BOGO Bandits

These stories are kind of old, but I was reminded of the importance of BOGO when my BOGO Buddy emailed me over Valentine’s Day weekend with a coupon and a reminiscence of all our BOGO Glory Days.

It all started one fateful day over the winter when my coworker Hillary got an email about a BOGO deal at Einstein’s Bagel. In order to capitalize on this, one had to like them on Facebook and get a special BOGO coupon. We both did it so we could have the Buy One, Get One Specialty drink.

The problem with BOGO deals is that they are as addictive as crack. When you’re only spending $2 on a White Chocolate Mocha Frappuccino Latte Coffee Double Shot Espresso Christmas Holiday Special, it seems like a waste to not get one every day – because you’re saving $2!! Why spend $0 when you can spend 2 and get a huge cup of calories that makes the workday 10% more bearable than it would be otherwise?!

Well, the week became an exercise in cajoling friends to like Einstein’s so that we could bogart (bogo-art?) their BOGO coupon and get another White Chocolate Mocha Frappuccino Latte Coffee Double Shot Espresso Christmas Holiday Special. We thought we were being clever, going in every day, creating alter egos – sometimes I’d be Fred or Ed or Ned or Red with my friend Dillary, Millary, Celery and Crillery.

It wasn’t until about three BOGOS deep that we got to the cashier and she looked at our orders.

“Um, don’t you like whole milk in yours?” she asked me. “Let me fix that!”

So…Fred and Dillary weren’t really fooling anyone with their rampant abuse of the BOGO system. Despite being in the Loop and probably taking 150 orders every morning, a giant albino blond man and his alien-faced* colleague were noticeable…especially when they came in EVERYday for a week with BOGO coupons.

[*The alien-faced reference isn’t an insult. Hillary and I went on a work trip and went to a bar. The most offensive man on earth came up to us and said, “You’re clearly not with him because he’s gay.” To which Hillary was like, “Okay…” Then he proceeded to say, “I like your face. It’s like you’re from space. It’s an alien face.” Katy Perry’s “E.T.” was out at this moment, so maybe that was his inspiration? Being not an idiot, I can tell you that he meant to say was, “You have really nice bone structure and high cheek bones”… But alien face is also a way to get a lady to talk to you…]

Since we knew we were discovered, it didn’t bother us to BOGO the rest of that week and the next with our coupons. But what started as a friendly BOGO deal friendship, quickly evolved into an obsession. We would hunt down BOGO deals in the surrounding area so that we could get the BOGO fix. This included Kefir, coffee, and Einstein’s Bagel Sandwiches. We would go wherever BOGO was possible.

So much BOGOing obviously led to the discovery of an elusive creature that not many people know of, The BOGO Bozo.

The BOGO Bozo is someone who ruins BOGO deals. BOGOs are a two-person only scheme. You buy one, get ONE. It’s always awkward when a third person shows up and you have to make them pay full price. Very rarely do you encounter any BOGT deals, which aren’t as fun to say and also probably wouldn’t be as exciting. Maybe Einstein’s has a buy one get two…bagel spreads? It’s just not a good business model.

Anyway, a bozo can be the third wheel to a BOGO date, but they can also be a regular schmo at the place of BOGO business, who ruins the BOGO experience.

Case in point, Hillary and I were taking advantage of a BOGO deal down the street at Starbucks. We both ordered Pumpkin Lattes and were awaiting the order. One came up, which Hillary took.

Enter BOGO Bozo. This guy with glasses kind of sidles up to us and stands way to close. They call the next Pumpkin Latte (obvs mine) and this guy grabs it before the barrista even is able to put it on the counter.

I totally understand mistaking your order at Sbucks. It happens. You order, the same drink is called, you assume it’s yours.

I turn to Hillary and give here a little, “That guy took my drink! What a silly pants!” smile, then turn to him to say this out loud.

To my horror, the Bozo is rubbing his index finger around the lid of the cup. Then, he proceeded to flick his tongue on the opening. He doesn’t drink anything. He just flicks his tongue and blows on the lid.

His taking my drink was malicious! He planned this!

Hillary and I again make eye contact. This time the look more of a “WTF is that guy doing?!” look.

This leads to an awkward moment of all three of us standing at the counter staring at the barrista and waiting for the next drink. Hillary and I are kind of weirded out by the glasses guy standing close to us breathing all over the lid of his coffee. We’re pretty sure in his head he was saying, “Yes…my preeccciiiooouuuusssss….”

About thirty seconds later, the barrista holds out another Pumpkin Latte. I grab it without hesitation. Bozo is NOT happy about this.

“Hey…” he starts to say, still caressing his coffee cup.

“This is mine!” I say as we bolt out the door.

Who knows what happens when you enrage the BOGO Bozo… I don’t want to find out.

My Taste in Men

A few months ago I was hanging out with two of my good friends from St. Louis. We were talking about hit songs of the summer. I mentioned that Macklemore’s “Can’t Hold Us” was one of my favorite songs ever. If it comes on, I will resolutely lose my sh*t and fist pump like the whitest frat boy on earth. Because I’m a male and think about sex every 7 seconds, this segued into me saying:

“Man, I love Mackelmore. And his cowriter Ryan Lewis is gorgeous. Right?”

Ryan Lewis looks like my ex-boyfriend. They both are skinny dudes, who look Mediterranean and have beards. This is kind of my type. Every one of my good friends knows this. It’s like if someone who likes Meryl Streep movies says, “I liked American Hustle, but August Osage County was my favorite movie of the year.”

