Slowly Going Bald

So, I'm in Memphis one weekend my senior year of college, because when you attend a private religious university in the middle of the Texas desert, driving 650 miles one-way to spend less than 3 days walking Beale Street and eating pork barbecue makes sense. I went with a friend and his fiancee, which was a whole other barrel of awkward that will not here be addressed, but the point is that I was with Friend and Fiancee at the grocery store one night procuring some drinks, and as we wandered the refrigerated aisle looking for the happy medium between price and quality, we were approached and engaged in coversation by a pretty hyperactive little guy.

He was about 28, black, maybe 5' 7", glasses, a short-sleeved yellow-plaid-based button shirt. Maybe cargo pants. It was a while ago, and you should be impressed I remember that much. I'll be honest, at the time we assigned him a hypothetical nickname that we found hilarious and was used in running jokes for at least a year, but I've forgotten it, and will make no attempt to re-create one. So what the hell, call him Willy.

So Willy comes up to me and Friend and Fiancee, and asks us if we're partying that night. Then he guides me over to the Schlitz and says, "This is it, son, this is panty-dropping stuff. You drink this and their drawers be off." Something to file away. Thanks, Willy.

Then he looks at me through the fog of semi-drunkenness, since he was obviously voted most sober at his party and tasked with making the beer run, and he notices that I'm sporting some pretty substantial sideburns (college), and gives a little jump back and says, "You look like my boy, you know ..." and here he holds up his fists and makes a couple of "shink-shink" noises, "from X-Men..." and he just kind of stands there.

"Wolverine?" I ask.

"Yeah, yeah!" Man, that made his night. "Wolverine!" Then he drops his voice into what could only be considered a conspiratorial tone and says, "You be poking Storm, right?" Then he spins around a couple times (he's still got his fists up, by the way), apparently as happens when Wolverine and Storm get freaky.

My friends and I slowly sidle away. Willy checks out at the cashier next to us, and walks out behind us to the parking lot and asks for a ride. We politely decline as we book it over to our car, though we can still hear him calling after us, relentless as Michael Myers. In our haste to leave Willy in the parking lot, we ran right over the curb.

Lessons:

1) If you're drunk, I look like Wolverine.

2) Memphis is well worth visiting.

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