This isn't a new story, but one very much worth mentioning. It's a long one, but it's good. The events that took place here happened about two years ago.
This is the story of "Lobster Boy."
After a delicious night of drinking, I awoke and made my way to the living room. I was very hungry. Booty and Dave got up as well, and we were sitting around just watching tv, deciding where to go get lunch. Dave wanted to get a look at the pool, so he walked over to the front door and poked his dorsal fin out.
Outside, on the ground in front of our door, Dave noticed there was a delivery package. None of us were expecting anything, so we took it inside and inspected it. It was a a pretty big box; it could have easily fit a relatively large computer monitor in it and on it's sides there was a picture of a lobster with the name of a company - "Maine Lobster Direct - From Our Cove To Your Stove!" We checked the name and address on the package. The name was somebody we had never heard of before, but it was addressed exactly to our apartment.
Now, before I go on with the story, it's important to mention a few things:
- The package was addressed to OUR apartment.
- We, like many other people who live in apartments, get random mail addressed to our place with mysterious names. It is not our job to track down these people and give them their mail. We aren't even required by law to return it to the post office. It's their fault; not ours. We can do whatever we like with it. Most of the time we just throw it away.
Inside this heaven-sent gift was about 20 ready-to-eat shrimp along with cocktail sauce, a half gallon of lobster bisque, and a crockpot. I took the crockpot out and noticed it was unusually heavier than it should have been. We took off the top and there was some seaweed in it along with a live lobster.
Apparently good things do happen to bad people.
After a short celebration, we prepared the feast. We heated up the bisque and devoured the shrimp as we took our new, little buddy and held him over the crockpot. In just under an hour we had the privilege of getting a free lobster lunch and killing a live animal. You can't start a day much better than that.
We ate the feast and cleaned up. About an hour later, a girl burst in our door (without knocking) and asked us if we had any unusual package sent to our place. I thought that we should just tell her yes, sorry, that we ate it and to take it up with Federal Express. Dave figured differently. Dave told her that we had no idea what she was talking about. Our place was clean of any evidence of a lobster-mauling, except for one major problem: Our place smelled like a Red Lobster.
We could tell that the girl knew off the bat that we were full of shit but she left anyway. I was pretty skeptical of her, so we took all of the lobster evidence and hid it in our 4th bedroom, which was unoccupied at the time because Safra had moved out (which merits it's own story altogether - I'll work on that little ditty sometime soon). We waited for a while, and then Dave decided that we should just throw the evidence out. I thought this was a bad idea and that this broad might be spying on us. I would later prove to be right. Dave threw the seaweed in the garbage bin outside of our place and put the package in his trunk (with the crockpot in it). We resumed watching tv on the couch.
Within minutes, some kid came bursting through our door with rubber gloves on, holding seaweed from which he obviously sifted through the garbage for. We all immediately stood up, ready to beat this kid's ass who so stupidly came in our place looking for trouble. The kid backed away a little and then started accusing us of eating he and his girlfriend's lobster. We told the kid to go fuck himself and he stormed out. He came back later with his girlfriend and started whining to us about how we ruined a "special evening" (it was their one-year anniversary) and how we were jerks and whatnot. He could tell we didn't care because we were yawning in his face. After this little bitch cried for a good 20 minutes we decided to tell him the truth. Yes, we ate the lobster. Sorry, but it was addressed to us and we thought that it was our right to eat it. We got lucky. He didn't agree.
He threatened to call the police and sue us over his lobster dinner. Again, we told him to fuck off. Dave and Booty went back in their rooms and I was left to deal with this idiot. I called Federal Express and told them the entire story up to this point. They informed me that we were NOT LIABLE. Federal Express even went as far as to take the blame for the blunder. They even told me that they would pay for a new lobster for this kid. This is when the story gets really interesting.
