Ancient History and Ice Cream

(Do you ever just feel like writing something even though you know that it's so boring that no one will ever care to read it? Sometimes I do. Why would I bring this up now? No reason. Just keep reading, fool.)

Way back when I was in high school, I was a big big dork.

I know, I know, shocking, but true. You'd think that being shy, unathletic, and both in the marching band and on the mock trial team would would naturally lead to popularity and acclaim, but you'd probably have suffered a recent blow to the head because, come on yo.

Anyway, where was I? Hmm.

For illustration, as a sophomore my friends and I would hold all night study sessions for what we assumed (correctly) to be the most difficult class ever conceived: United States History, as taught by General Rathburn. Now to be fair, it can't be said that all we did was study at these things, there was plenty of goofing off and randomness to be had (more on this later), but the amount of studying was pretty large - commensurate with the level of dorks that we were, which I have previously stated to be 'big big'.

We would hunker down in the little study off Julia's bedroom and quiz each other on the important dates during World War II, or outline every single chapter of the latest tome on depression-era railroad concerns that we'd been assigned. It was not interesting, but it turned out we were pretty good at it. Meaning that even if we were dorks, we were dorks with skills.

Brint could instantly pick up any history fact and assimilate it into his head - it still sort of shocks me at the amount of information he retains from that class. Smart people piss me off. Julia was astonishingly naive about every single thing in the world (again, more on this later) but after the sessions would still manage to have gotten enough out of it that she would regularly trounce us on the actual tests. And I had nothing going for me in that class (I am worthless with dates) but I have what I like to call short term photographic memory: I can stuff anything into my head word-for-word, but it only stays there for 4 days. After that, I remember nothing. Not exactly great for finals, but perfectly fine for a high school environment.

(I swear to God this is going somewhere. I think. I'm in a very strange headspace right now.)

Although we did a whole lot of studying, usually by 1:00 or so we would get a little off-kilter. You can only stuff so much into your brain before you have to blow off some steam. Now in my hometown of Orange, Texas (motto: Petrochemical capital of the USA; come for the plants, stay for the cancer) there ain't a lot to do in the form of fun. Especially when you are big dorks and don't engage in the usual sort of high school...um...revelry?

We usually ended up driving around in Brint's most-awesome classic Mustang convertible and hitting some sort of food establishment, whilst making bad jokes. Yeah, we were rebels. Our cause? History. As mentioned earlier, a majority of these jokes could usually be traced back to Julia's generally un-worldly nature. Nothing in poor taste, you understand, it was just that she didn't necessarily have the most refined common sense, especially at 1:00 in the morning.

So one random, incredibly hot night (In Orange, there are nothing but hot nights. They own the patent on hot.), we have hit the local Dairy Queen for some ice cream, all the while going over the main points of The New Deal.

(Just to make sure everyone is on the same page, let me summarize the important points of the story we need to have gleaned so far so the rest of the story is in focus:

• Brint has a sweet convertible.
• We all have lots of ice cream.
• It is very hot.
• It is very late.
• Julia has no common sense.

(Man, when I lay it out like that, there's just no mystery, is there?))

I'm sitting in the back, content with my frozen hot chocolate and contemplating the mysteries of such an antonymical dessert. Brint is driving, while expounding on his latest idea for an invention that will make us all richer than astronauts. And Julia is trying to eat her Blizzard, only to find that it is melting at an alarming rate. Realizing that her ice cream is about to drip onto the aforementioned sweet, sweet convertible, she panics and runs through all the possible solutions to the problem. The one she settles on? Let us hold the ice cream out the window, where it will fly harmlessly onto the street and not into the car.

Like I said, we were studying History, not Physics.

She shrieks and sticks the Blizzard out the window. Brint goes all into slow motion, very "Noooooo!!!!" and artfully reaching over to stop her. He is unsuccessful. All the dripping ice cream is met with the rushing wind outside the convertible and goes sweeping backwards, directly into my face. It was a very long time ago, and I can totally still picture it perfectly (Apparently somethings I can retain longer than 4 days. They're just completely useless in everyday life) this huge glob of ice cream arcing perfectly for my head. It was incredibly messy, and very dramatic. I still have a general fear of the back seats of convertibles. (There's a joke there, but I'm not going to make it, because I am classy.)

I remember thinking that this sort of thing doesn't happen to just anyone, perhaps I might be a magnet for this sort of out-of-left-field embarrassing incident. But I was young and just shrugged it off. Little did I know this would set up a pattern in my life that still haunts me today.

That happened at one of the very first study sessions we ever held. I had known Brint for some time, but was just meeting Julia. Apparently smashing someone in the face with a cup full of ice cream cements you together in a previously unknown way. All three of us have remained very good friends to this day. And I only bring up this most embarrassing incident for her maybe twice a year. Because I am an excellent friend, of course.

(Note: She's an investment banker now and could totally buy and sell me, which makes it even more fun.)