This was written about my good friend, Boston, many moons ago. At the time he was working for a bank and I didn’t want to risk his identity coming out- but now he’s off to Thailand to teach English/party/pull a Hangover movie, so I’m sure he’ll comment on this story at some point. Enjoy.

Boston was from Boston through and through. I met him through a frat buddy of mine and we hit it off immediately. He didn’t bother to try and mask his accent, got hammered for every Boston sporting event and the stories he told about his high school days growing up in Quincey were hilarious (if HE ever starts a blog, I’ll be the first reader). I had no idea that when people said Bostonians are real degenerates, they meant real degenerates.

My first year out of college was Boston’s last year in college. I partied with the guy at bars and he was a frequent guest at my place for beer pong. While I spent the fall and spring of that year scrounging around for work doing jobs of varying interest (assistant to a C-list celebrity, Sports TV producer, web design etc.) Boston was living it up as a Senior. When graduation hit he took a job at a company called CBeyond. I’ll do my best to describe as he did to me.

“I wake up every fahking day at 7am. Have to be at wahk at 8am. Get to wahk, and go through some gay ass shit tahking about how motivated we all ah to go sell bullshit fahking telephone service. At ten AM they send my ass to fahking downtown L.A., don’t even pay my fahking gas money and I go dahr to dahr smoking cigs on the reg and feeling like a fahking douchebag. Most of the fahking people already know CBeyond is a piece of shit company and tell me to get tha fahk out. Then when I’m fahkin finally done I go back to CBeyond, with fahking banging hot chick co-wahkers who don’t even tahk to me and I sit for another fahkin two hours where we get fahking shit tawked to about how we aren’t selling enough. I fahking hate it.”

If you google CBeyond you can find out for yourself what a god-awful company they are. And, having been bouncing from unfulfilling job to horrible job out of college I, of course, felt for Boston. He hated life. All the new people at CBeyond got treated like shit, were underpaid and basically slave labor to a bunch of mid-30s douchebags who had sold their souls to finally get promoted to be able to shit on their former selves. In his words, “fahk em.” I told him to bail on the job after the first week. He stuck it out for two and quit mid-third. One night, myself, the aforementioned Roommate and Boston were all sitting at our local watering hole trying to figure out what the fuck to do with our lives. Each of us had hit a crossroads.

The Roommate was working the overnight shifts at a TV company. He looked like a pale ghost, who had definitely taken a turn for the worse as for as moods go. He was the unhappiest I’d ever seen him. As someone who was working overnights (not five nights a week like him, but maybe 2 or 3) I knew that waking up at 12PM and going to work at 12AM was fucking miserable. To do it for an extended period of time would have killed me too.

Boston had just quit CBeyond and was taking shit left and right from his family to “get it together or get back to Quincey.” He wanted to do neither.

Which leaves me. I was working at a TV company, they were cutting back hours and I was barely scraping by. My lease was up, I was crashing at a friend’s place and had no idea what the fuck I was doing with my life.

So we all sat at the bar, shooting the shit and drowning our sorrows. I looked over at the Roommate.

“We could always move to the Ranch.” I smirked and sipped some more.

“Could we?” He evidently was taking this a bit more seriously than I was. In truth, I had asked my family if I could move up there, but it was more of a joke than anything else.

“I mean I guess.”

Boston leaned back into the conversation.

“Where’s the Ranch?”

The Roommate answered for me.

“He’s got a family ranch up in Humboldt County, no one lives there but we might be able to crash there for a bit and get some work.”

“Huh.”

And we sat at the bar in silence and drank some more. Boston motioned to the bartender.

“Hey Mike. You think we should move up to G’s ranch?”

He took a second.

“You guys are 23, fuck it. Do it.”

Boston looked back at the Roommate and I.

“What the fahk else we got to do?”

We sat and sipped some more. I thought about it- What the fuck else did I have to do? I could sit and wait til my money ran out and come crawling home. Shit, I moved to Louisiana three weeks after graduation to work on a movie and live with a notorious douchebag celebrity- fuck it, why not?

“I’m in. Roommate, you down?”

To his credit he nodded his head and ordered a round of shots. We made a cheers and the next week we were on the road, jobs and careers behind us. Humboldt and the unknown ahead of us.

The sort of decision that can only be made sitting at a bar.

And luckily for me, Boston was with us.