This kid would not accept that. He wanted us to pay for our "crime" somehow. He demanded that we gave him $150 (the price of the package). This was after Federal Express informed me that they were going to pay for a new lobster dinner. So, in this kid's estranged mind, he thought it was fair that we paid him $150 and he would still get his free lobster dinner courtesy of FedEx. See something wrong with this equation?
There was no way in hell we were going to pay for this random kid's lobster dinner. I told him so, and he asked for my number and stormed out.
We didn't hear from him for about two weeks. The spring semester ended and I went home for the summer, leaving Booty and Dave here, in Gainesville. While in south Florida, I received a call from the kid. He went on and on about how Booty and Dave refused to deal with him, and how he was going to take us to court. I told him that he was full of shit, and that we were told we were not liable. I told him to call FedEx, get his free lobster dinner, and to leave me alone. The kid just wouldn't accept this. He cried about how we should somehow have to pay for what we did. It was at this time that I also informed this piece of shit that we checked the price of the lobster dinner, and it was only $80. What a fucking douche. He pretended that he made a mistake; I pretended like I still cared about his problem.
At some point during the (literally) weeks that it was taking to deal with this kid and his crazy girlfriend, we gave this kid the nickname "Lobster Boy." At first we would just laugh and say it to each other. Dave would call me from Gainesville and say something like, "Lobster Boy was at the pool today staring at us. I'm pretty sure he's gay." Gradually, however, I started to call this kid "Lobster Boy" to his face and over the phone. During the first few days of exchanged calls between us, he would get pissed - "Stop calling me Lobster Boy, that's not funny." But as the days and weeks went on in which I would have to speak with Lobster Boy at least once per day, he started not caring anymore. He was happy enough that I was even picking up his calls. A conversation would go something like this:
(My phone rings)
Me: Hello?
LB: Hey Chris.
Me: Oh hey what's up Lobster Boy. Has FedEx refunded you or whatever yet?
LB: No, they are actually being shady about it. If they end up not paying for it, will you guys give me money?
Me: Probably not. Listen though, I have to go Lobster Boy. Give me a ring if you hear anything from FedEx.
LB: Okay, bye.
Lobster Boy's girlfriend's dad even called me and got involved. He probably yelled at me over the phone for a good three minuets. He told me how I was an awful person and that my roommates and I were assholes. I told him that we were quite aware of this but it was too damn bad that we were not liable. He threatened to call the police, and I told him that Lobster Boy already tried that bluff, and I politely informed him that he could lick my balls. I also told him that his daughter was dating a liar who originally told me that the dinner was $150.
I figured it was over. I got a call from Booty a week later. He told me that a cop was at our place demanding that we pay Lobster Boy $80 or else he was going to arrest Dave and him. Dave and Booty were just coming back from a Campus Club pool party and were completely shitfaced. Booty and I both agreed that the cop was full of shit and was acting by himself, without permission. I told Booty to get his badge number, call the police station, ask for his supervisor and tell him what was going on. Booty did, and while he was doing this the cop went back to his car. Booty called me about 10 minutes later laughing hysterically. Within minutes of Booty calling the police station, the cop stormed back in our place and cried to Booty and Dave how they got him in trouble. They laughed in his face, and he left.
A few hours later the police chief called Booty. He was kind of laughing about the whole situation to Booty. Basically, though, he said that Lobster Boy was going to press charges. He said they wouldn't win in any court, but it would be a hassle to us. He said if we just gave him $80 that it would save us time and money in court. We reluctantly agreed, having fought off Lobster Boy for so long. We ended up paying Lobster Boy and that is how the Lobster Boy Saga ended.
Months later, we were all drunk at Plasma. Booty was extremely wasted. He was at the bar, and a girl approached him. She asked him if he still hated her. Completely confused, Booty asked her who she was. When she told him that she was Lobster Boy's old girlfriend (they were broken up by this time) he looked at her as if she was kidding and said, "Oh, of course," and walked away from her. To this day we don't feel any remorse at all for what we did.
