Life's An Adventure: The Share Your Stories Thread

[Mr. Chatywin et al.]

During a conversation in another thread with the lovely @Mlle. Zabzie, the idea of telling a funny story came up, and she also volunteered to tell one. However, that would have derailed the thread. With a bit of thought, I decided it would be fun to create a thread where people can share their stories. While my aim is geared towards sharing funny or interesting stories, if you have a tragic story you need to tell to vent or for whatever reason(s), feel free to do so. Just make sure, as always, to stay classy Westeros. And with that, I will get the ball rolling……

 

Story Name: In the Drunken Jungle

Date: July, 2010

Location: A little town outside of Iguazu Falls, Argentina, near the famous Devils Throat.

Age: 22

 

This story is not the one that inspired this thread, but it’s still a good one. I’ll share the other one later from home. Doing so would probably get me fired. It’s that off the rails. But so is this one!

 

I arrived in this small, somewhat rundown town with seven fellow students traveling abroad around 6PM or so. We had just endured a 20 hour bus ride, and the toilet was unusable about an hour into the trip so we rushed to our hostel for obvious reasons. Much to our delight the temperature was significantly higher in this part of the country. We were studying in Buenos Aires during their winter, and all our travel literature indicated it would be nice and warm. LIES! It was coldish and rainy the whole time.

After taking care of business and getting settled in, some of us wanted to explore the town right away while others wanted to rest for a bit before we went out to party. We ended up splitting into two groups of four, which wasn’t uncommon as we had basically formed two cliques early on in our studies (there was a ninth person in our group, but he stayed back because his girlfriend flew down to visit him the previous week and they travelled here). The group in total had three guys and six women. I joined up with my buddy Dan and the two most attractive women in our group. We went to a nearby restaurant that came highly recommended. We each ordered a different drink because we want to try as many as possible so we decided to share (can’t remember what we ate, doesn’t matter anyways). The interior looked similar to an authentic Mexican restaurant only with Argentina’s colors (the World Cup was going on at the time, and Argentina had just been eliminated by the Germans a few days earlier in a disgraceful fashion). After about 15 minutes, the owner came over with two bottles of wine and gave them to us for free. We all suspected that attractive American women don’t come here too often, and he was trying to get an in. This became a theme for the night.

After polishing off all our booze, we left to further explore the town. We met up shortly after with the rest of our group, and we proceeded to go to a large touristy bar. Shortly thereafter a group German guys (three I believe) approached us and offered to buy everyone drinks (five of the six women were very attractive). I’m sure they were playing the numbers game, given there were only two guys and six women in a group. What us young whippersnappers failed to recognize is that (i) they were about ten years older than us, (ii) that they meant more than a round and (iii) man, Germans can really drink. Like really freaking drink. We got to the bar at around 7:30-8, and probably stayed until 10:30ish. We slammed shots down the entire time, all on their dime. What college kid would turn down waves of free drinks? At this point your boy has probably had 10-12 drinks. Thank God I’m a tank.

When we left, our group had grown a bit because not only had we met the Germans, but some Australians were now with us too, and they suggested we all go to a discoteca close by. This town is about the size of your average college town, for perspective. We danced for several hours, and again, shots shots shots! But still it was a blast, despite the impairment setting in. I eventually went back to the hostel with one of the women I had started the night with at around 3AM. With one exception, we were the last to leave. We were both in LTR and didn’t want to make any mistakes. However, the one who remained was single and on a dry spell, so she was determined to get some. She was a very tall, attractive black woman, and by her account the following day, those three German guys got worked.

What I failed to account for, and you’ll see this is a running theme in my early years, is that we had to be on a bus by 7:30 that morning. Dan and I shared a room, and he only went back a bit before me, so we were both in rough shape. We got our wake up knock about 15 minutes before the bus was supposed to arrive. We looked like hell, and for the first and only time in my life, I showered with another man. It was back to back for about 2 minutes as we awkwardly attempted not to cross swords. I farted on him. He did not appreciate that. Anyways, we made it out in time to go to the store at the hostel and get some chips and Gatorade. We needed calories badly.

The bus ride into the jungle was rough. It was like an hour long, and we were all completely hungover. And it showed. We eventually got to the park gate, and we had to do some paper work and other nonsense for a half hour. Finally, we were about to see one of the largest and most beautiful waterfalls in the world!

