Look, I don't think I'm picky. I like things to be a certain way (the way I enjoy it) otherwise what's the point? If my steak is cold then I'm not going to eat it. If the party is going to be full of frat boys then I'm not going with you. If we're not getting to the movie theater 20 minutes before the previews and if it's packed full of teens and if people won't shut up and I don't have something to drink and if you don't want to play one of four 'pre-show-movie-games' then I'm not going to be happy. That's not picky, that's commitment.
I have never been peer pressured into any of those things (steak, parties, movies) without meeting my exact specifications, except once. I was a junior in college, my third year at a school that I described as 'Daycare for rich, white kids from Connecticut', I hadn't made many 'real' friends. Mostly because rich, white kids from Connecticut don't find my brand of humor or general being amusing. However through the Radio Station, a small and almost invisible outfit at our college, I found some people. My people. You know, weirdos. Especially the president of the radio station, Nick. He was a Jersey kid who liked a lot of things. Want to know about Blink-182, ask him. Want to know about the WWF, ask him. Want to know how to anger an entire theater of movie goers... wait.
It was a normal night in early May, I was sitting around and watching bad reality TV with my girlfriend and enjoying the peace and quiet that 10pm on a Thursday night brings and BAM! In through the door comes Nick. He's manic. He's loud. He smells like Frito's. And he is on a mission. And it is clear that he is very, very high. Every sentence starts with a loud and boisterous "BRO!" followed by words that he thinks form a complete sentence. Here's his idea: Drag me, my girlfriend and his girlfriend to Regal Cinemas at 11pm to watch him watch something called Harry and Kremer, some dumb thing about smoking pot and eating burgers or something. I never got 'pot humor'. And without ever seeing a Henry and Kulap movie, I bet I can tell you every joke: dick joke, fart joke, eating a lot of food joke, poop joke, mistaken identity joke, whoops-gag, sliperoo and then some titties, right? We three kings of sanity and sobriety said a unanimous: no.
Then Nick did something that any desperate high person does when it looks like they won't get their way: he offered to pay... for everyone. That's $48 for a Jerald and Kevin movie about smoking pot and then eating things after you smoke pot. I couldn't pass up the amazing opportunity to watch him waste his money. So at 10:45 we loaded up into my awesome car while Nick, despite what I had just told his dumb head, smoked a cigarette and made us listen to The Offspring for the whole 20 minute ride.
To say the movie was bad is an understatement. The movie was horrid. What made it even worse was the shit head next to me laughing at every line, not every joke, every LINE! And not just laughing but cackling, screaming, crying and flailing. He is the only person laughing in the entire theater (in between shoving Sour Patch kids down his face) and he happens to be my friend. It was embarrassing, and feeling embarrassed in a theater full of white dudes with dreadlocks is hard! I'm not sure but that may have been the last movie we saw together before Nick graduated. He was a year older than me and hence one year closer to the real world. It seems like he has grown up since 2008, although I just got a text from him that says "BRO! Harold and Kumar in 3D!!!!!", what does that mean?