2000-02-15

Log!

Inspired by the obsessions of this diarist, I was able to remember this charming story from my not-so-distant drunken past:

My friend Erin and I went through a period in which we were going to a Harvard Square haunt, known as The Hong Kong, damn near every weekend. It was 1992, we were both fresh out of college, with highly-lucrative liberal arts degrees, so naturally we were working at the GAP. It was an extremely depressing time for both of us, scanning the Want Ads in between jean-folding seminars, and spending our pitiful wages at the Hong Kong, where we'd commiserate over giant Scorpion Bowls, assuring ourselves that our situation was merely temporary -- I was going to go to graduate school in the fall, Erin was looking towards becoming an EMT. Mainly I remember just getting progressively drunker as the night wore on, laughing shrilly while declaring, "God, we're so lucky that we don't have to do this forever, right? Right?!" Some nights, it seemed every other table was playing out a variation of the same theme. It was a bar teeming with those who would be Masters of Their Own Destinies.

And what, pray, does this have to do with my new fecally-fixated Diaryland friend? The tie-in is coming; believe me...

So, one night, as Erin and I whipped ourselves into another Saturday Night Bout of Booze-Fueled Self-Pity, we acquainted ourselves with a table full of Tufts University students. One of them, a stout young fellow in pegged jeans and a polo shirt, found everything I said to be, at turns, extremely interesting and amusing. While certainly I enjoy having my ego stroked, as it were, excessive flattery tends to provoke in me the opposite of the intended effect -- in short, I get creeped out. This guy was creeping me out. I tried to get Erin's attention, hoping that her Cretin Radar was on and operational, to no avail. Polo Boy excused himself to get another drink.

One of his friends gave me a nudge: "Soooo, looks like Log really kinda likes you, huh?" Wink wink.

"I'm sorry, what did you just call him?"

At this, the entire Tufts contingent burst into uproarious laughter, accompanied by much high-fiving and clinking of beer bottles.

One of them regained composure enough to explain the origins of Log's peculiar nickname: "Yeah, uh, a bunch of us were all in the same dorm freshman year and, uh, we noticed that someone had a habit of, uh, not flushin' the toilet all the time, you know, leaving little presents for the next person to find? So, like, we finally figure out who it was, so we just started calling him 'Log.'"

"Uh-huh." I flashed Erin a "please please please can you all of a sudden remember we have to be somewhere?" look, which thankfully was caught. We left before poor ol' Log got a chance to get my number.

I've said it often since I've been married, and I'll say it again: I'm so glad I don't live that life anymore...

lisamcc at 17:32:25

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