At the end of my senior year of college, I had one of the single greatest nights of my entire life. A night that was so amazing that I never want to do anything like it again for fear that it may taint this blissful experience. Because sometimes, once is enough.
It all began when my good friend from home, Doug, called me up and told me that his fraternity was holding their formal up in Kansas City in a few weeks and that I should join. Doug went to Oklahoma State, so my opportunities to see him weren’t very plentiful, so naturally my response was “Fudge yea, I’ll come party with you guys!”
After anxiously awaiting for the weekend to arrive, Doug and co. finally headed north to frat it up in good ol’ KC. I made my way over from Lawrence and met them at the beautifully run down Holiday Inn off the Plaza. Doug and I hugged it out and probably made some reference to the Independent High School (of which we were both alumni) before he kindly introduced me to several outstanding young ladies and gentleman with whom I would be spending the next couple of evenings. There were lots of righteous dudes that I met this weekend, but the two key players that should be mentioned at this time are D-Rob and B-Wat (no need to disclose real names here).
That Friday night was tame enough. We went out to the Power & Light District for a beautiful spring evening filled with good company and tasty drinks. We were able to kick back, relax, and sip on a few dozen or so Long Island Iced Teas and shots of tequila (as I said, it was a pretty tame night). The consensus was that we should all save our strength for the big shindig on Saturday, so nothing too wildly eventful happened that night. It was a fun outing nonetheless.
The next day, we woke up and walked around the Plaza shopping center. If you’ve never been there, the Plaza is a pretty awesome little area. During the day, it is a great outdoor shopping venue with plenty of dining options, and at night, it turns into a hub of fascinating nightlife. Since Stillwater (home to Oklahoma State) didn’t have anything like this area, Doug and the rest of his Cowboys (and me) wanted to take advantage of it. We looked for frat like items such as low cut socks for Sperrys, polo shirts of all different shades of the rainbow, and hell, I even bought a book.
After a couple of hours of ransacking the shops, our bellies told us it was time to grub. The gents and their dates discussed where we should eat. Me, being the nineteenth wheel, recommended the ever so delicious Cheesecake Factory. I was craving a salad the size of a mountain and figured that would be the perfect place to get one. Everyone seemed to be in agreement except for one person, Alice. Alice was one guy’s date…ugh…witch! Man, I don’t like her. Alice, if you are reading this, I don’t like you. Cheesecake Factory is amazing.
Anywho, we decided we would go to California Pizza Kitchen instead. Which was actually pretty delicious and ended up providing some excellent entertainment. As we were sitting there scarfing down our food (I still got my salad), a man stood up from his table in a manner that indicated he was about to address the rest of the restaurant. He opened his mouth and said something along the lines of, “I want you all to witness the next step of my life.” He then proceeded to get down on one knee and offer up a ring and his freedom to the woman with whom he was eating. She looked at the ring silently for a moment. Her even face turned to a frown and she shook her head. She then stood up and ran out of the door, and the man soon followed after her. Either it was a really sh*tty ring, or that was one hell of an elaborate plan to get a free pizza.
After a day filled with shopping, eating, and watching people have their lives ruined in public, we headed back to the hotel to prepare for the evenings festivities. The ladies did whatever it is that they have to do to get ready, and the men showered, shaved, and shi…ned their shoes. Yea…shined their shoes. When everyone was ready to rock, our group headed over to a classy little restaurant on the outskirts of the Plaza. Since this was a special occasion, I figured I would treat myself to a nice steak with my dad’s money (I was still in college. Leave me alone).
Not only was it formal season for college fraternities and sororities, but it was also prom season. At the table next to us, there was a bunch of young and only-slightly-dumber-than-us teenagers who were all dressed up for their final high school dance. In an effort to mess with them for entertainment’s sake, D-Rob proceeded to direct an evil stare/giggle combo to several of them (dudes included). It was funny at first, and then it just got kind of weird. And then it became funny again. And then we just told him to stop.
Dinner ended up lasting a smidge longer than we had estimated, so we were a tad late getting to the Kansas City Convention Center, the venue where the actual party was being held. Not only was our dinner party a “tad” late, but apparently so was every other group attending this formal occasion. So late, in fact, that the venue management assumed we weren’t coming and began packing up the mobile bar that we had enlisted to serve us that night. Fortunately, the arrival of dozens of thirsty partygoers convinced them to stay so they could earn a buck or two.
Doug had done a great job of organizing this event, especially considering he lived a whole state away, but there was one piece of the party puzzle that he was unable to secure: a band of DJ. He had reached out to multiple DJ’s and even had one lined up, but unfortunately they bailed on him at the last minute. Jerks! However, that didn’t deter Doug one little bit. He is basically the MacGyver of partying and brought along portable speakers and a totally bitchin’ playlist. Most of us found this to be a more than suitable replacement and danced our butts off.
As the still-young night proceeded, groups of folks began to leave and head towards various parts of Kansas City nightlife: Power & Light, Plaza, Buddy’s (not exactly a place where fraternity guys frequent), etc. B-Wat, D-Rob, and M-Shonk…er…I mean “I”…decided that we weren’t quite done with the KC Convention Center quite yet. After all, this was a huge venue, and we noticed a lot of other socialites attending other festivities within the building (I had mentioned prom before, right?). I don’t recall who said it, but someone asked, “Hey, you guys want to go to prom?” The other two of us gave the person who asked the question a look that said, “Do we look like assh*les? Of course we want to go to prom.” And off we went.
