If you have time tell us the A Night at the Roxbury story
You know what? I’ve got time.
You got it kid.
(To the people who tend to go on witch hunts and go ape shit and take things seriously; please don’t. Thanks.)
See, when we were younger, my brother and I were little tape recorders for movies. We would go see one and my mother would hear us in the backseat going back and forth and repeating near the entire thing, laughing all the while. She thought it was hilarious, as most mothers do, as well as impressive.
She also knew that that meant we were impressionable.
That anything we heard and thought was funny, we would absolutely repeat it.
She was correct on so many levels.
My father, having been divorced from my mother and never seeing us grow up with him and only getting to see us every summer, did not know this. Poor man was he to be spending all of his money on child support and to survive, the guy never got to take us out for movies. We had video game nights instead. We loved it.
But, one night, he scrounged up enough money for his little chicklets to buy a VHS tape for a movie night. It just so happened to be A Night of the Roxbury.
Cue the worst mistake this man had ever made.
I loved the movie to bits. I remember nothing of it as a twenty year old now, but boy. I loved repeating the hell out of that movie, let me tell you. Nobody could shut me the fuck up.
And I was, of course, particularly fond of asking the very famous question.
(If you’ve seen the movie, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Yes, I said those exact words as a four year old. Just wait. It gets better.)
Cue us being in an elevator.
My brother, my father, and I were all in the back of the elevator, waiting to go down. I was holding on to his hand, my brother on the right side of him, all of us quiet and in our own head spaces.
In comes a group of people filing in, and standing in front of us. Not unusual, nothing different.
I tug on my father’s hand.
“Daddy?” I asked oh so innocently, looking up at him with my wide, blue eyes. He looks down to me.
“Did you just grab my ass?”
Everyone’s head slowly turned around with the most incredulous look on their faces. Dad, more than absolutely aware of the situation, is inwardly questioning himself why on earth did I have this fucking child.
Unable to do anything as I continued to stare up at him, waiting, he sighed and replied, “No honey. It’s physically impossible for me to reach your ass from here.”
Everyone’s head slowly turned back, and dad had no chance of redeeming himself as I go back to playing in my head; my brother silently just being there (according to dad he did absolutely nothing the entire duration of this), and nobody letting him explain what the absolute fuck just happened.
A man lost his dignity that day to a small four year old girl.
It’s my second favourite childhood story of mine. Fucking grand.