Monday, July 2, 2012

Chatter and clink ...

On Friday night I ate too little and drank too much and that's all I want to say about that. Except that then from my fuzzy state I had a unique perspective to watch a teenager party crashed by five police cars worth of fun-suckers on Saturday.

Since I don't have kids but I have been a 17-year-old, I'm Team Drunk Teens. Not Drunk Teens, per se, but Team Relishing a Lack of Adult Supervision and Making Memories. The first time I drank was sophomore year when my friend Dong's parents were MIA. His college-aged brother threw a rager. It was about what you would expect: A lot of Steve Miller Band and a lot of nose-plugging through gulps of beer from a red keg cup. I remember being very conscious of trying not to spill the deep dark that my crush Twin A and I had played mouth hide 'n' seek with a piece of gum a few weekends earlier. Also: An easy-on-the-eyes upperclassman and I were in the garage and he said "What would you do if I kissed you right now?" I said, ever-so-eloquently, "I'd probably shit my pants." Then I fled.

The party continued the next night without me. Princess Linda ended up getting busted and it was the biggest scandal to ever hit our friendship. It was a delayed bust. Months later. She got to school late that day, band had already started. She shot a look into the saxophone section and I immediately knew what happened. And that's why she wasn't allowed to get her drivers' license until that summer instead of on her 16th birthday.

Other than that, there wasn't much boozing in my circle. For awhile our guy friends started hanging out at a party place called The Pit and one friend continually extolled on the greatness of a 2-liter liquid called Purple Passion. Once in awhile we would swipe a can of MGD from someone's garage and pass it around a large group, but it all led to a lot of nothing except panic over how to discard of the evidence. We were all terrified of our parents and terrified of our coaches and eligibility issues with our sports.

Saturday night's party was a tame affair. Just chatter and the clink of drinks. I'm not even sure how the police knew about it. If I'd seen anyone driving, or heard the sounds of teenage wailing or if a fight broke out I might have thought it was worth calling. But as is, they seemed able to handle festivities better than I did on Friday so it didn't seem like a big whoop. Again: I'm sure my take on this is dulled by never having to water and feed another human being.

First the police stopped at our house. I was sitting outside at midnight and they asked me if I'd called them.

"No," I said.
"Did someone just leave here?" they asked.
"No," I said.
"Have you seen anyone outside tonight?" they asked.
"I just got out here," I said.

I have no idea why I was being evasive. But by then they had discovered the scene of the crime and they busted in on the soiree. For awhile they had an assembly line of kids taking breathalizers. And the shakedown lasted hours. At one point I heard a lengthy lecture on the dangers of drinking. Truth be told, if those kids are in trouble, it might be worth it. It's going to make a fun story some day.

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