Last night I attended what was easily the worst party that I've ever been to. The saga of the awful-no-good-very-bad evening actually started on Wednesday when a gaggle of the American students decided to go to a bar called Jolly Rogers for 1/2 off pizza and beer (oh I have a new favorite beer: Hoegaarden!) and proceeded to, well, get our groove on. My friend (lets call her Izzy) flirted with the cute bartender who later sent one of his long-haired lackeys to retrieve her number. Unfortunately Izzy lost her phone a few weeks ago so she gave him my digits and surprisingly the bartender, Brett!, called later that night. He invited her to a house party and Lauren and I were drafted to attend as her wing-men.
I knew from the moment we left that the night was ill-fated. Maybe even earlier than that. I had a weird feeling in my stomach all afternoon, a mix of apprehension and queasiness, but I chalked it up to a weird tuna sandwich I had for lunch instead of to my astute intuition. Brett! and his friend Tim showed up and crammed the three Americans into the back of their car. As we left campus they went too fast over a speed bump, almost ripping out the bottom of the car, and I knew that these boys were utter fools. The ride was awkward as the grilled us with the usual questions "How is America different from South Africa?" "What were you expecting, lions and tigers?" "Who are you voting for?" (the last question was especially awkward because Izzy is the lone republican in our program and we've long learned to refrain from discussing politics in her presence). However when we passed O!Bar (a dingy gay bar that some Americans have adopted as a favorite nocturnal hangout) the Tim made made some off-color remarks about the freaks who frequent such establishments. Lauren grabbed my knee and we choked back our anger. We were determined to support our friend.
After what seemed like hours of drivng we found ourselves in a distant gated suburb. Brett! parked his car on what I think was someone's lawn, and we made our way into a tiki hut festooned with christmas lights. Sitting in plastic lawn chairs was a hormonal and pubescent couple sporting matching braces, and a few guys in their mid-twenties. Some party. Soon we started telling jokes, beginning with innocuous muffin jokes. Soon the humor took a sickening turn as the boys told some jokes that I will never ever repeat. Jokes that made light of hundreds of years of exploitation and subjugation of Africans. Jokes about murder as a hunting sport. Jokes that reduced human beings to game. I announced that I didn't find the jokes funny at all and soon the theme of the jokes changed to "dead babies" which was a welcome transformation. I wish I had spoken out more, but to be honest I was scared. Not of ridicule, but I guess because I was a woman at a testosterone fueled party of strangers. Anyhow, the conversation veered back and forth from mundane to horrifyingly racist for the next few hours as my friends and I desperately tried to plan our escape. Finally we got a ride home, and sat in shocked silence the whole way back. I have never encountered such ignorant and hateful people in my entire life.
The next day Brett! called my phone four times, and once attempted to contact Izzy using a different number. Before we realized their true natures, we had accidentally invited these trolls to my 21st unbirthday and so I guess Brett! was calling to follow up on the details. Izzy forbid to me answer my phone, but I was so tempted to pick it up and say "I regret to inform you that you are disinvited to my birthday party due to your bigotted, ignorant, offensive, and hateful views. I have judged your personality and found it lacking. Please please never contact us again."
Oh well. We're only in the country for a few more weeks. Unfortunately we can't go to the bar again (EVEN FOR THIRTY CENT BEER NIGHT) if we want to avoid these clowns.
*All of my close friends and I share a phone. Due to muggings and carelessness their cellular devices have disappeared one by one until I am the last man standing. I'm pretty shocked given my history with phones. Anyhow, for the purposes of this story it's important to know that my phone is shared by 3 other people, the number given out to potential suitors, friends, healthcare professionals, etc.
