In an effort to meet more people in our apartment complex, Allison started talking to some random guys on a third-floor balcony the other night. She couldn’t see them or anything, but they asked her about her dog while she was down in the courtyard walking it, and one thing led to another and they exchanged phone numbers or something.
So, last night they popped over for a drink. They were weird. And dumb.
Guy #1: “So, what to ya’ll do? Like for jobs.”
Allison: “I work at Kelly’s Tavern.”
Guy #2: “Oh, that’s where everyone goes to play darts and pool tables.”
A: “Actually, we don’t have darts and pool tables at my location.”
#1: “And what do you do?”
Lisa: “I’m a marketing assistant at an engineering firm in Norfolk.”
#2: “Whoa. I feel really stupid now.”
A: “So, you must really like that hat.”
#1: “Yeah. It’s my favorite hat.”
L: “It’s really dirty. How long have you had it?”
#1: “A little over a year. I could tell you where every stain came from. I’m a mechanic.”
L: “And what do you do, #2?”
#2: “I’m in the Navy. I paint jets.”
(I wonder what kind of ASVAB score you need to get that job…)
#1: “So, do ya’ll get all into racing, like street racing and stuff?”
L: “Where are you from?”
#1: “North Carolina. Ya’ll from here?”
A: “Yeah, Yorktown.”
L: “No, New Jersey.”
#2: “Dude, New Jersey. Damn. I don’t even know where that is.”
#1: “Dude, it’s near like New York and shit.”
Needless to say, the conversation didn’t last much longer after that display of brilliance. Allison and I pulled the old we’re-tired-we’ve-had-a-long-weekend act and kicked them out. Retards. Stop sniffing the jet fuel.