Let’s just say I’m a people person.
It would have to be the only explanation after meeting your sister for the first time and turning that chance meeting into a friendship that would ironically put me in the position to meet your sister’s best friend at the local watering hole late one night. And surprisingly, while drinking a drink in the suave way I would be drinking the drink and laughing about how I had ironically met your sister in the first place — your sister’s best friend would turn to me and wonder why she had lived so many years without crossing paths with me…
And it would just be the beginning in a long, twisting relationship that would span one sister, a best friend, some brothers, a cousin and some very unhappy convicted felons.
If I was your sister’s best friend’s brother’s cousin’s cell mate’s overly-enthusiastic and partially egotistical tennis instructor, well, I would be pretty proud about my ability to network. I mean, let’s be honest — meeting your sister and having that relationship stick would be a tough thing unto itself. First of all, it’s not like your sister is the most entertaining person to be around with her constant complaining about her parents and that whole “Mike & Ike incident.” I mean, a person can hear about choking on a worm-shaped lime candy causing a choking hazard just so many times over a quaint bar-room buffalo wing appetizer. So, I would be pretty proud of my spandex-wearing, wrist-band-wearing self when I was able to turn the relationship with your sister into a brand-new friendship with her best friend.
Your sister’s best friend would probably be better looking that your sister, FYI.
And isn’t that always the case? The best-friend is almost always the better looking of the friend-coefficient, which would please me and make me wonder all at once about your sister and why she felt the need to hang out with someone better looking than herself? But I would disgregard such thoughts if I was your sister’s best friend’s brother’s cousin’s cell mate’s overly-enthusiastic and partially egotistical tennis instructor simply for the fact that I would be pretty happy with my own looks and why should I care about the less fortunate, you know?
After a night of darts (in which I would win 5 out of 5 matches thanks to my awesome eye-hand coordination and wrist flicking skills) I would keep in touch with your sister’s best friend for weeks to come. We’d meet up for coffee and go bowling and I’d even treat her to one of the most sought after experiences in all of Los Angeles. Yes, a free hour of tennis instruction by yours truly. Unfortunately, whereas I was going to use such a moment to try and get closer to your sister’s best friend — she would not show up alone. She would show up with her brother, who had just arrived in town from Ohio.
Your sister’s best friend’s brother obviously wouldn’t show up for free tennis instruction. He would show up to protect his sister because he was starting to question my advances. Well, shoot — they wouldn’t be advances at all if I was your sister’s best friend’s brother’s cousin’s cell mate’s overly enthusiastic and partially egotistical tennis instructor. No, I’d simply be looking to make friends. Grow my social circle. It wouldn’t be anything villainous or morose. Besides, why wouldn’t people want to be my friend? They all would want to be. And your sister’s best friend’s brother would totally see that I was a cool, kick-back, harmless (yet attractive) tennis instructor and have the time of his life improving on his backswing.
Over some mimosas at the club bar (after my freebie tennis instruction) your sister’s best friend’s brother would invite me to a live music show later that night in Hollywood. Apparently, his cousin was a part of a band called The LockUps — a name that he wouldn’t explain except to say that the band was really tearing up the town with their unique sound, which was sort of a combination between Punk Rock and 80’s Hair Bands. He would throw out one of those this meets this equation and throw out The Sex Pistols and A Flock Of Seagulls.
I would be intrigued, and so I would go.
If I was your sister’s best friend’s brother’s cousin’s cell mate’s overly-enthusiastic and partially egotistical tennis instructor, you can bet that when I showed up at the show that night I’d be dressed to the nine’s in my designer wear. People would actually know me as I walked in the front door, easily bypassing the list and the bouncers. Of course, there wouldn’t be a list or bouncers since The LockUps would be a group made up of guys who had spent at least a year in the joint for everything from petty theft and white collar crime to aggravated assault. And while listening to your sister’s best friend’s brother’s cousin’s band play their most popular crowd-favorite “Hand In The Cookie Jar” I would order a drink at the bar and meet your cousin’s cell mate, Monty.
Monty wouldn’t tell me why he’d been in the can or how he got out or why he was at the show, but he would tell me that he’d heard I was a dashing, talented, intelligent, limber tennis instructor at one of the most well-regarded clubs in all of Los Angeles. And it would appeal to my ego and I would, once again, offer up a free lesson much like drug dealers offer up a free “taste” from the proverbial teet in order to hook people into the entire equation.
This, of course, is all hypothetical and a “what if” scenario.
But if I was your sister’s best friend’s brother’s cousin’s cell mate’s overly-enthusiastic and partially egotistical tennis instructor…it might happen just like this.