Two Guys Walk into Nick Tahou's...

Though I eventually got my act together when I was in my mid-20s, earned a couple degrees, and established a career, one of the best decisions I ever made was to drop out of college the first time around.

By the time I graduated from high school, I was only just starting to really discover who I was. Like many, I chose to attend college right away mainly because I knew it's what my parents wanted for me. It took me until after I was already into the second quarter of my freshman year to realize that I just didn't want to be there. I had bigger oats to sew!

My first significant relationship wasn't until I was 18, and it coincided with my freshman year. Around March, I had a pivotal conversation with my best friend at the time. I don't know that he'd want me telling this story, as not many know about it, so I'll give him an alias to once again protect the innocent. Let's call him XWB. That talk was so important was because we were plotting our escape from our respective girlfriends. Both our relationships had gone sour at the same time, and we were much more powerful strategizing together than we were as individuals. It basically came down to this: 1) break up, 2) run, 3) hide.

(I was going to make a joke here about how we were both scared for our lives, since there's a chance our exes might read this...but I just can't come up with anything funny.)

Once our escape plan was set in motion, the next step was to get an apartment and jobs. Check and check. Fantastic 2nd level pad in suburban Rochester, NY and shiny new positions at Tony Romas - myself a server and XWB a busboy. I really can't think of a better job when you're 18 than being a server. Built-in social life with your coworkers, great hours, and the ability to influence how much you make via tips. I still remember how cool it was when we both were at the Ralph Wilson Stadium ticket office buying season tickets for the Bills in cash. But anyway, I digress. I have many stories about the year that XWB and I lived in our apartment, but there is one in particular that I want to tell today...

For those of you who don't know, Nick Tahou's Hots is a legendary restaurant that has been around for nearly 100 years and invented the "Garbage Plate".

Whenever rock stars and celebs would travel through Rochester, they'd always stop in for a plate at Tahou's. XWB and I had always gone to the one near our apartment, but it was the original location - the one downtown - where it all started. We had heard countless stories about how on Fri and Sat night, the crowds there were just crazy. Not just crazy in terms of size, but in terms of, well...personality. One Saturday night we finally decided it was our time to experience this scene, and off we went.

One thing about Tahou's, not many would argue that it's great food, but it's absolutely great food when you're drunk. There was just no disputing that. Consequently, when you arrived there at around 2am - which was when we intentionally had - there were many patrons who had just finished up a round of bar-hopping or other libation-centric activities. Naturally this only lent itself to even more of the aforementioned personality of the place.

As soon as we walked in the door, we saw a few loud partiers enjoying a round of plates at one table, contrasted with a couple other folks who were obscenely disheveled and passed out snoring at another. We were fascinated. XWB and I placed our order - a cheeseburger plate for him and a hot plate for me, both with extra (hot) sauce and Italian bread. XWB and I never had an official eating competition, but just about every meal we had together resulted in the food being consumed at a very rapid, yet somehow perfectly natural, pace. XWB about 6'3" 200lb, and myself 6'2" and around 225lb...and our 18-year old metabolisms.

As we finished up our meals, we headed out the door with sated bellies but somewhat disappointed. The initial fascination faded quickly, and as we walked back to my 1979 Mazda RX-7 to drive home, we couldn't help but feel as if the scene we'd heard so much about was a bit overrated and a let down. About 20 feet from the car, as I reached into my pocket to get my keys, I caught an image in my peripheral vision. I turned to look, and it was two scantily-clad women, probably late 20's, and smiling at us. They cheerfully said, "hey, where are you guys headed? We were wondering if you might be interested in partying with us!" Probably right now I don't have to say another word and the majority of you who are reading this know exactly what "party" refers to when a strange woman comes up to you out of the blue at 2am in the city. Well, XWB and I did not.  We both looked at each other with what were probably the dumbest, most oblivious, big-headed grins of all-time and said, "sure, what did you have in mind?"  No sooner had we responded, one of them came right up next to me and the other next to XWB, as they walked with us - well, paraded us is probably more like it - to my car.

