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?
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