The Urban Dictionary describes a hoser as someone who is clumsy, stupid and drinks beer excessively. The Urban Cowgirl, on the other hand, describes a hoser as someone from a suburb or small town who drinks Kokanee out of a can, listens to Theory of a Deadman, drives a truck and is often overheard muttering phrases like ‘just giver, eh!’ and ‘I’m fuckin’ wasted’. Being from a small town which is a well-known hoser habitat, I feel I am fluent in the hoser dialect. A connoisseur of hoser culture. I’m proud to say I can saunter into a room of hosers and happily engage in conversation around hockey and raisin’ hell. Which is why I was so delighted to come across a herd of hosers whilst lounging at the lake yesterday.
Admittedly, this is one of the reasons I frequent this particular lake in the summer. There’s something nostalgic about being surrounded by buff men with tats wearing wife beaters and cut-offs. Yesterday was no exception. I gathered some gal pals for a day at the lake, and moments after we arrived the hoser crowd descended on our dock. Outfitted with giant inflatable party barges and a subwoofer to broadcast their hoser soundtrack, we settled in to watch the hilarity unfold.
I arrived ill prepared with no road pops in my cooler – very unlike me – but luckily the hosers were happy to sell me some ciders at a 400% markup. I was happy to oblige. The hoser who was manning the subwoofer even asked us if we were happy with the music; a selection of Led Zeppelin, Rage Against the Machine and Skee-lo. Fuckin’ rights!
After sizzling for a few hours, I decided to board my little pink floatie and drift out into the middle of the lake. Nothing represents pure bliss like floating in the sun with a drinkie in-hand. This is my happy place. So when my moment of zen was disturbed by the paw of a hoser reaching into my floatie, I was obviously a little put-off. The same hoser who was responsible for our lake day soundtrack had swam out to the middle of the lake where I was floating to introduce himself. Valiant effort, I’ll admit, but my body language definitely indicated that I didn’t appreciate the disturbance.
As I drifted back to the dock, I encountered one of the group’s female hosers, slightly intoxicated and spilling her Budwieser. The bottoms of her bright yellow Corona bikini were hiked up high and her bleach blond perm glistened as she floated past me. “I fuckin’ love this shit, man. I’m so happy. I don’t got any money, but I don’t need to go to Mexico, not when I have this shit right here, man. It’s all about gratitude.”
I couldn’t have said it better myself.