Now here’s the best part. I never throw up after a night up. It’s weird, but it’s only happened a few times. This would be one of them. I started falling back from the group while we were in a large open field. After they were 100 yards away or so, I saw a small tree and figured that would be as good a spot as any to do the deed. I can’t really describe what it looked like other than to say that there was a lot of vegetation and it was only a few feet higher than me. When I was about 7 or so feet away, my stomach made the fiercest rumble. What came next was straight out of a cartoon. I projectile vomited all over this tree. Three giant waves to be exact. Once it was done, I was knees bent, hands on them, head hung, but I felt great. I look back at my group and no one saw it. Great! I look the other way, and there was a group of about 20 Asian tourists. The kids were wide eyed and laughing, while the older members just looked at me in shock. I gave them an awkward wave, and jogged to where my group was heading.

I thought I had escaped with a small amount of my dignity left. Wrong! To get into the heart of the park, you had to ride one of those old, small trains you see at some amusement parks. 4-6 people can fit in each car with two small benches facing each other. My group was already in, and there was a small line in front of me. I looked back a few minutes later, and wouldn’t you know it, the Asian group was there, right behind me. I had to ride into the park with five of them. They were staring at me the whole time, and who knows what they were saying to each other. I looked awkwardly out the window and tried my best to avoid eye contact.

After that everything was fine. Iguazu Falls is amazing, and I took so many great pictures that have gone on to be framed and hanged. The only problem was the pictures of me, were, well, not so great. But who cares. We got to go on boats and went under the waterfalls. We did a jungle excursion. And at the end we went to a buffet, and I kid you not, I ate more at that place than I’ve ever eaten in my life in a single sitting. I had like 10-15 chorizo sausages, and was cut off by the cook. I also had two tenderloins, some bread, and half a dozen Cokes in those cool bottles. This is not an exaggeration.

And that was it. We went back, got our stuff and got on a bus, and went back to Buenos Aires. EXCEPT I LIED!!! Because what took place next was the first and only time someone pulled a gun on me. We had specifically rented a bus that would stay in Argentina so we could leave our passports back at our homes. That was, to put it lightly, a really bad mistake. The driver took us into Paraguay over the night, and we were woken up at gun point by Argentina’s Border Security. Apparently there was a lot of terrorism in the area at the time, so they were extra diligent. Thankfully one of our group members spoke fluid Spanish, so after a bit of back and forth, and of course, the emptying of all our wallets, we were set on our way.

All in all, it was a crazy 36 hours. And again, I repeat, absolutely none of this was made up or embellished. Wait until you hear how I ran afoul in Cancun during freshman year spring break

[Theda Baratheon]

Lmao what a mad 36 hours. I’m gonna have a good think on this because I’m sure I have some funny stories to my name 

[GrimTuesday]

Mine isn't nearly as fun as Tywin's, but it too involves a gun. When I was in university, I worked for the athletic department as kind of a student security guard. My role was mostly come in a couple days a week and make sure that things that were supposed to be locked were locked, and that when folks who need stuff unlocked came calling, I did that. I don't know if anyone has been to the athletic complex at the University of Washington, but it is large, so the job came with a sweet purple six seater golf cart that I affectionately named Big Pimpin'. This job was pretty sweet, there was one room in the entire complex I couldn't access, that being the football equipment room, but all the VIP suites and locker rooms and all that fun stuff was my domain. Also if you were working in the morning on a weekend, no one else was around usually so you could take a nap.

As a side note, I don't care if you read The Boys in the Boat, you don't get to just walk into the building that the shell is, and for the love of god, if the main door is locked don't go around the building pulling on doors looking for one that is unlocked. This was a real problem, I shit you not.

Any way, I worked at this job until I graduated in December of 2015, and one of my last shifts was on the night of a basketball game. That meant that there would be all sorts of folks there, fans, visiting team, and of course the day of game staff, which was mostly made up of old retirees. They were all very nice and I got to know some of them quite well and thus had a good report. On this perticular day, I was chilling in my office when one of the day of game staff who had walked in from the parking lot comes up to me and informs me that some fans who had started showing up early had reported a suspicious individual in the parking lot, not a big deal, but something to be aware of. Fast forward a few minutes and I get a call on my work phone from a concerned member of the public, who tells me that there is a fella in the parking lot who seems rather disturbed... and he has a gun.

