***Guest post!! Special thanks to a nameless contributor for this tale of youth and young manhood. And Phish (not Kings of Leon). The towns in question are located in that lovely little slice of strangeness known as South Carolina, if you were wondering.***
When I was 17, I dated a girl from Mauldin named Jill. On a Saturday night in March 2001, we drove to Columbia to see Phish front man Trey Anastasio play at the Township Auditorium. Long story short, we all got fucked up on weed and nitrous and hippie beer in the lot and she began to annoy the hell out of me.
Once inside the venue, I left her and watched the show with my high school buddies Wilson and Daniel and some other girls. When it ended, I left with my friends instead of my girlfriend. Oops. :( On the drive back to Greenville, we stopped at the Hess on Piney Grove.
As we “shopped,” the evening attendant was discarding that day’s stock of Krispy Kreme into a -- honest-to-God -- pristine and absolutely fresh trash bag. Being freshly stoned bros, we naturally carpe-ed the penis out of that diem and picked out the best pastries with our hands. Those doughnuts got dominated. No joke: We shoved them into our gaping maws with the collective adroit of a half-wit homunculus.
While we were “eating”, Jill and her group walked in.
Her: “Dude. What. Are … you doing?”
Me: “Eating some dank-ass doughnuts. Um … See you at church tomorrow?”
I didn’t go to church again until after college.
That night in Columbia, Trey played a cover of Stevie Wonder’s “Signed, Sealed, Delivered”. Whenever I hear that tune, I can't help but think of that night and that poor girl. This one’s for you, Jill, darling. For the record, I am truly sorry. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still an asshole.