We ran into a few signs at an escalator indicating that a prom dance was on the next level. We hopped right on that mobile staircase and up we went. At the top of the escalator, we ran into a group of school administrators and police officers. And we hopped right back on that mobile staircase and back down we went. We grumbled to ourselves on the way down. “Why would they have cops and parents right at the top like that?” Oh yea. To keep idiots like us out. Fair enough.
So prom was out, but we weren’t done yet. Not by a long shot.
After some more wandering around, we ran into another set of signs. I don’t remember the couple’s names, but the sign started with “Celebrating Mr. and Mrs.….” Now this was the party we wanted to attend. Given our recent failure at entering the prom, we decided that it was a great idea to go into a wedding reception with a bit of a strategy. So the three of us quickly developed fake names and back-stories. Honestly, I was surprised with how efficiently we were able to do this. It was as if each of this had planned for this before. Only now, it wasn’t a pipe dream. It was the real damn deal.
Combining my middle name and the name of the street I grew up on, I was ready to roll. “Hi there! Curtis Glenmoor. I’m a pyrotechnics operator out of Hollywood, California. Damn glad to meet you!”
Armed with fake names and employment, we entered the party. Right when we crossed through the door, I felt a combination of naughtiness and excitement. It was like sneaking into an adult Disney World. But with booze. Lots of booze.
This was one heck of a production for this newlywed couple. The decorations were out of this world classy, the food looked fantastically scrumptious, the wedding cake looked like it could feed an entire village (and simultaneously make all the villagers diabetics), and everyone was adorned in more than fine wedding attire (Except for me. I looked like a plus-sized clothing model out of a K-Mart catalog). The whole scene looked like something out of a fairy tale. A fairy tale that was about to be only slightly tainted by three jackasses who weren’t supposed to be there.
Now, we weren’t greedy. We didn’t want to rack up the bill of the bride’s father and take up several plates of food. That would have just been elementary and childish. So, being the mature, respectful adults that we were, we hit up the bar. All four of them. Multiple times.
After indulging in some libations and conversing amongst ourselves for a bit, we decided we needed to become a bigger part of this little get-together. Heck, we made up fake names and backgrounds and might as well put them to use, right? We began mingling with other guests and introducing ourselves as our alter egos. I’m not much of a liar or BSer, so it was a total rush when I first introduced myself to one of the older gals at the party. It was a like the first time I snuck into an R-rated movie as a kid. I wouldn’t be surprised if my overexcitement showed through and freaked this lady out a bit, but she didn’t indicate that I had done so. So that’s good.
Being the straight-A student that I was, I was very careful in how I introduced myself. To each person I spoke with, I asked them how they knew the wedding party. If they said they new the bride, I told them my parents knew the groom’s parents and vise versa. Genius!
My confidence was building with every passing minute (and sip of vodka tonic), and I decided once again that we needed to get even more involved. Ironically enough, the DJ (probably the same jerk that bailed on our party) started playing Cupid Shuffle. We hopped right on that dance floor and Cupid shuffled all over the place. It was about midway through the song when I noticed that a man with a rather large video camera was right next to me with his lens pointed right at me. Oh boy, did I put on a show when I noticed I was being recorded.
When the song was finally over, I figured I would take a breather and grab another refreshment. I only made it about three steps off the dance floor when I heard the DJ revving up YMCA by none other than the Village People. Upon hearing that sweet sound, I attacked that dance floor like a linebacker smoking an unprotected quarterback. My brain seized to function and my body took over. I’ve never given a more superb performance for anything in my life. My formation of the letters Y, M, C, and A were amazingly crisp, my finger pointing during the “Young man” lyrics was incredibly strong, and my pelvis began thrusting on its own along to the “duh, duh, duh, duh.” I was a man possessed. Possessed by dance!
At the beginning of the song, I was in the middle of the crowd. In front of the crowd, the DJ formed a line of dancers and gave them props (construction helmet, police hat, and other Village Person attire). At some point during my arrested state of dance, I was yanked from the middle of the crowd and placed in the center of the dance line and given a Native American headdress. My dancing efforts were then kicked into overdrive, and I didn’t turn back. Again, the video camera lens was focused on yours truly.
When the song ended, multiple guests swarmed me and flooded my good ear with compliments and treated me like I was some kind of movie star. This was the most glorious few minutes of my young life.
After getting way more involved with the reception than we should have, B-Wat, D-Rob, and I decided it was finally time to bounce and rejoin the formal group out at the bars. Our work there was done.
From there, we hopped in a cab and headed back to the Power & Light to ride out the remainder of the night in celebratory fashion with a few cigars. When closing time rolled around, we made our way back to the hotel and began to wind down. We threw out some epic high fives and headed to bed. I’m not sure how the other guys felt, but as I hunkered down on the bare hotel room floor with only a thin blanket and a coffee-stained pillow, I felt like a g-darn king.
We awoke the next morning, packed up our things, and headed to Gates Barbeque for a farewell meal. We recapped our night with those who weren’t in attendance, and we could see the disappointment on their faces that they had not joined us. I said my goodbyes to Doug and my newfound pals, and then we parted ways.
With the sun shining a little brighter than usual and the radio sounding a little louder than it should, I rode my majestic steed (Nissan Altima) back to Lawrence with a satisfied smile and an experience I will never forget. I can only hope that the newlyweds will never forget me, either, when they watch their wedding video and ask themselves, “Who in the hell is that guy?”
Best. Night. Ever.