If you’ve ever been to Dallas, the one thing you have to do is take visitors to Medieval Times.
Mom had taken Grace and I when we were kids, and it was totally fucking awesome. We were both given carnations by the Knights, we cheered for our badasses, and all was well.
So when Mom and Grace came to see me not too long ago, before I could even ask where they wanted to eat dinner, Grace said, “Let’s go to Medieval Times.” (And yes, we called their hotline, 1-800-WE-JOUST, but only because I wanted to see if the call center answered with, “I joust.” They didn’t)
If you’ve never been (and you totally should go), Medieval Times is a vague historical re-enactment of a knight battle in…Medieval Times. Everyone addresses you as M’Lord or M’Lady, which fuels your sense of self-worth, you are assigned a knight with a corresponding color crown, you take some pictures, eat some pretty damn good food, and watch a show. All around, a good time.
We were assigned to the Red Knight, and Grace and I were already excited. Adrian was, as usual in these situations, a patient observer in our overzealousness, and Mom was…less enthusiastic. We immediately put our crowns on (everyone but Mom), took our picture with THE FALCONER (the Falcon shit on the floor in the middle of the picture. A special memory) and entered into “The Bazaar,” where MT was hocking $50 princess crowns and featured a ridiculously large bar.
“Let’s Pre-Game, Grace.”
Those fateful words would determine how the rest of the night went.
See that margarita? That $23 margarita had an entire bottle of tequila in it. Grace’s $12 beer was the size of my thigh.
We drank, and drank, and drank, and cheered, “Hip-Hip-HOORAY” for the birthday kids who were being Knighted and brought shame upon our family name for being shithoused at a fucking Family Fun Center.
It didn’t get any better when we got inside to watch the show. We were seated in the Red Section (thank God for color-coding, because my drunk ass had no idea where we were going), in a row with a family with two young boys. The waiter for our row gave this speech, “I’m Dave and and I’ll be serving you tonight. Place your cups this way for tea, and this way for water. And (pointing at Grace and I) if you want something from the bar, and I know you will, let me know.”
Thanks for calling me out, Dave. I’ll take my whole chicken now.
Dave also explains that the entire show is about how everyone hates the Green Knight, especially…THE RED KNIGHT, and that the only way to win is to cheer the loudest. Grace and I both used to be cheerleaders, and now that we’re hot-messing it at MT, we’re about the tear the house down. Don’t taunt me with victory-via-douchery. I will show you the fuck up.
Adrian calmly observes and eats the food, Mom tries to shimmy away from us, clearly embarrassed that we are her children, and Grace and I BRING IT.
The Red section started off as the quietest section, but we would not stand for it. By the beginning of the MAIN EVENT, 2 drunk bitches had the entire section on their feet. That night, 9 year old boys learned the meaning of, “Don’t be a pussy, you Red Bastard!”
Long story short, the Red Knight lost like a bitch to the Yellow Knight. As we stand to leave, the King says, “the knights will be available for pictures shortly in the lobby.”
This was our chance to polish off the night spectacularly. So we waited, and waited, and waited, and when he emerged, the motherfucker headed straight for the bar and threw back 3 shots of tequila.
“Hey, do you mind if we get a picture with you?”
“We pre-gamed for you fight, you know.”
“Huh, wish I would have been able to.”
“Yeah. Then maybe you’d have won.”
And then we ran out the door to our mother shouting after us, “Girls! Quit it! You are making a spectacle of yourselves, damnit!”