Ladyhawke Coke War
It was Friday, April 12, 1985, (I know this through the magic of Google) and I was thrilled to be at the movies with my friends Theresa and Marilyn, along with a few others. It was about 7:00 pm and we had just stepped into the lobby of the Sheridan Seven when I heard it.
“PIGLIPS!!”
Fuck! It was those assholes from school that made fun of me for my too full for my face lips.
Theresa and Marilyn told me to ignore them as we got our sodas and popcorn. We made it into the theater to see Ladyhawke without a confrontation, though I was mad enough to hit them if I had run into them.
As we are sitting there, chatting before the previews start, the whole asshole crew walks in: Hose Nose, Liver lids, and some dude named Greg who was just not interesting enough to have a nickname. He actually was an ok guy when he was not hanging with these idiots.
I had been the one to gift those with their alternative names shortly after they had introduced themselves to me by yelling, “PIGLIPS” at me whenever they saw me in the halls of Olsen Middle. I already hated my full lips, but after they so nicely pointed them out to anyone in the hall with us, I was trying my best to keep my lips tucked into my mouth.
My anger built as the movie went on and I stared at the backs of their heads. I barely paid attention to Matthew Broderick and Michelle Pfeiffer, who was the titular character. One character was a scruffy old man with hair like a used Brillo pad. Whenever he appeared on screen, I yelled, “There’s Jon’s mom!” Jon was Hose Nose’s name in the world outside of our feud.
I feel sorry for anyone over the age of 14 who was in that theater. During the entire movie, we traded insults back and forth like only high strung, overly caffeinated, hormonally unbalanced teens can. Then, the confrontation really began after the movie.
As soon as we exited the theater, they started making fun of me again. We had just thrown our trash away on the way out, but I still had my large Coke. All it took was two rounds of “PIGLIPS!” to make me angry and frustrated.
“Stop calling me that!” I said, or at least I think I did. I might have said, “Fuck you, Jon!” or something like that. All I know for sure is I threw that large Coke right at him, and I had good aim. It landed all over his shirt. Everyone laughed, even me.
About a month or so after that, Jon and I started dating. That’s teenagers for you! We saw each other all through the summer, seeing Back to the Future numerous times, until we broke up a couple of weeks after beginning high school at different schools. He signed my yearbook with a long, kind message that ended in “P.S. Drink Sprite; it doesn’t stain.” I drink Diet Coke now, but I haven’t thrown it at anyone.