When I was in high school, my best friend decided to throw me a surprise party for my 16th birthday. Unfortunately, she was talking about it with another friend in the PE locker room, precisely as I turned the corner from one row of lockers to the next. All I overheard was something about a party, and, as it happened, it would be around the time of my birthday. Of course, I asked her, “What party?” She sputtered for a moment. Then, quick on her feet, she told me, “Oh, I was thinking about throwing you a birthday party.” This was sweet of her, and she was, indeed, thinking about (and planning) my birthday party. She said my party would be at her house. We would have a slumber party (remember those?), have a few of our friends over, hang out, watch videos, etc. Yes, there were video stores and videos back then, even Beta format. I’m sorry to say that her horrible stepdad, Bob, did have a Beta instead of whatever most normal people had in the day.
Let’s be clear. As you can tell from his Beta player, Bob was an asshole. My then-best-friend and I had even written a song about Bob, or maybe it was a poem. Yeah, it was a poem, definitely. For whatever reason, even though I can’t always remember what I ate for breakfast, or even if I’ve eaten breakfast, I can still remember the lines of that rhyme, which is a cruel one. “Hey, Bob, you slob, get a job. Don’t just sit there like a blubbery blob.” Oh, how clever we were, weren’t we? Clever? Maybe. Mean? Definitely. I would like to say that today I feel bad about it, but I don’t. My lack of guilt is because Bob, as I’ve so gently mentioned, was a jerk. We detested him, not only because he was fat, unemployed and mean, but because of that ridiculous Beta player. Seriously. You can imagine why I wouldn’t want my birthday party to be at their house. However, my friend had been quick on her feet, informed me she was having a party for me on my birthday weekend, and the game was on.
On the day of my surprise party, I was grumpy. With the pretend party at Clever Friend’s house looming, I was filled with dread. Obviously, I would have to see Bob. Bob-the-slob, as we called him. In addition to being a jerk, he was gross. It wasn’t like Bob was only a slob because he was unemployed (lots of people in our rural town were). His hair was always greasy. Since he had Beta, any movie watching we could do would be limited. The small town in which we lived already had a small selection of videos at the store, but if you were to close the gap still tighter, the only Beta available would be “Benji, Go Home” which was old and out of date even then. Upon reflection, I do not understand why people want to have videos (or their Beta equivalent) at parties anyway; it really doesn’t make sense. Yet here I was, 16th birthday ruined now ahead of time, watching “Benji” at greasy-haired Bob’s house. Ugh.
The day of my party, Clever Friend and I hung out at my Mom’s house first, me packing my overnight stuff (slumber party, remember? Oh! That explains the videos!). I was planning to bring something (chips? dip?) to my Bob-ruining 16th birthday party. However, there was no sour cream to make the dip. You know, the delicious, just-add-a-packet-of-onion-stuff-to-sour-cream dip. I might be making it up that it was that specific kind we were making, or even if it was dip at all, but let’s go with that memory. It was my party and it is still my favorite kind of dip, so damn it, that’s what it was. I don’t even want to know what is in those salty, oniony packets. I don’t believe I have ever seen them used for anything other than that delicious dip, but damn, that dip is so good. However, without the sour cream, that beautiful dip simply cannot be made. Dip wonderful. Missing key ingredient, not so much.
Into town we went to pick up some sour cream, and/or maybe some of that onion stuff in the two-ingredient dip. We lived about three or four miles out of town, so we had only a short time to go to town and back before it was time to leave for the pretend, not-happening party at Clever Friend and Bob’s house. Clever Friend friend drove us. (The laws were different then. Teens driving other teens, Mom’s arm often a seat-belt. Back then, drinking and driving was bad, but in those pre-MADD days, nobody paid that much attention, sadly). We didn’t have a lof of spare time before we needed to be back home at my Mom’s to prepare the elaborate dip before Clever Friend’s birthday party for me. I don’t remember malingering at the store, but we must have done, because by the time we arrived back to my house, my surprise party guests were already there, hiding. The party was not at greasy-haired-Beta-owning Bob’s house after all, but at my very own! “SURPRISE!”
The party was wonderfully orchestrated! What beautiful preparation by Clever Friend and my family! Together they had managed to keep my surprise party a secret from me and they pulled off the challenging task of a real, true surprise. Even my friends had managed to arrive within the small gap of sour cream and onion shopping within what must have been a very narrow window.
It was too bad I was in a bad mood due to my dread of the other party (the one that never existed and would never have to happen). Plus, I was a moody teenager and I had been mad that I was going to have to watch “Benji, Go Home.” (I’m not actually sure there is a movie called “Benji, Go Home,” but it seems like there could be). The party was a success once I was jostled out of my grumpy mood. I was very pleased to find there were even a few popular people at the party, which was wonderful for my fragile now 16 year-old ego. Surprise party #1. For me, not from me.
Suspenseful music here…I invite you to now please read “Surprise Part 2!”