As clueless as we were about what exactly we were getting ourselves into, I do have to give us some credit here. I'm proud to say that we both snapped out of it just long enough to realize the car we were all headed toward was a very small sports car. It was a 2-seater....no back seat, very little headroom, a stick shift in the center, and no trunk. On some level, our common sense screamed from somewhere deep within, and implored us to err on the side of caution. We told the girls we had thought better of it and perhaps another time would be best. Again, exhibiting impeccable reflexes and expert precision, the girls waited for XWB and I to get in the car, and just as we were saying good-bye, found a way to slide into the vehicle - on top of us - and close the doors.

As difficult as it is to imagine this was even possible - four people in the front seat of a small Mazda, with the doors closed - imagine how hard it is for me to convince people it ever happened. I sometimes feel like Maverick from Top Gun in this scene:

Inevitably, the first question I always get after getting this far in the story is an echo of what Kelly McGillis said in the clip above..."uhh, Focker...what were they doing there?" Unlike in Top Gun, however, the answer is far more than just "communicating". Actually, I guess that depends on your definition.  If you define it as straddling us with their bare legs, brushing their hair against our faces, and putting their hands down our pants, then yes, these girls were def-fin-it-leee doing a lot of communicating. It was all happening so fast and they had so many aspects of our physiology confused and flustered, we became helpless for a good five or ten minutes! The best way I can explain it would be to say it was blissfully traumatic. But then it got even BETT...errr, I mean worse....much, much WORSE!

While my circulation was getting very frustrated with me, trying to figure out if I wanted it to flow upward or downward, all of a sudden XWB screamed out and began yelling at the girl on his side of the car. "GET OUT!!! GET THE HELL OUT!!!!", he screamed.  Not only did he startle the bejeezus out of me, but I had no idea what the heck he was screaming about. Did he get stung by a bee? Certainly there was no more room for any other occupants...couldn't be that. He flung open the passenger side door, jumped out, and then made the girl get out along with him. It was right then that he told me the problem. "She's trying to steal my damn wallet!!", XWB proclaimed. As he patted himself down, frantically trying to see if his wallet was still on his person, the girl that was on top of me jumped out of the car and joined her friend. I followed behind and went over to XWB. 

Now my parents were relatively strict with me growing up, but as I moved further into my later teen years they basically trusted my judgment. XWBs parents tolerated a lot of his childhood antics, but when something serious went down they were all over him like a hooker in a Mazda. There is absolutely no *way* he would be able to explain to them that his wallet was stolen by a prostitute in a parking lot at 2am on a Saturday night. Though I didn't confirm it at the time, I am certain this was exactly what was on XWB's mind as he realized his wallet was in fact gone. It was also the very motivation for what he was about to do next...

All of a sudden, just as XWB was confronting the girl about the theft, a shiny black Lincoln Town Car (could have been a Cadillac...not sure) pulled up in front of us. The two girls jumped into the back seat and as the car pulled away XWB bull-rushed the driver's side window, screaming for the vehicle to stop. The window rolled down and a very large African-American gentleman with dark sunglasses looked at XWB, firmly asking, "WHAT!?!"  As he briskly walked next to the driver while the car slowly pulled away, XWB yelled back, "that bitch has my wallet!". The window went back up, the driver peeled out, took a sharp left, and sped away into the Rochester night. 

In a last desperate attempt, XWB started to run after the car, but quickly realized it was futile.  The fact that I still had my wallet was of little consolation to me. My best friend had just been robbed and he was absolutely petrified of what was yet to come once his parents were informed of the night's events. He let out a sigh as he slumped into the seat of the car and I began to drive us home. When I went to put the car in gear, I noticed the parking lot lights were illuminating something near the floorboard of the passenger's seat near XWB's feet. It was his wallet! He snatched it up, frantically opened it, and miraculously everything was still inside of it - including his cash. Our long national nightmare had finally come to an end...XWB had evaded the wrath of his parents, the shame that would have surely resulted, and we could both now rest assured that we would be able to come back downtown and do it all again the following week!  Okay, okay...we actually never went back there again. But hey, we sure got a great story out of it, didn't we? 

