Ol' college chum Matt headed down to Myrtle Beach to see another college buddy Chris for the 4th. But more exciting to Matt than being in Myrtle Beach, was getting to Myrtle Beach. You see, Matt, in what could easily be the first sign of a mid-life crisis (although he apparently bought the ticket at 2:36 am, so we'll chalk it up to an acute case of Ouzo), had booked a ticket to Myrtle Beach on Hooters Air.
It was his maiden voyage on the airline of maidens, and he really couldn't have been anymore excited, either. Upon deplaning, Matt was greeted by a couple of Hooter's Girls. The great thing about the picture is that Matt's two daughters (did I mention those?) in twenty years are going to look exactly like the girls in the photo. Awesome. I only hope the airport was playing Aerosmith's "Janie's Got A Gun" (and that would be the only time I would be happy to hear Aerosmith).
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While he never admitted as much, I think the conversation went something like this:
Matt: So, uh, can I consider you two 'carry-on items'? Heh.
Girls: Sir, please step away from us.
Matt: Yeah...that's probably best.
I think it was the old-school Van Halen tee that did him in. You wear that, and you might as well as ask if they'd like to come back to your room and go over some annuity and 401K plans.
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Not to be outdone, Jason saw Matt's Hooter's Girls and raised him a couple others. Apparently, Hooter's is the official sponsor of independence and freedom from Washington, DC to all points south. The girls (and those extremely awkward skin-colored tights they wear on their legs) were everywhere, or at least everywhere my friends hang out. Probably says more about my friends than the pervasiveness of Hooter's Girls.
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Jason was down in Daytona, Florida under the auspices of watching, ironically of course, a NASCAR race. Sure, he'd dress up in his Mark Martin/Viagra paraphernalia, put on his well-worn jean shorts (just how did they get so 'well-worn' Jason?), get drunk by 3pm, urinate all over the back of Chevys like the lil' Calvin window decal that he is, but it would be a big joke. It's not like he'd really enjoy it. He'd just enjoy mocking the real NASCAR fans (keep telling yourself that Jason). He wanted to have his pork rinds and eat 'em too. And as the fates would have it, he just happened to have a group of four likeminded friends.
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Meanwhile, back in South Carolina, my buddy Matt said that after renting his car and heading to Chris' house, he found a note on the door reading: "Meet me down at the beach. I'll be the guy with the metal detector." And by golly, if that wasn't exactly where he was, doing what he was! Completely related, Chris has not hooked up in fourteen years. How old are those Tevas on his feet? Fourteen years-old.
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Back in the parking lot outside another parking lot that abuts a racetrack - which nothing but a glorified parking lot - Jason and his buddies had the obligatory "It's Beer O'Clock" Chugoff. Not sure there is ever really a winner in such an event, but Jason reported back that he kicked some serious drinking ass down there (obviously those are his words, not mine. Even more obviously, I no longer call Jason a friend).
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Not content to limit his frat-tastic antics to parking lots and tailgates of Chevy Suburbans, Jason and his crew picked up a girl and headed for the local Dollar General Store. I have no idea how this happened, but in his beer-soaked state he managed to pick up a girl (granted she was wearing "I Brake for Dale" shorts, but still) without a shirt on, convinced her to go for a beer run, and then actually managed to get said girl to touch him. I'm simply dumbfounded.
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Keeping the nozzle at full throttle, and just when you thought you had seen all you wanted, Jason convinced what have to be a couple of elementary school teachers to grind with him. I have no idea what music was playing at this point, although I'd lay a sawbuck on some Marshall Tucker. Jason got so drunk on liquor and elementary school teachers that he ended up passing out before the race...shocker. Word from the track was Jason last words, while holding aloft a fifth of Jim Beam, were, "They should call this July 5th!"
While Jason hit the pits early, Matt acknowledged he spent the better part of the weekend sifting through sand looking for Confederate coinage. Simply sad. Even sadder he said was that the Hooter's Girls wouldn't come out of First Class during the return flight.
Sort of glad I went to Vermont.