In honor of my friend Justine and her birthday, I want to share with you one of my favorite stories from college... it's one of her's too!
It was a typical Friday night in Missoula, Montana-- home of the University of Montana. I was a college Junior and the most important thing for me to do on a Friday night was to go out, and have some drinks with friends. On this particular night, I had been invited to a work party with my fellow employees at KPAX (the CBS Affiliate in Missoula) We went to the Irish Pub to hear a band play, have a few beers and dance the night away. It was a blast, and nice to mix it up from my regular Friday night routine.
When the bouncers yelled, "Last Call." A bunch of people decided to keep the party going at a fellow co-workers house. I was supposed to meet up with my roommate to get a ride home. But he had decided he was mad at me for "ditching" him for a work party. So, I decided I would go to the "after party." I was already going to be walking home-- so I might as well have fun before the chilly trek home. We spent the next few early-morning hours having beers and hanging out, until the overwhelming feeling to sleep washed over me and I needed to head home.
Now, most people would have called a cab-- and been home in minutes. But, I had spent the last of my money on a few beers at the bar. The house was only a mile or two away, and it was early October-- the weather was still bearable, and I had a coat on. So, I waved good-bye to my co-workers and began the long trek home. It was four in the morning-- and in most cities the streets would be deserted. But it was the night before a big game, and people everywhere were making their way home from the bars. For the most part, I didn't run into anyone on my walk home.
That was until I turned the corner and saw a drunken man on a bike. He was wobbling his way toward me, shouting "Go Griz!!! WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" "Oh, God." I thought, "Why didn't I ever invest in pepper spray." I thought I was in the clear when the drunken cyclist rode past me without saying a word. That was, until he noticed the heels I was wearing. "Hey baby! Where are you headed tonight?" He slurred, "Want some company." "Damn it!" I thought, "What am I going to do?"
There were really only two things I could do: Run off without saying anything and hope that he didn't chase me down on his bike, or actually talk to the man and hope he was too drunk to do anything. I did neither of these things. Instead, I did something that most woman would never think to do. I busted out my man voice. For those of you who don't know-- the man voice is a gift God bestowed on the husky-voiced women of the world. Basically, I can lower my voice as low a man and talk like that for a while. Which is exactly what I did. "Baby, who you callin' baby." I said in my Man Voice. "Whoa," the drunk said. "Sorry dude, I saw the heels and thought you were a fine-ass lady." And he started to pedal way "Yes!" I thought, "It worked!" But I couldn't let him leave without saying something encouraging to him so without thinking I yelled "Go Griz!" in my man voice and walked off.
When I got home, I realized I was pretty lucky. I had just walked home and impersonated a drag queen, and didn't get raped, or my ass kicked by a group of drunken rednecks. I went out the next day and bought myself some pepper spray so next time I had to bust out the man voice and it didn't work-- I'd have a back up.
When I told my friends the story at work on Monday-- they laughed their asses off. It was quite funny. And who knew that I could use my man voice in that fashion?