Suddenly everything kicks into high alert, my boss tells me to call the cops, who tell me that they will send a car as soon as they can but they are streched thin due to another situation that has all their attention. We end up having to bring all the early fans inside the building, all the doors have to be locked, Meanwhile, the children of the greatest generation (the day of game staff) who have an average age of borderline decrepit, start brainstorming what we should do. One of them, a very nice man named Steve, who fought in Vietnam and who has had three heart attacks comes up to me and suggests that we get some sort of posse together, take Big Pimpin' out to the stadium parking lot and see about resolving the situation ourselves. The look I gave him was a mixture of "Why?" and "what the fuck are we supposed to do, none of us have guns!", and that was the end of discussion, as at that point all I could think of was I was a few days away from not working there anymore and I've seen to many movies and tv shows to know what happens to the guy a few days/weeks from retirement.

Suddenly we hear a whole fuck load of police cars in the distance, after what at this point had been roughly 30 minutes since the whole thing kicked off. Turns out we had unwittingly become part of the situation they had been dealing with, which turned out to be our disturbed gentleman in the parking lot having carjacked his way across Seattle at gunpoint.

The whole affair ended with a whimper for us, which we would find out later was because he was already gone having carjacked someone left. The chase itself ended in a shoot out with police and the fella's death.

To this day, it seems almost as if I dreamt it, but if I ever need reminding this article in the Seattle Time proves that it happened.

https://www.seattletimes.com/seattle-news/shots-fired-following-car-jacking-suspect-reported-down/

[drawkcabi]

Me, I don't have many interesting stories that happened actually to me, I just kind of observe and take note as interesting things happen to others around me. I could tell the story about how I won a tee shirt impersonating Bill Clinton, or some of my adventures in Hawaii, or just ramble on about the 80's in general again  

But, last week my father turned 90 years old and while I didn't have the means or support to throw a big bash for him I felt I needed to do something, so I wrote a story about him and sent it to a local paper. I've not heard anything back from them so I guess they aren't interested in it, but I think it's a pretty damn interesting life:

 

Crofton’s Own “Lucky” Luciano Turns 90

By Carlo DiSalvo

 

On Wednesday, April 18 “Lucky Luciano” of Lucky Luciano’s Italian Restaurant, turns 90 years old. He turns 90 also on Sunday, April 22…that will be explained in a little further down.

Lucky Luciano’s was a popular restaurant and business staple in the Bowie-Crofton area for 30 years. Opening in 1973 as Lucky Luciano’s Pizzeria at Priest Bridge Shopping Center, (at the time, Patuxent Center) Lucky’s pizza was a community favorite and even had officially won the title of “Best Pizza in Crofton” for several years. In 1979 Lucky’s expanded into the space next door to the Pizzeria and opened Lucky Luciano’s Italian Ristorante. A mafia themed restaurant with a roaring 20’s speakeasy environment with a menu representing southern and northern style Italian dishes.

The restaurant provided a comfortable atmosphere with its bar lounge and dining room, the walls covered in pictures celebrating movie mafia legends and the early days of cinema in general, and a main showpiece of the restaurant, a giant cappuccino machine, which was where you would normally find Lucky.

Lucky’s real name is Luciano DiSalvo, but when he decided to open a restaurant with his wife and business partner, Bonnie Smith, they decided to capitalize on the similar name to the notorious gangster, and he’s been “Lucky” ever since.

You could say he was Lucky all his life though, even if he didn’t officially take on the moniker until 1973. Lucky was born in Alia, a rural town in Sicily, Italy. Here’s where the enigma of his birth comes in; his birth certificate says “April 22, 1928” but his mother always told him he was actually born on April 18^th, he was delivered by midwife and the doctor didn’t arrive to fill out the birth certificate until the 22^nd. Not only has Lucky had two birthdays all his life, for a few years thanks to a misprint on his U.S. Driver’s License that stated his birthday was June 22, he actually had three.

A traumatic breech birth left Lucky with a withered right arm due to Erb’s Palsy. In many ways he effectively only had one arm, but that never stopped him from doing anything in his life, if anything he persevered in spite of it.

While he loved his mother and father his relationship with them was fractious to say the least and working on a farm was never a lifestyle that appealed to him. Starting at the age of 12 he would run away from home, be gone days, weeks, or even months, then he’d either be brought home or come home on his own only to run away again some time later.

