Martini Mischief

I don’t know if this is what you want, but something interesting happened to me once, after drinking a martini.

 My name is Anna and I had a good friend, Jenna, when I was living in Tennessee, just outside of Memphis.  Jenna had a horrible boyfriend, who I simply hated; he was just bad news: constantly unemployed, mean spirited, lazy, and selfish.  I couldn’t figure out why my friend was so in love with him.

 One night I was at her place, and we were drinking dirty martinis.  Not a lot.  But she was crying about her boyfriend once again.  And now she believed that he was out somewhere cheating on her, because he was being secretive about his whereabouts for the evening.

 The dude’s brother called Jenna, looking for Mike (his name); and she managed to find out from him that Mike was out at this subdivision, doing God only knows what.  So, of course, she wants to drive out there, to confront him.   Against my better judgment, I agree to go with her, if only to keep her out of jail for assault or something.

 We drive out to the middle of nowhere, got lost 2 or 3 times, before we found the place; and then we had to drive around looking for his car.  I had never been enthusiastic about this plan, but I was definitely against any type of confrontation by the time we found his piece of shit car. 

 Jenna said she wanted to confront him alone; and for me to wait outside on the front porch.  So she rings the bell, he answers, and she starts wailing on him, and he’s yelling at her, and then she goes inside to investigate, because he tells her that he got a job painting this house.  (Hard to believe, but it’s the truth.)  I’m still waiting on the porch, and it’s close to midnight.  I can hear them talking more calmly, then making up, because the windows are open.  And then amazingly, I can hear them having sex.  Loudly!

 I try the door, but it’s locked.  I go back to the car, it’s locked.  I’m stuck outside in a foreign neighborhood, bait for Ted Bundy or some other serial killer.  I keep ringing the doorbell, and they never come down.  Eventually a police car rolls up, and I’m not sure what to say.  He’s asking me what’s going on here, there have been complaining calls.  I tell him my predicament, and he can hear them up there, because they’re so fucking loud.  (They had taken a break, and started up with the sex again.)  The police officer says the car will have to be towed, because it’s parked in the middle of the road; (yes, she just left it there.)  I ask him to call me a cab, but he drives me home.  It is almost 2am before I get home, tired and angry.

  I refused to answer or return any of her calls during the next two months.

 I heard later that she married the douchebag.  And that he cheated on her.  And they divorced.  Which she deserved.

 Bitch.