*Subtitle: No way! He actually did that?

Friday began exactly the same as nearly every other day in my vacation: with a lot of sitting around. The day didn't really begin in earnest until after lunch time when I went to pick up my paycheck.

At my office, Pointy Bearded Boss was just gearing up to involve me in what would likely have been a drawn out political discussion with The Landlord. I listened politely for a moment before using Girlfriend and The Kid waiting in the car as an excuse to slip away.

Off at the bank with my check, Sister informed me that Giggs and husband were in town and the three of them were going out drinking that night. I was all over that. Plans were made, and the family and I were off to what would be one of the highlights of my day: the gas station! (I know, my life is so much more fabulous than yours!)

Just like lots of other people, it's part of my routine to fill the gas tank on payday. A pocket full of money always seems to lessen the impact of three dollars a gallon gasoline.

So I was standing there, pumping gas, when I saw a guy I went to high school with. Let's call him Wolfman. Wolfman and I hung out with the same crowd, but we were never really close. He always seemed nice enough, but he also seemed a little… off. Wolfman never really socialized well. He was always the guy hovering at the edge of things with no idea how to really get involved.

And frankly, Wolfman is really goofy looking.

My strongest memories of him are from gym class. My high school had a pool, and there were co-ed swimming classes required for underclassmen. Wolfman had a problem with swimming classes. Almost every single day, he would get an erection in the pool.

The first time it happened the coach noticed and very discretely told Wolfman he could sit at the edge of the pool until the problem went away. But the problem rarely went away. Almost every single class, Wolfman would sit quietly at the edge of the pool with a hard on pushing against his trunks.

Everybody knew about it. Everyone noticed. But I don't think anyone ever said a word about it. We all just pretended we didn't notice. The girls were probably a bit repulsed by it (after all, Wolfman is really goofy looking) and the boys were all sympathetic. I mean really sympathetic. I still remember that pink and white suit that one girl would wear. Damn. The coach is lucky all of us weren't sitting at the edge of the pool.

But anyway… we all knew. And even though no one ever said a thing, Wolfman knew that we knew. I cannot even imagine the embarrassment he must have felt every single day. And I can't help but wonder the impact it had on him.

Like I said, Wolfman and I were never close. I never knew what to say to him. Greetings were always awkward. They are even more so now. Wolfman is a convicted sex offender. He's registered in the state database and everything. Third degree sexual assault, active supervision until 2025.

Now I really don't know what to say to him. I'll always wonder, did high school gym class mess him up that bad, or would he have turned out exactly the same? Fortunately, we didn't talk that day. We just waved at each other from across the lot as he drove away.

Girlfriend, The Kid, and I did some half-hearted shopping, mostly just killing time until we went to the movies that night. At around six, we dropped The Kid off at Girlfriend's sister's house and went to see 40 Year-Old Virgin. The movie was so-so. It had its moments, but it was mostly forgettable.

We picked up The Kid and I dropped him and Girlfriend off at home while I went out to drink myself stupid with Sister, MrsGiggles, and husband. For the record, it takes very little drinking for me to become stupid. Also for the record, the drunk girl from the McDonald's drive through the week before was out drinking again.

At first we passed the time with darts. I almost nailed The Candyman in the head with one of them, but it really wasn't my fault. Some genius decided it would be a really good idea to put the ATM right next to the dartboard, and Candyman turned into my throw. The dart didn't come within a foot of him, but the look on his face was truly a Kodak moment.

There are two other things worth noting about playing darts. First, my bullseye dance always makes people laugh. Always. And second, MrsGiggles' breasts make excellent bongos. From now on, MrsGiggles' breasts are officially known as "beer bongos." That really has nothing to do with darts, but there you have it.

After darts we moved on to a new game: Boobie Hunt. Given that I have spent my entire adult life and the lion's share of my adolescence chasing after breasts, you'd think I would be pretty good at this game. Well, that's where you'd be wrong. I am only a mediocre boobie hunter. How depressing. MrsGiggles, on the other hand, is a superb boobie hunter. So now you know a little something extra about her.

The whole evening was crammed with drinks and laughs. There wasn't a single dull spot. But there was one very big bright spot.

Because I'm a good good person, when a guy dropped some of his cash I got his attention and pointed it out to him. He was more than a little wasted, so it took me a few tries to get him to see what I was pointing it.

He picked up his dropped money and tried to hand it to me. I left my hands at my sides and tried explaining that it had fallen out of his pocket. He set the cash on the table in front of me. And then I noticed it wasn't cash.

It was play money.

I gave him a confused look. He reached into his pocket and offered up the fat wad of cash that had spawned the runaway bill. His bankroll was one twenty dollar bill, about a half dozen ones, and about an inch of play money.

Amazing. I had no idea people actually did that. I'd heard of this, but never seen anyone actually do it. It was like seeing the Loch Ness Monster. I wanted to say, "Wow! I thought you were a myth!"

I was really entertained by all of this. I just could not contain my laughter. A big grin on my face, I told him, "That is the coolest thing I have ever seen… and it's… really pathetic."

Hanging out in a bar and calling drunken strangers "pathetic" is often a risky proposition, but instead of getting angry he just gave me a really dopey drunk grin. I tried to convince him to hang out by the ATM so I could get away with throwing darts at him, but he just wasn't having any of that.