Thursday, January 27, 2005

Attack of the Killer Mimes

This BoingBoing link on self-defense with a walking cane or an umbrella brought back one of the most bizarre incidents of my teenage night life.

A large group of us had taken a road trip to New Orleans (if you grow up on the Mississippi Gulf Coast this happens at least twice a month) to get drunk somewhere else for a change. We had all had quite a bit to drink. We were having a good time, walking around the Quarter.

Lonnie, my (drunk) boyfriend at the time, was hellbent on getting a New Orleans mime to blink or move or something. I tired of this quickly and told him to come on. He wouldn't...so I just walked away and hung with the rest of the group.

About three minutes later, I hear a female scream "Richard!" at the top of her voice in what sounded like a panic state. I turn to look to see what the commotion is and I see New Orleans mimes flying from everywhere and beating the shit out of my boyfriend with sticks and umbrellas.

I was momentarily stunned. Then I burst out laughing because it was so damn funny. Then it was downright scary. So the guys from our group try to go up and find out what happened. It seems that my boyfriend, after not getting the mime to blink or move, decided that slapping her on the face would get her to move. (Hey, I was 18...don't be so judgmental! And he was quite drunk and probably not thinking very clearly.)

We finally calmed all of the mimes down. But Lonnie was pissed that we weren't defending him - that we were more concerned about the mimes - and he took off mad (and drunk). It was tempting to leave his ass in New Orleans, but we kept on looking for him anyway.

After searching for two hours without luck, the guys of the group decide they need to go by themselves. That we are slowing them down. They park us on a street corner and tell us not to leave so they don't have to go looking for us if they do find Lonnie.

So we stand there. And a limo comes up and asks us if we would like to come to a bachelor party. No thank you. They look really confused. Another limo, another invitation. We are thinking, "Damn, we must look hot tonight!" After the third invitation, the bouncer at the club on the corner says, "Girls, you are standing on the corner of Bourbon street - if you don't want a date, you need to step aside. You're confusing the hell out of these poor guys."

Needless to say, we were mortified. But the bouncer was very nice and watched out for us till the guys got back - without Lonnie. By this time, I'm way past curfew in my dad's new Mercury Cougar. I say, "Screw it...I'm going home, with or without Lonnie." We go back to the parking garage and he's been sitting there the whole time - obviously very concerned that we were going to leave him in New Orleans after he stormed off.

Moral of the story: No matter how drunk you get in New Orleans, NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER slap a mime. They will all beat the crap out of you with their sticks and umbrellas! And never use Lonnie's argument for slapping a mime with your girlfriend: I'm from New York - I didn't know she was real. (Needless to say we broke up shortly afterwards.)

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