I was sitting outside an ice cream parlor in the city of Oakwood on the eve of my birthday when I witnessed something that I would expect to see on a Bravo reality show, not in real life. My friend Adam had offered to take me out for ice cream in celebration of my impending birthday, and he had suggested Graeter’s, one of those overly trendy ice cream shops. (When I say “trendy” I mean that all of the ice cream is served in incredibly small portions and features hipster flavors such as “Chocolate Stout” and “Fair Trade Vanilla Bean”). Anyway, I digress.
We walked outside the store and sat on a bench after we had gotten our tiny servings of ice cream. After sitting for no more than a minute, I heard a commotion to our left. I turned just in time to see a woman stumbling out of the bar next door. She was soon followed by two other women. The first woman, whom I shall refer to as “Super Drunk Lady,” was already halfway down the sidewalk when the other two women stood outside to discuss her fate.
The second woman, whom I shall refer to as “Less Drunk Lady,” was explaining to someone whom I assumed was the manager of the bar that Super Drunk Lady was going to call her fiance to get a ride back to her home since she was too drunk to drive. The manager didn’t seem too convinced but ended up finally going back into the bar. Once she was alone, Less Drunk Lady headed down the sidewalk, and I assumed that it was the last I would see of her. It wasn’t.
I had barely opened my mouth to continue my conversation with Adam when I heard the pitter-patter of feet. I turned just in time to see Super Drunk Lady stumble-running up the sidewalk towards us. As she lurched forward, she yelled back at Less Drunk Lady, “I WANT ICE CREAM!” As someone obsessed with ice cream, I related to her on a deep level at that point. However, the crazed look in her eyes told me that it was not the best time to try to connect. Once she reached the world’s most pretentious ice cream shop, she aggressively swung the door open and went inside.
After another thirty seconds of conversation, Adam and I were suddenly joined by Less Drunk Lady. In a slightly slurred voice, she apologized for her friend and proceeded to ask us if we were students. Feeling my twenty-three years of age, I smiled and told her that I was not a student. Puzzled, she asked how old Adam and I were. I said that I was twenty-three, and Adam informed her that he was twenty-seven. As if we had just told her that we were seventy-five years old and suffered from the disease that Benjamin Button had, she continued looking baffled and asked us what we did for work. I explained that I worked as an event planner, and Adam told her that he was a graduate student studying mental health counseling.
I like to think that being an event planner is exciting, but not to this woman. She was fixated by Adam saying that he was studying psychology and soon asked him if he could counsel her. He chuckled and said that he couldn’t since he hadn’t graduated yet. She considered this for a moment and then said that they could just “trade services.” Horrified, I immediately concluded that Adam and I were in the midst of a conversation with a prostitute. Thankfully, she followed her statement up by saying that she was a lawyer in downtown Dayton.
Slightly bored by the whole “I’m a lawyer” bit and wondering what fate had befallen Super Drunk Lady, I peered into the ice cream parlor windows to see what she was doing. I turned just in time to watch her drunkenly drop her serving of ice cream onto the counter as she struggled to pay. Not wanting to witness the gruesome scene of her hand scooping the ice cream back into her cup, I turned back to the conversation at hand.
Adam had shrugged off Less Drunk Lady’s attempts to have him counsel her and was doing his best to end the bizarre conversation, but she would not have it. She stared at Adam and said, “I have daddy issues.” It was at this point that Adam could have been telling me that he had found the cure for cancer, and I would not have paid attention because this was more drama than I could have gleaned from five episodes of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.
I gently prodded her by saying, “Oh really? How so?” She held up her hand and pointed out her wedding ring. “See this? I took it off earlier tonight so I could hit on old men in the bar.” Adam looked horrified, and I struggled to contain my surprise/excitement at having a story to tell my coworkers the next day. The former psychology student in me wanted to unpack what she had just admitted, but Super Drunk Lady had stumbled out of the ice cream parlor at that point.
Less Drunk Lady, whom I shall now refer to as “The Lawyer,” ended the mini therapy session by giving her business card to Adam and telling him to email her. As Super Drunk Lady and The Lawyer wandered down the sidewalk, I wondered how I had just witnessed such a bizarre exchange. In hindsight, I guess that it was the City of Oakwood’s way of giving me the birthday gift of reality show style drama in real life. As I drove to the store to get ice cream later that night (the teaspoon of wheatgrass ice cream didn’t cut it for me), I wondered what would happen to those two women and whether or not I would ever see them again. I figured that I wouldn’t, but I was wrong.
I was at a Dayton coffee shop this morning to catch up with a friend and get some writing done when I saw a vaguely familiar vehicle pulling into the drive-through. I thought that it was impossible that it could be her at first, but after a second look, I saw that none other than The Lawyer had pulled up to get her morning coffee. Shocked and thrilled, I shared the entire story with my friend and began writing this blog post. And with that, I realized that those who drunkenly assault you with their vices outside of an ice cream parlor may end up reemerging in your life at a later date.