We had our last class last night, and I'm still trying to focus my thoughts about it. I've had some great memories about it, but I think my favorite was last night when Bill decided to try and pick up the waitress for me. That's a good friend.
It didn't work out all that well when I got into the picture. She came over to me, hugged me and whispered in my ear how she loved english majors, to which I explained Garrison Keillor's opinion of english majors (we are only good for picking up women). She laughed, kind of a stilted confused laugh. I was going to get her number when Bill jumped in and gave her my blog address instead. No offense to him, but last night I calculated a .018% chance that she would actually read it. If you're reading this, click on the email me button on the right to prove me (and science) wrong.
Bill, Joal and I decided to stick around in case I hadn't blown my chance, but also because we wanted to continue drinking. So after our sad goodbyes with everyone (which I'm still sad about), we sat down, where Joal and I promptly learned way too much about Bill.
This is like the third time I've learned way too much about Bill.
Men swap war stories about women (lies) over alcohol, and we were no different. When the pretty waitress came by, Bill told her we were talking about women (including herself) we'd known. I'm pretty sure it took her about half an hour to return to our table.
Later on, I asked her how many guys hit on her daily. She estimated it was somewhere in the fifties, but was willing to admit Bill had a uniqueness that was all his own. Agreed.