Helga

Daniel Perovich
Delta Sigma Phi

Lying in bed just staring at the ceiling, I could not wait to fall asleep.  The sun would be up soon and my mind raced through the events of the evening.  I was confused and embarrassed.  I had no idea how the night had gotten to be so… strange.  Putting my hands over my eyes, I wished I could erase my memory of what happened.  ‘Why me?’ I asked myself.  It is common for awkward things to happen, but for an entire night of awkward is simply not fair.  Laying in bed at my home in Pennsylvania, I replayed my evening from the very beginning.

It all started with a good friend and my promise to be his wingman.  He was newly single and about to go on a date with a girl and her tag-a-long friend.  “Her friend is smokin’ hot” he tells me as I can see the desperation in his face.  I honestly didn’t care too much, I was just happy to do a pal a favor.  In agreement, we leave to go pick up the girls as my buddy gives me the plan for the night.  “We’ll pick them up and go out to eat before the party. We’ll see where it goes from there.”  Arriving at her house, I see two girls walk out of the front door.  The first one, to say the least is very attractive.  She is blonde and built; the type that would really make your dad proud.  The second girl is, unfortunately, nothing to write home about. Before I begin, let me apologize for sounding insensitive, I promise you will sympathize soon enough.

This girl had it all.  A frumpy look, a nasty attitude, and a crazy hairstyle that made me sad to be going out into public.  Without giving her name, let me say that she would have made a perfect Helga.  She was thick with muscles and had broad shoulders.  Helga responded to conversation with exaggerated facial expressions that always exposed the massive wad of gum she was mauling.  If a Siberian power lifter got MTV Made into a '90s valley girl, you got Helga.  To start the date, I climbed in the backseat to let my friend sit with his date.  Moments later, Helga screamed “shotgun!” and linebackered her way up front.  The pretty girl climbed in the back with me and gave me a strange look.  I didn’t think much of it then, but I am sure it was an apology.  I was being thrown to the lions, and everyone knew it but me.

Helga mashed the buttons on her Blackberry while we all engaged in conversation.  She gave short answers to my questions as she obnoxiously laughed at her own texting thread.  Wearing a jean jacket with a Tom Petty and the Blackheart’s patch should have been a good enough warning.  If that didn’t suffice, the feathers in her bob-haircut should have sent me screaming for the hills.  Instead, I held true to being a good friend, sacrificed my happiness, and prepared myself for the ensuing post-traumatic stress disorder I would suffer with for the rest of my life.  We arrived at Outback Steakhouse, and I walked the button-mashing, 6’1” in heels, Amazonian-woman to the door.  I concentrated my energies on remaining as polite as possible for I was truly scared of Helga’s ability to punch my lights out.

I’ll keep the dinner scene brief, but I will fill you in on the atrocities committed, in chronological order, using no discretion for sake of shame or humility.

1. Helga sticks her gum under the table.

2. Helga orders a Bloomin’ Onion, a 20-ounce steak well-done and a baked potato.

3. Helga sneezes into her phone sitting on the table.  She keeps texting.

4. Helga eats the entire Bloomin’ Onion.  Fast.  I keep my hands clear for fear of possible maiming. 

5. Instead of cutting her steak into bite size portions, she cuts it into double-bite size portions.  This allows her to bite a piece twice, or cram a piece once.

6.  Helga sneezes again.

7. Helga drops a piece of steak. It bounces off the table and onto my crotch.  Helga stabs it with a steak knife, eats it, and laughs.

8. I say a silent prayer.

9. Helga finishes her dinner first.  This makes her bored and she lets us all know.

10. Finally, the waitress hands me the check.  Helga grabs it, takes a look, looks at me with her crazy eyes, and hands it back.

Dispirited, we get up to leave.  At this time I don’t know what I just experienced, but I know it is not good.  As we are about to exit I notice that sitting two tables over is my ex-girlfriend and her entire family.  I would not mind some cyanide right about now.

We leave for the party and I try and I keep my civility.  My friend telling a story that everyone is enjoying.  Helga, still maintaining front seat control, cannot stop laughing.  The sight makes me chuckle.  Have you ever seen a donkey in a hysterical fit of laughter?  I then remember she stained my khakis and stabbed at my crotch with a steak knife.  I am suddenly dispirited again.  Arriving at the house, I know I am about to see all my hometown friends, and they are about to see me (with a laughing, crazy, creature from the black lagoon).  She shuffles to the front door, denim capris and black high heals clicking away.  I follow slowly behind as my friend and his date shoot me a devious smirk.

I walk inside the house and notice an entire room is glowing in black light. Remembering that Helga dropped food in my lap earlier, I look down.  My crotch is glowing like the Northern lights.  What did I do to earn this kind of night?  I grab a beer, go outside, and sit in the snow.  Some time passes as I keep waiting for a tree to fall on my head.  The door opens and a wildly drunk Helga comes stumbling out, half-smoked cigarette hanging out of her mouth.  She sees me and runs over.  Actually, she runs past, puts her hand up on a tree and pukes in the pure white snow.  Just like that, the freshly fallen, beautiful powder is stained with chewed steak and onions and Natural Ice.  Is this a metaphor for my night?  I go inside, grab a glass of water for the belligerent Helga, and plead with my friend to call it a night.  Well aware of the hell I’ve gone through on his behalf, he obliges, and we leave.  I sit in the back seat looking out the window as Helga, asleep, is drooling on my shoulder.  Despite still screaming “Shoootcun!” she is put in the back seat.  Everyone gets dropped off, and I go to bed, the best part of the evening.

Lying in bed just staring at the ceiling, I could not wait to fall asleep. The sun would be up soon and my mind raced through the events