A Ruined Undercarriage

          Are all British people crazy? It's hard to say- I've only met a handful of them. But the group we met at the pub? Absolutely. In one night, I learned the waltz, got hit on by a man, and witnessed a striptease. Oh yeah- I also got engaged to a girl in our program. Any time that many ridiculous things happen in one night, there has to be a cause. I blame it on the Brits.

         There were about seven or eight of us who went into the pub together. When we walked in, it was insanely loud. Like fourth and goal with the driving team down by 6 at the Super Bowl. (Aside: yes, I saw it. It was dubbed in Czech, and there were no commercials, and it didn't end until 4:30 AM. Not my favorite way to watch the game. But god, I am going to miss football.) Anyway, I think the noise was more apparent because everything is so quiet here in Prague. Sure, you have the noise of cars and trams, but step onto the Metro and nobody is talking. If they need to have a conversation, it takes place in hushed tones. Same for restaurants. Even pubs are pretty quiet. So it was a big surprise when we came into this one. We headed for a table at the back, and it only got louder. 

          Once we got back there, we found a bunch of tables pushed together, occupied by maybe fifteen Englishmen. They made enough noise for thirty. We sat down next to them and looked at each other, our eyes saying, “What the hell's going on?” Then the waitress came by, and we heard their order: “Fifteen pints and fifteen shots of Sambuc-er, and fifteen shots of tequila and...ten Jagerbombs!” Keep in mind, they already seemed trashed (the empty mugs and shot glasses all along their table provided further evidence for this theory.) Well, whatever. Rowdy Brits are fun, right?

         About a minute later, one of the older men (40ish) in their group slid over to one of our girls, Kelli. Within seconds, he'd asked her if she had a vibrator in her bag and if she was a “screamah.” We were all shocked, but we laughed. I think because he was a Brit (and because of that accent) it came off as charming and naughty, when in reality it was really freaking creepy. He didn't seem too threatening, though- I mean, he was wearing a scarf for chrissakes. But he did put his arm around her shoulder at one point, and of course he asked those questions, which made him less than innocent. So when he asked her if she had a boyfriend, her response didn't come as much of a surprise. She looked across the table and said, “Yes. Noah.” It wasn't the truth, but I was happy to play along. Naturally, he started asking her how I was in bed, but I figured that was better than the alternative.

          He continued to hang out with us as his group ordered more drinks. Their group kept suddenly breaking into song (Swing Low, Sweet Chariot was a personal favorite) and repeating a few lines until they tired of it, which sometimes took five minutes. One of them stood on the table and began to take his clothes off, to the chants of “I Believe in Miracles.” He got down to his boxers before he fell off the table. Thankfully. We would later see him come out of the kitchen, shoving a ladle down his pants. I don't plan on eating here any time in the near future.
          Our main British friend stayed around us. And he wasn't all vulgarities, either. He took us one by one and showed us how to waltz. I admit, I felt a little strange about dancing like that with a man. And that was before he complimented me. Our waltz ended soon thereafter. 

Fantastic form

           But I'm pretty sure he wasn't actually interested, as we learned that he was married and had triplets. Didn't see that one coming. This topic inspired him to share some advice with Kelli and I about having babies: “You don't want to have them come out down there, you know. It ruins the undercarriage.” It didn't stop there, though. I think he wanted to make a more thorough point to me.

          “Where are you from?” he asked.

          “Uhh...Missouri.”

          “They got rivers in Missouri?”

          “Yeah.”

          “Are there tunnels under the rivers?”

          “Maybe?” I said.

          “You see, it's like going down in one of these tunnels. It's dark, so you light a cigarette. You can see the edges of the tunnel, just barely. And it's fucking horrible, you know?”

           I didn't know, but I said “yes,” anyway.

          

          All of this talk about babies and family must have gotten him thinking about marriage, because suddenly he got the idea in his head that I should propose to Kelli. Right there at the bar. Not that I've put much thought into my proposal, but this wasn't exactly how I imagined it. 

          “I don't even have a ring,” I said.

          “Here,” he said. He took off his wedding band. “Use mine.”

          I looked at everyone around me. They were all smiling and laughing.

          “All right,” I said.

          He pushed the two tables apart to make room for me. I kneeled down on the floor, ring in hand. “Kelli,” I said, “We haven't been together for long, but I think there's something special between us. People say that when you find the right person, 'you just know.' Kelli, I didn't believe them before, but now I know. Will you marry me?”

          “Yes!” she said.

          I slid the ring onto her finger. My engagement record: one for one. Not bad.

          Once that was over, we talked with a couple other British guys, who were very nice when they weren't falling over. Things only got sloppier as the night went on, and after a while, we decided to leave. Sadly, we had to give the ring back to our British friend.  I guess I'll have to buy Kelli another ring soon, but for the moment we are still engaged. From friend to fiancée in three hours. Some would say “Only in Vegas,” but I'd add “or with Brits around” to the end of that. We left the bar, and exchanged a few more glances. The night was too much to put into words. We just laughed.