Of a "bad S.O.T.Y. date"

Thrasher Magazine, March, 2003

Anna and Arjie of New York City won two free tickets to the Skater of the Year party. Our web monkeys thought it would be fun to arrange dates to accompany them. So, they paid for their flights, came out and this is their account of what happened...

WE WERE GREETED AT SF0 by two guys holding cans of Bud. Randy was wearing a t-shirt denoting Asshole University enrollment and a shit-eating grin. Chenzo had on a motorcycle jacket reminiscent of 90210 circa 1993. Schmitty, the coordinator of this event, appeared from some unknown spot, videotaping the romance in action. I knew this weekend was going to be interesting if nothing else. At the Thrasher offices, everyone had a surprised look on their face. Like they didn't expect us to actually show up. A lot of sidelong glances and knowing looks were passed around when people thought we weren't looking. One rather optimistic stud had this lickin'-his-chops look on his face as he announced he'd be getting in on the blind date action as well. At one point, Randy traded me to another boy for a board and some wheels. I'm still not sure if that was a joke. Shortly thereafter, he disappeared without even saying goodbye. Chenzo got so drunk he disappeared for an hour or so while Schmitty took Arjie and I around the Do uble Rock, which was dope. Unfortunately there wasn't anyone skating, In fact I didn't see one boy (or girl for that matter) on a board the whole weekend. Chenzo resurfaced and took over the last leg of the tour. After an afternoon of beer, smoking, and free Thrasher goodies, we were primed to get down at the SOTY party even if one of our dates was the inspiration for Beavis and the other for Betty Ford. We were also curious to see how the boys on the Left Coast compared with our NYC brothas. The day of the party, Chenzo called and we made plans to meet up to party before the party. He called around 6:30 for directions to where we were staying. His last words to me were, "I'm leaving right now. I'll be there soon." By 8:30 we were getting antsy, but I reminded myself that this is California, people are more laid back than in New York. Plus Arjie and I had no idea how far away he was to begin with. We placated ourselves by smoking a lot and drinking beer. By 9:30 we called, no answer. We didn't want to leave i n case he showed up, we hadn't a clue as to how long it should be taking him and besides, in New York, the party doesn't start until 12 or 1. We still figured we were in the clear. At 10, three beers and five bowls later, we decided to leave. We left a message on his phone letting him know that if he was on his way, to turn around because we got a ride. Once outside, we lit our cigarettes and walked to the street corner and stuck out our hands. After a minute or two of watching station wagons, minivans, sedans, and Volkswagens pass by, we realized we weren't in Kansas anymore. The sight of ourselves, cigarettes dangling from our lips, trying to hall a cab in a residential San Francisco neighborhood, was enough to reduce us to hysterics. We either looked really flicking stupid, or like fucking New Yorkers. Finally, we procured a number and called a cab. We arrived at the SOTY party at 11 on the dot. By this point we were fuming. No one had called us to see why we weren't there or if we maybe needed a ride. And shit, since when do guys pass up an opportunity to party with cute chicks that won't be around by the time the hangover wears off? We flew across the country, charging airfare we couldn't afford, taking off from work, all to go to this party and we were three and a half hours late. The party itself was now getting empty and stank of better times we had missed. Readying up for round number two at the bar, I got grabbed from behind and put into a headlock. I knew it had to be Randy. After I pried his meathooks from me, I turned around and gave him a look that expressed what could only otherwise be communicated with an open palm. I looked back to see Arjie throwing the look of death his way as well. He didn't hang around to see what was next. Shortly after, Schmitty approached us somewhat timidly, asking how we were and that he heard Chenzo had called us and said he was too drunk to pick us up. "That's news to me. Last thing he said to me was, 'I'm leaving right now'" I said. He backed away soon after that. Arj ie and I spent the rest of the party hiding from security, trying to smoke cigarettes, and pouring liquor down our throats. On our way out, I caught Randy, kissing and slobbering all over some girl's shoulder. His glazed eyes and wobbly stance foreshadowed a night of botched fumbling and erectile dysfunction. I nearly pissed myself laughing. When it was over, an hour and a half after we arrived, we found Chenzo outside. He was doing his best to remain upright, leaning against a wall. He slurred something to me about being sorry for not picking us up. I smiled and thanked him for not getting behind the wheel. I asked if I could retrieve my Thrasher shirts from his car, to no avail. He pacified us with a blunt and introduced us to Eric, a very talented skateboarder, we were told. On the sidewalk, we shot the breeze with Eric, who was kickin' it to Arjie. Ironic that the smartest guy there was an 18-year-old boy.