Naked Backpack Boy
On the Preference for Wearing Socks When Going Out on a Nude Date
I once asked a friend, we’ll call him Marcus, how his weekend had gone. It was a general question, to which I expected a general answer such as, “Fine” or “Okay” or “Oh my God, they found me. I don’t know how they found me, but they found me. Run for it, Marty!” I did not get any of those responses. Instead Marcus told me he went on a date…
Never much of a planner, Marcus asked the girl – we’ll call her Katie – what she would like to do on their date. She knew of a neighborhood cul-de-sac in Pasadena. Katie suggested they drive to this cul-de-sac in Marcus’s SUV, park there, and participate in some hanky panky. In other words she was in the mood for something old-fashioned. Marcus was on board. Consequently, they hopped in his car and made the twenty-four minute drive from his North Hollywood apartment to the affluent Pasadena neighborhood, of which they had no connection – other than Katie was somehow familiar with the cul-de-sac from past experiences, presumably. To be clear, this was not a first date. They had gone out a few times before. They were ready for backseat SUV cul-de-sac liaisons.
As Marcus described it, it was a pleasant experience. They casually parked at the end of the cul-de-sac, removed their clothing, and began to enjoy each other. No one interrupted Marcus and Katie. Apparently, the local residents were not members of Neighborhood Watch. Perhaps they were used to such randy activity and, as they peeked through their curtains, they commented, “Katie brought another one around. Good for her.”
At any rate, nobody called the authorities or unleashed a guard dog on them. Their date could have lasted anywhere from three minutes to an hour – if it was a Tantric date. I don’t know – I didn’t ask. I simply let Marcus tell his story. However long they were parked, once Marcus and Katie finished their date, Marcus reached for his clothes in preparation for the ride home. But Katie stopped him. “No,” she said. “Let’s ride back naked.”
The nude ride home was a hoot. With Marcus behind the wheel and Katie in the passenger seat, they headed down the 134 Freeway West, in their birthday suits. Marcus was careful to obey all traffic laws, making certain that everyone’s seat belts were fastened and the vehicle did not exceed the speed limit. It would have been awkward to have gotten pulled over. Perhaps Marcus somehow kept his driver’s license on his person, but probably not. He would have had to get out of the car, rifle through his pant pockets in the back seat – it would have been complicated.
Fortunately, the California Highway Patrol did not stop Marcus and his ladyfriend. They had enough gas to make it back, which was also good. Because anyone who has ever had to pump in the buff knows that can be a hassle.
When they arrived at Marcus’s building, he pulled his car into the lower level of the underground parking garage. Again, Marcus reached for his clothes. Again, Katie stopped him. “Let’s see if we can make it to your apartment like this.” Marcus lived on the third floor of his four-story building. The chances of someone spotting them were about fifty/fifty. They were willing to take the risk. Rather than reaching for his pants, Marcus grabbed his backpack, slid it on, and got out of his SUV. He wore his backpack and nothing else.
I don’t know why he chose to put on a backpack; I didn’t ask. Marcus was well into telling me about his weekend date and I chose not to interrupt the rhythm of the story. The backpack probably had some valuable object inside like the portable nuclear fusion reactor inside the Pulp Fiction briefcase.
The main thing is: Marcus headed to the garage elevator wearing a backpack, and his date joined him wearing nothing. They got across the garage to the elevator, free and clear. No other tenants pulled into the garage or walked out of the laundry room, which was also located on this floor. As Marcus called the elevator down, Katie stepped aside, on the off chance someone would be in the elevator. Marcus chivalrously stood in front of the elevator while they waited. Some people open doors for women or lay a perfectly fine jacket down in the mud. Marcus waited for the elevator, with his backpack.
The elevator doors opened. There was a very large, tall, muscular, thick-necked football player looking-dude standing inside, holding a can of soda. Marcus and Thick Neck were surprised to see each other – Thick Neck probably more so. No doubt Thick Neck could and probably did crack plenty of skulls in his time. But nothing prepared him for Marcus’s appearance. The dude instantly turned pale, dropped his can of soda, and screamed, “Oh, sh*t! Oh, sh*t!” as he frantically pushed the elevator button, praying for the doors to close.
Who could blame the poor fellow? You’re heading down the elevator in your building, going to your car or checking on your laundry, and suddenly there’s Naked Backpack Boy waiting for a ride. Without knowing the circumstances, one would naturally think, “That guy is a serial killer! He’s probably got sex toys and meat carvers in the backpack like that psychopath in Ten To Midnight! This is it!” It didn’t matter that Marcus was significantly smaller than Thick Neck – if anything, that must have made Marcus look even scarier. Marcus obviously had cojones, so to speak. The elevator doors mercifully came to a close, and Thick Neck’s ordeal ended safely.
What was undoubtedly a terrifying experience for Thick Neck was a moment of utmost hilarity for Marcus and Katie. Katie had remained hidden. If Thick Neck had seen her, perhaps he would have been slightly less horrified. Marcus did not know who the man was – he had never seen him before and didn’t see him again. The guy probably moved out the next day. Once Marcus and Katie caught their breath from all the laughing, Marcus courageously called the elevator again. This time it was empty. They got in, took it to the third floor and successfully walked to his apartment without further incident. All in all, it was a fun date.
Marcus asked me what I had done that weekend. I told him I took a nap and ate a peanut butter sandwich. It’s quite common for people to begin an embarrassing story by saying, “I had a friend who once…” when in actuality whatever they are talking about involves them directly. But not in this case. If I were ever to get into an elevator au naturel, I’d at least wear socks. Marcus truly was a friend.
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