When he’d run away, he really ran away. He would hop ship to mainland Italy and travel all over the country jumping on the backs of trains and holding on literally for life. If you are doing your math correctly this puts Lucky as young as a 12-year-old boy independently wandering around early 1940’s Italy, during the thick of WWII. Times that were as interesting as they were dangerous.

At one point he was adopted as a mascot to a company of Italian soldiers and traveled with them as far as northern Africa. Just like most of the Italian soldiers in Africa he was then left stranded there when the Italian Army went bankrupt and had to find his own way home. Lucky was lucky to find the U.S. Navy amiable to helping him get back to Italy.

He eventually found himself in Northern Italy and for a brief time taking refuge in the mountains with the Italian Resistance actively fighting against the Nazis and the Italian Fascist leader Benito Mussolini where he participated in some of the fighting. Lucky was even in Milan to personally witness Mussolini’s body hanging in the town square of Piazzale Loreto.

After WWII Lucky returned home to Sicily where he eventually married and had five children. After trying several careers, he was forced to recognize he saw no future for himself in Italy. He had big dreams and all those dreams necessitated him finding his way to America.

In 1964 he separated from his wife and scrounged up enough money for him and his eldest daughter to buy tickets on the SS Leonardo DaVinci with its destination being New York City, U.S.A. Through the help and sponsorship of some family members already in the States he obtained a visa and green card and was also how he found himself in the D.C., Virginia, and Maryland areas.

He began working as a dishwasher at restaurants in places like Dulles Airport, Silver Spring, MD, and College Park, MD and eventually working his way up to bar back and bartender. It was in one of those restaurants, Italian Garden in College Park, where he met his future business and life partner, Bonnie Smith. He told her about his biggest dream, to have his own restaurant. If Lucky was the dreamer, the heart and face of the operation, Bonnie was the brains, she had the practicality to turn his dreams into reality. Together they were a recipe for success.

In 1968, Bonnie and Lucky opened a Pizzeria in Bowie with his sister and named it after her, Rosa’s Pizzeria. In 1973 they decided to strike out on their own and open Lucky Luciano’s Pizzeria in Crofton. In 1979 they opened Lucky Luciano’s Ristorante, in 1980 they partnered with Lucky’s brother to buy Old Farm Inn in Severn, and in 1983 they opened Lucky Luciano’s Pizzeria II at Crofton Station in Crofton.

For thirty years Lucky’s was a fixture in Crofton, he relished being in America in general and Bowie-Crofton in particular. Lucky Luciano’s has participated in Crofton 4^th of July parades and Taste of Crofton festivals. They’ve donated pizza to local schools for pizza parties and tomato sauce for spaghetti nights. During this time, Lucky brought all of his other children in Italy to America, one becoming the head chef at Lucky’s for a time, and had one more child of his own with Bonnie. He has had children, grandchildren, and other family members who have all spent time working at his restaurants.

Lucky’s favorite part of the entire restaurant business though were the customers, many may remember him going from table to table to talk and asking his signature catch phrase “Is everybody happy?” and for a very good part of those years just about everybody was.

All good things must come to an end though. The original Lucky Luciano’s Pizzeria had been consolidated into a banquet room for the restaurant in 1994. Lucky’s II and Old Farm Inn had already been closed for some years before.

By 2003 both Lucky and Bonnie were feeling their ages, and knew the time had come to retire. His children and grandchildren had all gone on to pursue their own dreams and were wished well. So Lucky and Bonnie decided to close their sole remaining restaurant.

“I missa my restaurant, but it wassa time for me to go.” Lucky has said.

Where Lucky Luciano’s Restaurant used to be in Priest Bridge Center there is now Allison’s Restaurant. It has no connection to Lucky but he’s very happy there is still a restaurant there that is successful and providing the people of Crofton with enjoyable dining. He’s even been there to eat himself a couple times and recommends the food.

Lucky and Bonnie are still together living out their retirement in Hebron, MD, just outside of Salisbury. As Lucky enters his ninth decade of life, Bonnie herself has just turned 75.

In 1986, Lucky achieved another of his biggest dreams when he became a U.S. citizen. That night an historic party was held at Lucky Luciano’s Ristorante, family, friends, and any customers that happened to decide to go there for dinner that night were invited and the memory of it still lingers along with his second most said catch phrase that had extra special meaning for him that night: “God Bless America!”

