Two weekends ago, my girlfriend and I decided to have a few drinks while playing Halo 4.
We exhausted our supply pretty quickly, and made up our minds to brave the cold and hit the 7-Eleven across the street. On the way home, our bags filled with beer, Slim Jims, chips, and other goodies, we passed by the building of lofts adjacent to our own complex and heard people singing to music.
“I think someone’s playing Rock Band!” I told my girlfriend as she animatedly snooped around to find the source. Suddenly, she called into an open window.
“Hey! Are you guys playing Rock Band!?”
“I can take anyone in that game!”
“Oh, you’re good!? Well, come on in!”
She motioned for me to follow her, and wide-eyed, I did.
Inside, we were greeted by a crowd of people, drinks in hand and singing along to the music. We were approached by the woman I assume must have been hosting the party, and as she shook my hand an introduced herself, I apologized instantly for wearing sweatpants.
I felt entirely out-of-place and completely uncomfortable, but everyone welcomed us with smiles and waves, and when the hostess selected Bohemian Rhapsody as the next song, how could I not join in the singing? All of us belted the lyrics, banged our heads, swayed from side to side, and shared laughs when it was over.
One of the two gentlemen sitting by the window leapt to his feet and demanded that my girlfriend and I take the mic and the guitar to show everyone how it’s done, and everyone cheered us on until we took our places.
So there I was surrounded by total strangers, wearing a ragged pair of sweatpants and holding a bag of Slim Jims and chips as I sang Amy Winehouse’s “Rehab”. Well, I tried to. I only know the chorus.
When it was over, the crowd dubbed us “The Slim Jims” with cheers and applause before we passed-off our instruments, waved goodbye, and thanked the hostess.
On the walk home, we laughed at the thought of everyone waking up tomorrow, furrowing their brows and asking each other, “Did two total strangers come in here and sing last night…?”