Have a Nice Day by Mick Foley Read Free Book Online Page A

were miserable together for about a week. “I swear,” Steve had told me during that time, as we walked back from class, “if I walk into my room and see Hags and Scottie D. looking through their yearbook and listening to Bonnie Tyler, I’m going to scream.” Moments later, he opened the door and I heard a husky female voice singing “your love is like a shadow on me all of the time,” followed by screams.
    Nom really bottomed out when a combination of girlfriend problems and not making the baseball team sent him into a tailspin. Many was the time that I had heard a knock on the door, followed by a disheveled Nom simply saying “three.” I felt for Scott, and would immediately hand him side three of Pink Floyd’s The Wall, which was our standard album side for depression and misery.
    I was having fun at school, however, and this night was shaping up to be a good one. The World Wrestling Federation was on the television above the bar, and a rare title match was taking place. In the present-day wrestling scene, hot matches take place all the time on television-but back in ‘83, the World Wrestling Federation, like most shows, filmed a series of one-sided matchups. So it was with great excitement that I witnessed Tony Atlas and Rocky Johnson, whose then eleven-year-old son Duane would go on to become the most electrifying man in sports-entertainment, defeat the Wild Samoans for the World Wrestling Federation tag team championship.
    I would have been perfectly content to just bask in the glow of that glorious title change, but my night suddenly went from great to history making when I saw Kathy walk down the stairs. Man, I liked Kathy. She was beautiful, she was funny, but more important, she made me feel great just to be around her.
    At this point in time, I could probably be described as a shy, insecure, poorly dressed, weird guy, who also happened to be polite, kind, funny, and borderline not too bad-looking. I was like a diamond in the rough, but man, you had to look pretty hard to find me. My failure with women was legendary. It wasn’t that they didn’t like me, but I had a tendency to be too ambitious with my choices, and had a terrible lack of finesse in closing the deal. In other words, I had no killer instinct, and a knack for not saying or doing the right thing.
    I had flubbed a major one during my first week in school only about a foot from where I stood on that December evening. A hot chick walked up to me and started talking to me, while breathing dangerously close to my ear, which guaranteed instant wood. My ears were always real sensitive; it’s a shame that one of them is missing, and that the wax content keeps my wife miles away from the other one. I swear, my mom used to irrigate my ear, and things the size of marbles used to fall out of there. Anyway, after a few minutes, this hot-blooded woodmaker leaned in a little closer and informed me, “I’ve been looking at you since you were a freshman.” I thought her comment over, and somewhere in the resources of my mind came back at her with “But I’m a freshman now.” In a moment it was gone-all of it. The hot breath, the arm around the shoulder, the girl, and the wood. Gone, gone, all gone!
    A girl named Amy probably represented the pinnacle of my ineptitude. This was also during the first week of school, on the second day actually, when a group of us third-floor Fitzgerald people were invited to the room of Battling Bill Esterly and John Heneberry, whom we would affectionately call Dingle. Bill and John were sophomores from Baldwinsville, New York, and wanted to hold a little social function in their room to help the new people get to know one another better. Within minutes, I was getting to know Amy better, as the vaunted Foley charm was striking in a big way.
    Amy was beautiful, and had a figure that was impossible for me to take my eyes off of. Usually, I don’t like people when they’re smoking, but she had a look about her when she