 

[DMC]

[Father:]
It's not time to make a change
Just relax, take it easy
You're still young, that's your fault
There's so much you have to know
Find a girl, settle down
If you want you can marry
Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy

I was once like you are now, and I know that it's not easy
To be calm when you've found something going on
But take your time, think a lot
Why, think of everything you've got
For you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not

[Son:]
How can I try to explain, cause when I do he turns away again
It's always been the same, same old story
From the moment I could talk I was ordered to listen
Now there's a way and I know that I have to go away
I know I have to go

[Father:]
It's not time to make a change
Just sit down, take it slowly
You're still young, that's your fault
There's so much you have to go through
Find a girl, settle down
If you want you can marry
Look at me, I am old, but I'm happy

[Son:]
All the times that I cried, keeping all the things I knew inside
It's hard, but it's harder to ignore it
If they were right, I'd agree, but it's them they know not me
Now there's a way and I know that I have to go away
I know I have to go

[DMC]

I have stories.  And scars.  And stories about those scars.  And other stories without those scars.  And even more stories where it's just us being drunk and Jose Gullien.  But those stories aren't a thread.  They're fun, and they're telling will come organically.  Not forced in a thread.

[DMC]

Said I remember when we used to sit...in the Catholic Law School as I used to temp.  And then the administrative assistant would tell me what to do, of which I'll share with you!  Mine asoiaf book is mine only carriage, so I've got to push on threw - everything's gonna be alright...

[Mr. Chatywin et al.]

On 4/24/2018 at 3:48 AM, dmc515 said:

I have stories.  And scars.  And stories about those scars.  And other stories without those scars.  And even more stories where it's just us being drunk and Jose Gullien.  But those stories aren't a thread.  They're fun, and they're telling will come organically.  Not forced in a thread.

You will give me those stories when I tells you to! 

[DMC]

Yikes.  That's all I can say to my offerings in this thread.

[DMC]

On 4/24/2018 at 4:48 AM, dmc515 said:

And other stories without those scars.  And even more stories where it's just us being drunk and Jose Gullien.

May have been drunken rambling there, but I do have stories on both those counts.  In terms of scars, if anyone has lived around DC, it has to do with running across the street at Adams Morgan at an inopportune time.

[drawkcabi]

 

Uana appona taim uas tri berres: mamma berre, papa berre, e beibi berre. Live inne contri nire foresta. NAISE AUS. No mugheggia. Uanna dei papa, mamma, e beibi go bice, orie e furghetta locche di dorra.

Bai enne bai commese Goldilocchese. Sci garra nattingha tu du batte meiche troble. Sci puscia olle fudde daon di maute; no live cromma. Den sci gos appesterrese enne slipse in olle beddse.

Bai enne bai commese omme di tri berres, olle sannbrone enne send inne scius. Dei garra no fudde; dei garra no beddse. En uara dei goine due to Goldilocchese? Tro erre aure inne strit? Colle pulissemenne?

Fatta Cienze!

Dei uas Italien Berres, enne dei slippe ona florre.

Goldilocchese stei derre tri uicase; itte aute ausenomma en guista bicose dei esch erre tu meiche di beddse sci sei “go to elle,” enne runne omme craine tu erre mamma, tellenerre uat sanimabicese di tri berres uer.

Uatisuse? Uara iu goine du? — Go compleine sittiolle ?

Spoiler

Quote

 

Once upon a time was three bears: mama bear, papa bear, and baby bear. Live in country near forest. NICE HOUSE. No mortgage. One day papa, mama, and baby go beach, only he forget lock the door.

By and by comes Goldilocks. She got nothing to do but make trouble. She push all food down the mouth; no leave crumb. Then she goes upstairs and sleeps in all beds.

By and by comes home the three bears, all sunburn and sand in shoes. The got no food; they got no beds. And what are they going do to Goldilocks? Throw her out in the street? Call policeman?

Fat Chance!

They was Italian Bears, and the sleep on floor.

Goldilocks stay there three weeks; eat out of house and home and just because they ask her to make the beds she say "go to hell," and run home crying to her mama, telling her what son of bitches the three bears were.

What's the use? What are you going do? — Go complain city hall?

 

 

I'm Italian, my father talks this way, my brother writes this way, and I think it's funny as hell.