Hypothetical #5

It’s impossible to miss them. The group of eight dudes being rowdy in the corner of the joint, cramming themselves around tables designed for people demanding far less space. All of them were decent looking, muscular guys, so perhaps they were celebrating a win at some game. They were loud, they were laughing, and clearly they had something going on. They weren’t trying to be obnoxious or intimidating, they were just too self absorbed to notice that they were. The true definition of “boys being boys”.

As you start tucking in to the burger menu, you wonder what they are playing. Not here, inside the fast food joint, but out there. Probably a team sport. Solo athletes would probably just go out with their few best friends, unless on a group trip. These jocks have a fairly uniform build, so super specialized teams like football is out, as is baseball, where the build isn’t as important. They aren’t tall enough for basket. They have a more muscular build than you would expect from soccer, lacrosse or volley. Almost like wrestlers. Perhaps you were wrong about it being a team sport?

You start to notice a pattern, obvious if you’d paid more attention from the start. There would be some sort of process that you were too far away to witness, followed by one of them going to the restroom. He would only be there for a minute or two, then return to the table and show something. Everyone would cheer, and then it repeated.

You were half way through the burger when one of the guys on his way back from the restroom walked past the group and continued up to your table. He had wavy, sand colored hair on top, with buzzed sides, green eyes with a mischievous twinkle, and smelled like a Hollister store. The group falls silent in anticipation.

- Hey sir, I’m sorry to bother you, but we’re having a bit of a game going, and I was wondering if you could help me?
- Hey… What do you need?
- So, could you go to the men’s room, take off your underwear, put this on and then hand me yours?
- You want me to trade underwear with you?
- Yeah… kinda.

He blushes slightly and hands you a neatly folded square of turquoise cloth with small, white birds in the pattern. Along one side runs the waistband with the text American Eagle repeated. You take on reflex. The cotton blend is warm in your hand, and for a flash of a moment you think about you having to finish the burger with that hand. Intellectually you know there isn’t any real reward, any lasting outcome. You don’t know his name, probably never will. Not much of a risk either. At the end it’s just a pointless transaction after which you’ll be walking around with this young dudes far too hip underwear. Why are you even considering this?

- What sports team are y’all in?
- Hunter’s hockey club.

Decisions, decisions…