Thanks for reading :)

Senior Prom: Remembering Sharon

I have three different blog posts that I'm in the middle of finishing, but felt compelled to share a quick story from high school. Hopefully some of my fellow HF-L classmates will see this, because many of them will know the Sharon I'm referring to, even if they weren't aware of the story.

Some friends and I were recently discussing senior prom memories, and I thought it might be a good idea to talk a bit about mine. Well, the truth is, I don't really have any memories of my prom because I never went. But while I don't regret at all my decision not to go for "prom's sake", I do regret it very much for another reason.

Having moved so many times from state to state during my childhood, I was always the new kid. It always seemed that right when I was starting to settle in, gain acceptance and establish friends, we'd be uprooted yet again. I talk about this in another upcoming post, so I wont spend more time on it here, but the point is that it wasn't until around the 2nd half of my junior year of HS that I finally started feeling as if I belonged. By the time I got to senior year, I was a much more confident person and I was more engaged with our class.

One of the proudest memories from high school involved our track team. My fellow seniors and I had been undefeated from our freshman year all the way up through our last meet. I was a thrower - shot put and discus. Not all that exciting, but something I was pretty good at, and I contributed to our meet wins on a consistent basis. As senior track season progressed, I had broken the school record and was showing up in both the local and city papers regularly. It was sort of my own niche, as even our coach (who will admit this freely) really had no idea about my particular events. I was essentially self-taught and had to learn by watching people like Olympian Al Oerter and others on video. Every so often my name would be among the others read during morning announcements in homeroom, which for me was really a thrill.

As senior prom approached, several of us realized that we had a real shot at advancing toward the state meet in our respective events. Unfortunately the last tune-up meet - an invitational, not a team meet - was set for the same evening of the prom. It was a very tough decision, but I made the choice to join a few of my friends (Yeckel and Seiler both come to mind, in case anyone from HF-L '90 are reading) in attending this meet, in hopes that it would better prepare us for the road ahead.

Off the top of my head I'm having a hard time recalling the name of the meet, but I know it was one of my favorites of the season. I want to say it was called the East Rochester Invitational, but dont quote me. It was a beautiful night under the lights, and I recall feeling pretty exctied to compete. During one of my early throws, I tripped over the wooden "stop board", which is the part of the shot put circle that marks the front barrier that your foot cannot go beyond or the throw is disqualified. I reaggravated the same knee injury that I sustained earlier that Fall during football season. Not exactly the performance I was hoping for.

While the injury during the track meet was certainly disappointing, it was a phone call I received a few days earlier that really put a smile on my face. A few days before the prom, I received a call from a classmate that I knew and liked, but someone who hung out in different circles than myself. Her name was Sharon B. She was a very outgoing, well-liked, intelligent girl that was always friendly to me and fun to talk with. Much to my surprise, she called me up and said that she hadn't made plans for the prom yet, and was wondering if I might like to go with her. I remember very vividly how it felt in the moment immediately following her question. It was as if I lit up from within. It meant the world to me that she wanted to ask at all, let alone actually making the call!

As you already know my decision on what I actually did, I'll now share the hard part of the story and where my true regret lies.

In the first few years following high school graduation, it's normal to be curious as to what everyone had been up to. Did those with big plans follow through? Who dropped out of college? Who never went to college at all, but chose another path? During one of these conversations with my friend Patrick, he shared some news that absolutely devastated me - that Sharon had died. It makes my heart sink writing about it even tonight, all these years later. I had no idea how to process this news...it was nearly impossible to reconcile this in my mind.

Though Sharon and I weren't close friends, and truth be told we didn't know each other all that well on a personal level, I can say without hesitation that she was one of the most important people of my life....and certainly one of my favorites.

My hope is that one day, a long time from now, I'll get the opportunity to return the courtesy she extended to me...perhaps even take a turn on the dance floor.

God bless you, Sharon...and thank you :)