The case of the Halloween hangover

Dylan Hostetter, Opinions and Humor Editor

Halloween was never my favorite holiday. I hate the color orange, I hate those little beggars always asking for candy and I especially hate being scared. As it turns out, nothing scares me more than an unsolvable case. Well, that and opossums. 

I didn’t go to the party out of any goodwill for the holiday. I was on a job — tasked to keep an eye on a couple of high-level VCU employees, who themselves were keeping an undercover eye on the biggest party on campus. Though they were pretty easy to spot as they were the only two people standing in the corner of the party drinking Manhattans with no costumes on.

I may be a professional detective, but that doesn’t mean I can’t let loose once in a while. As I was grabbing a beer, a little one-eyed yellow man wearing denim overalls and goggles approached me. I asked him what he was supposed to be and he looked offended. 

He told me he was some kind of “minion” from a movie I confessed I had never seen.

“You’ve never seen ‘Despicable Me?’” he asked. “‘Minions: The Rise of Gru?’”

I told him I was a detective, not a film critic. The last movie I saw was “Twins” with Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny Devito — but I turned it off halfway through. I just couldn’t be bothered to believe those two were brothers.

I dismissed the strange little man and had a few sips of my drink — and then a few more. I don’t consider myself much of a drinker — I’ll crush some Capri Suns on a hot day like anyone else, but alcohol was never really my thing.

I guess that explains my low tolerance. The next morning, I woke up not remembering a single thing. It was a full blackout. I had no clue what happened to the guys I was tailing or if that weird, one-eyed lemon man I talked to was just some booze-soaked fever dream.

The worst thing was my magnifying glass was missing. A magnifying glass is one of the most crucial elements of a private detective’s life. It would be like if Steve lost his Handy Dandy Notebook — then he’d just be some guy talking to a blue dog. Steve and I have a lot in common actually. We’re both detectives and we can both wear the heck out of a striped shirt.

I had no choice but to go back to the scene of the crime. It was the last place I wanted to be — I could almost smell the house as I approached it. In my years of experience as a private investigator, I have never seen something so disgusting. Granted, the worst crime scene I had ever been to was when someone hired me to find out why their pet hamster exploded. Turns out hamsters should not be fed Alka-Seltzer tablets and diet soda at the same time.

The door was wide open, so I let myself in. The floor was sticky, the walls were sticky and even the ceiling, oddly enough, was sticky. Cans and bottles littered the ground like landmines for the houseguests who overstayed their welcome. Stray pizza boxes served as newly erupted condominiums for ants and cockroaches.

I searched through every stray candy wrapper and lost shoe, but my magnifying glass was nowhere to be found. At that point, I was assuming the worst, that the case of the missing magnifying glass would never be solved.

That was until I saw him, the little yellow man — the “minion” as he so strangely referred to himself. He was sprawled out in a corner on an oversized bean bag, snoring. I approached him quietly, traversing the minefield, so as not to wake him. 

Once I got close enough, I could see the outline of red lipstick now breaking up the yellow of his face. I could also see my magnifying glass sticking out of his single overall pocket. I was seething with so much anger towards this lemon man, this thief, that I kicked him in his shin.

“What the heck man!” he screamed, leaping up from the bean bag. “That’s going to bruise!”

I accused him of stealing my magnifying glass, and he didn’t deny it. 

“You deserved it after what you did to me.”

“You’re mad because I didn’t understand your costume?”

“No!” he yelled. “I’m mad that you spilled beer all over me and my date!”

It was then that I remembered the embarrassing details of the rest of the evening. Apparently, I had approached the “minion” a few hours after our initial conversation only to find him on the couch making out with a girl.

To call it “making out” honestly seems like an understatement — the level of PDA was unsightly. In my disgust at seeing this one-eyed yellow potato wrapped around some poor girl, I threw my drink all over them.

I could understand his anger, and although I did not regret my actions, I apologized. He thankfully agreed to give me back my magnifying glass, and we parted ways on decent terms. Suffice it to say, I don’t think I will be going to any more Halloween parties any time soon. 

Editor’s Note: The characters and events depicted in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.