writing, the words just seemed to flow. It reminded me of just how much I missed this. It is good to be back. To the ladies, being around you can be disastrous and sometimes even hazardous but let’s face it. You do make life interesting. Happy International Women’s Day.