The exit sign towered over the throbbing crowd as the music blared and sweat sprayed. The concert had long since ended, only to be replaced by a DJ who knew only two volumes, loud and louder. From the opposite side of the room, in a corner not nearly empty enough, a supremely tired Jack stared at the ever enticing sign and realized it was time to go home.
Using the glowing sign as a beacon, Jack held his tired arms high over his drenched shirt and, save for a smattering of elbows and severely unkind expletives, safely navigated his way through the squirming sea of wet, convulsing bodies. After finally making it to the illuminated oasis, Jack pushed open the door to his freedom as he escaped his sweat-drenched fever of a night.
The cold, full bodied embrace of the Boston night was just what Jack needed. Daring the night to chill him, Jack walked a few blocks in no direction in particular on what was becoming an increasingly empty street. Stopping abruptly, Jack stopped and pulled out his phone. The time read 1:30 am. Dammit, thought Jack. It was later then he’d anticipated and, frugal as ever, using his pre-paid T pass to ride the metro home was no longer an option.
After a quick debate with himself on whether to try and snag a stray taxi, or pay the exorbitant surging costs of Uber during the peak time that it always seemed to be, Jack settled on using UberPool. Sure the rates were still subject to surge costs, but a fast-fading Jack pinned his location and made the impulse decision of his life. Random fellow passengers be damned, frugal Jack just wanted a way home. The god of dreams beckoned from a bed still too far away to be real. Soon, prayed Jack quietly, soon.
A few minutes later, Kenneth, a driver with a paltry 2.5 rating, pulled up in his 2014 Toyota Camry. At least he was on time, thought Jack. Getting in with surprising energy, Jack popped into an awkwardly crowded backseat. Within seconds, Jack, like his two fellow backseat riders, was quickly nauseated by an overpowering smell of pine trees, smoke and Cheetos? that permeated throughout the car. It was all Jack could do not to barf.
Immediately to Jack’s left, seated in what looked to be an uncomfortable middle seat, was an obviously intoxicated underage undergrad who, under a sea of hair, kept making weird gurgle noises. To the undergrad’s immediate left was what Jack could only describe, if limited to a one word description, as a Goddess. The Goddess, or attractive girl somewhere near his age (whatever), was a mystery Jack wanted, no had to solve. She was both unapproachably beautiful yet oddly inviting, calm and quiet yet teaming with of energy and authority, delicate yet powerful…Jack was desperate for her attention.
10 excruciating minutes later, in which Mr. Nascar, i.e. Kenneth, had artfully woven
through blinking lights and cratered city streets, a now wide awake Jack still had yet to make contact with his would be muse. No verbal communication had been established. No shared Man this undergrad in between us looks waste, huh? looks. Not even a single stolen glance. And then the heavens opened up and IT happened.
IT was vomit. IT came out of the undergrad. IT landed all over the (silk?) top of the Goddess. IT was disgusting. IT was beautiful. IT made Kenneth sooooo angry. IT made him demand his passengers get out immediately. IT had Jack giving his shirt to the Goddess while Kenneth tried/failed/tried again/failed again to physically remove the undergrad from the backseat. IT had Jack and the Goddess merrily fleeing the scene together. IT ended with the Goddess entering her number into Jack’s greedy phone (to return the shirt or ???). IT was heaven. IT was life-changing. IT was vomit.
Later that night, in the comfort castle of his own bed, a wide-eyed Jack couldn’t stop grinning.