The Curse of Mean Gui Cup
The year, 1998. The place, Cape Cod Massachusetts. Our buddy, Chris Carey, was a cop down there...summers. Every summer he'd patrol the streets of Yarmouth yelling at derelict kids for throwing their chewing gum on the street or throw the weight of his badge around to reprimand the owner of a barking dog. Yep, Cape Cod is a rough place.
Anyway, we were excited every summer because this meant we had a free place to stay. He rented a small 600 square foot, 2 bedroom loft that somehow had room to sleep 18 people every weekend. Occasionally when there was no place to sleep, I'd find myself taking slumber in the bed of my brother's Nissan pick-up truck, which was filled with mulch.
One late night (well, morning) after going to the bars, we stumbled into a real seedy Chinese food place to gladly shell out $300 for 12 boxes of crab rangoons and a gallon of lo mien, which always sounds like a real good idea at the time. As we were leaving, my eyes were transfixed on a somewhat hypnotizing porcelain cup that was hidden in the glass check-out counter, just beyond the to-go fortune cookies, kimonos, and bamboo calendars. I immediately put my 6 bucks on the counter and became the proud owner of "Mean Gui Cup".
The next night, we went out to a bar called The Improper Bostonian and I brought the cup with me. I was sick of drinking Miller Lite from the night before, so I placed the cup on the bar and asked the bartender for a "Caribbean Cooler". I never drink frozen drinks, but I figured "Caribbean Cooler" would be a typical name for one. The bartender had no idea what I was talking about, so my brother Mike told him to fill the cup with Miller Lite and chuck a cherry in it. I drank out of this cup all night, but still felt uneasy. There was something strangely haunting about the foo-man-choo face on this thing. So we left the bar and hopped into a cab. It was one of those big station wagon taxis that allows two people to sit in the back facing the car behind you (is it just me, or does everyone feel compelled to wave to the person behind you when you're in that seat?) Anyway, Steve Hansen and I were in the back staring at Mean Gui Cup, studying it, wondering what spells it was casting on us, wondering if we'd end up having a surfing accident or a tarantula crawling on our chest in our sleep.
As we got out of the cab, I asked Steve if he wanted Mean Gui Cup. I was too freaked out by its face to keep it. Steve said he definitely didn't want it. So, before the cab took off, we tossed it in the back seat, shut the door, and watched it take off for good.
This morning, Steve sent me the only picture ever taken of Mean Gui Cup. When I looked at this picture, I immediately got shivers in my spine. Not only does the cup bring back chilling memories of my time with it, but if you look closely, the cup actually made my finger disappear!!!