It just makes sense.

Also, because he is perfect, this is what Ryan Lewis looks like:

After confessing my love for Ryan Lewis, I didn’t expect to get my two friends staring at me like I had just said I wanted to eat toilet paper.

“You…like Ryan Lewis?” One of them said.

“Yeah, he’s totally my type.”

“I just…Okay… That’s not what I thought you were into.”

“Well, he looks like John. That’s kind of my type.”

What had been confused stares quickly turned into looks of complete flabbergastedization.

Having been a Mackelmore fan since “And We Danced…” I didn’t know that people didn’t know who Ryan Lewis was.

Fast forward to the Grammy’s and Mackelmore and Ryan Lewis performing “Same Love.” My friend actually texts me in the middle of the performance and says, “Oh! That’s Ryan Lewis! I thought it was the guy in “Can’t Hold Us!”

I laughed for about fifteen minutes.

The guy in “Can’t Hold Us” is this cute, heavier set guy, who looks like he may not be legal to date, named, Ray Dalton. He is also adorable, but not exactly the same type as I have been dating.

I then, three months later, understood why they had been so confused when I said Ryan Lewis was my type and looked like John. It was like if I said, “My favorite movie last year was Grown Ups 2. Don’t you think Adam Sandler looks like Meryl Streep?”

That does not make sense and leads to flabbergastedization.

That being said, Ryan and Ray are both welcome to call me anytime. I have a super awesome fist pump and am bad at dating, if you’re into that… *awkward wink*

I Lost My Coat and Street Credibility

I recently posted about my volleyball team and how I didn’t understand anything that was happening. Well, as the season has gone on, we’ve gotten better and I’ve gotten to be friends with the guys on the team. They’re really nice dudes and I have a great time hanging out with them.

Last weekend we all went out after our last game. I’ve hung out with them but never really gone out to bars and stuff. Like I said, they’re cool guys and I don’t have a ton of guy friends, especially ones like my rowing buddies who like to play darts and do boy stuff. That seems like a weird thing, but over the past year my rowing friends have dispersed, gotten girlfriends, started back to school, or moved to different areas of the city, so I don’t have a lot of friends to watch sports with or who would willingly participate in Fast and Furious movie watches.

That being said, I was trying to be cool when I hung out with these guys so that I could earn more hang out time. This led to me buying shots and beers and being kind of a mess. Ultimately, it turned into me losing my coat.

After our game, we drank and bar crawled for almost 7 hours. I never got super schwasted, but evidently it was enough to lose coat judgment. To be fair, I always wear a hoodie under my winter coat for extra warmth. Not only is this not juvenile at all, it is also incredibly stylish – so I’ve told myself.

Well, at one bar, my hoodie came out of my coat, and was placed on the pile of coats. I had put the hoodie on top of my blue peacoat, but in the drunken shuffle of being at a bar and precariously placed on a bar stool, it got mixed up and ended up on top of another coat.

This coat was not mine.

We moved to another bar, and I grabbed the wrong one. We drank, played darts, and then went back to one of the guy’s places. By this point I was drunk, but I was also exhausted. I had been up since 7 a.m. watching American Horror Story...because I am a scared 4-year old boy and can’t watch it at night…and had been playing volleyball then drinking all afternoon/evening.

My friend dropped me off at my place and I fell asleep, coat still on, sitting up on my couch.

It was when I woke up at 3 a.m. with my coat on that I realized I had the wrong one. This didn’t bother me so much until the next morning, when I realized I had to text all of the guys I had been hanging out with to let them know I was the drunken mess who lost his coat.

Thinking that I just picked up the wrong one at my friend’s place, and not four bars before that, I texted the guy who owned the place we’d been at.

He didn’t have it. And proceeded to text everyone on the team. He was really nice about it, but the subtext was:

“Tedd’s kind of a disaster and stole a coat… Does anyone have his?”

I was really thrilled that my first night out with cool friends I would quickly and resolutely turn into "That Guy." Is anyone really surprised though?

It turns out that no one had seen my coat.

After a brief funeral and coat eulogy, I counted it as lost to the ages. I could have gone to the bars and checked, but I had gotten the coat on clearance and had another blue peacoat from 5 years ago that I could still wear. I was most angry about losing the $4 chapstick that had been in the pocket.

Shiz is expensive.

Because this is me, I got even more chance to feel awkward.

I got a text from my friend this past weekend. “Tedd, I think we found your coat!!”

He proceeded to tell me that his friend had the coat and picked it up at the bar. We had just swapped.

There was much rejoicing! I would get my gloves back! The chapstick!

He told me his friend’s name and that we could trade it back.

The next morning I get on the ol’ Facebook and type in the guy’s first and last name. I was super excited to see that the guy who I had stolen the coat from’s profile picture is a modeling picture…

Womp.

Of course I would be a drunk mess and steal a model’s coat. That’s about right. I couldn’t have stolen it from a quirky, bespectacled, out-of-shape, guy named Lloyd. No, I stole it from a model.

FML.

So I have to message this guy, “Hey, I’m a drunk mess lolz and stole your coat. Want to trade back?”

And we did. And I got my gloves. The chapstick is MIA, but if the guy is using it to keep his pouty-model lips camera-ready, then I will be okay with it. I will know that, through the loss of my coat, my life has contributed meaning and beauty back into the world.