The Shacker

Last week an old friend from high school sent me a message through Facebook telling me that he was coming up to New Haven for a job interview and asking how Chris and I liked the city.   I sent him a message back that could have been a certified letter by the New Haven Tourist Commission (FYI:   There is no New Haven Tourist Commission).   Chris and I have a large crush on New Haven and are always willing to convert others.   I took it a step further though and invited him to stay with us for the night he was in town, promising a tour of the city and a great sushi dinner.

He came yesterday for his job interview and I met him after work on campus and then gave him a walking tour of the city for an hour or so.   After dinner, we met Chris at our favorite sushi restaurant.   Over dinner we talked about where we’d all been in the past 7 years (!!) and caught up on the whereabouts of anyone we’d kept in touch with since high school (sadly, my list included only two people.   I’m a terrible friend.).   And after dinner we came back to our house and sat around watching TV and chatting about our career paths.

Cut to this morning.   The most embarrassing morning of my life.

Chris leaves for work at his usual time, 6:00 AM.   That leaves Rory and me getting dressed and packing up for the day.   At 7:45 AM, we head out the back door.   We are both wearing professional suits and I’m carrying my laptop tote and my purse.   Rory has his suitcase and an old t-shirt wadded up in his hand.   (I promise that these details are important.)

So, we walk out to our cars where we stop and do the uncomfortable goodbyes that come when you see someone you haven’t seen in years.   “Keep in touch.”   “You, too.   Thanks for dinner.”   “Sure.   I had fun.”   “Okay, I’ll call you sometime.”   “Okay.   Drive carefully.” And then we do this awkward hug as we try to shuffle everything that is in our arms.

And as I turn around and walk to my car, I look up and see my next door neighbor, Jeff, standing in the middle of his yard, holding the paper, staring directly at me with his mouth hanging open.

For a split second I thought, “Now what is he looking at?”   and then I knew.   He was staring and gaping and gasping because he thought he had caught his neighbor saying goodbye to her shacker!

(Definition:   A “shacker” is an individual of one sex who comes home with an individual of the opposite sex and spends the night.   A “shacker” is the result of the mixing of loud music, short skirts, and beer.   See also “Walk of Shame.”)

(Definition:   The “walk of shame” is the walk the “shacker” makes to their car/apartment/job the morning after “shacking.”   The “walk of shame” is best seen on Sunday mornings between 7:00 AM and 10:00 AM on college campuses.   See also “My Sister Ginny.“)

I immediately called Chris when I got to work and announced that we had to move.   Unfortunately, he did not agree and I had to come home this afternoon to my house, where I wore big dark sunglasses and ran frantically from my car to my kitchen before my neighbors could see me.

There goes the neighborhood…