On the lamb
It was just before ten o’clock on the night of October 17, 1999, and I was probably two hours past guzzling my dozen’th beer and who-can-remember’th shot of whisk’ at a local bar. [It had also easily been three hours since my last moment as an obedient member of society on that day.] Loud and rowdy, I had just watched the Mets defeat the Braves in an epic 15-inning playoff game that ended on Robin Ventura’s walk-off “grand single” in a cold, heavy October rainstorm.
Obviously, it was time to celebrate with more beer and more shots. Rounds of Red Dog bottles and Jager shots evolved to pints of High Life […it is the “The Champagne of Beers” after all] and Wild Turkey shots.
Finally, shortly after midnight, someone had the sense to say enough’s enough, no more drinking! [Hint: It wasn’t me.] Sooo, the bartenders kicked me out. [I was tired anyway.] I had driven to the bar almost nine hours earlier, but even in my altered state, I knew I wasn’t driving home. I walked. It was only a couple of miles, and my friend was with me, so I’d be fine. [“I’ll be fine”…How many stupidly drunk people tell themselves this before doing something they soon regret?]
There I was, exhaustively focused on just keeping myself upright and walking forward…left, right, left, left, no, right! And then there it was at my feet. Not my front door. [Damn.] Not another round of shots. [Double damn!] A street sign – ‘Dead End’. [In my defense, as a drunk dope, finding a downed street sign on a dark road that you’re stumbling along is like finding $100 on the floor of a Toys R Us as a 9-year-old boy.] “Hey! Check it out. Yeeeeeah!,” I yelled with the sign held high above my head to my buddy who I could barely see off ahead of me through the rain and night. Wait, what? What’s…why…how come I can’t see? Who’s shining that damn light in my eyes?
[Cue Styx’s “Renegade”] Oh momma I’m in fear for my life from the long arm of the law…
A police cruiser, not thirty-feet away, had its spotlight locked on me. Frozen, I stood there still holding the sign above my head. “Put. It. Down,” the officer bellowed thru the loudspeaker. [FML] There I was bellied up to the cruiser’s hood, spreadeagle, trying to e-nun-ci-ate e-ve-ry syl-la-ble of an explanation: “Sir, I’m being responsible, doing this community a service by not driving home drunk. I’m walking home. I’m walking!!,” I explained. No dice, he wasn’t in the mood to listen.
“Where’s my friend?,” I asked the officer. “Friend? Who? You’re alone,” he said. And now I’m angry. Not because my buddy darted off and left me, but because this officer clearly wasn’t interested in my side of the story, and the more I spoke, the deeper and deeper of a hole I was digging myself. Cuffed and stuffed, I was on my way “downtown.”
…Lawman has put an end to my running and I’m so far from my home.
Fingerprinted, photographed and charged with “possession of stolen property,” “drunken disorderly conduct” and “resisting arrest,” I was asked to have a seat and offered a cup of coffee by the officer. “Sober up and we’ll drive you home,” the officer said. Really? They’re just going to sit me in a chair and pour coffee down my throat until I’m sober enough to go home? No way, I wanted the full criminal treatment. After all, who knows when my next opportunity might be, right? [Obviously, I was still shithoused.] I insisted that they put me in a cell. “And I want a tin cup to run along the bars!,” I shouted. Finally, after a bit of a temper tantrum, they granted me my wish and tossed me in a cage. [WIN!] However, they only had paper coffee cups, and as you might imagine it didn’t make quite the sound on the steel bars that I had hoped for. [FAIL!]
I was sentenced to, like, twenty-something hours of community service. Not bad, right? Well, I never served it. Not one lousy, undeserving minute. Shortly after this all went down, I got a job out in California and off I went. I’ve never received a call or letter regarding the matter. I escaped.
About Mr. Poopoopachu
Man. Epic night.
What the?? I was housing a fugitive… That’s one great night you had. BTW, I’ll be in manhatten 9/14. Maybe you can relive this evening with a couple (or 6) out of towners.
Nate!! Thanks for checking out our blog. Yes, indeed, you were housing a fugitive, but it was a “victimless crime,” so that should ease your mind. Shoot me a note on FB and let me know more about your trip to NYC, bc I’d very much like to meet up.
ha-ha, hilarious! Who, after being arrested, asks for a “tin cup” to bang against the bars…classic…
Crowebar, this is all your fault! I never drank before I met you.
Joe there’s only one acronym to describe it all ZOMGWTFZOMBIEBQQFTW!
mmmm zombie bbq…
Hilarious! Seems like it was one great night.
Dearest Poopy,
You forgot one detail about that night…and I’ve been searching for you for the past ten years. Well, this might not be the best forum for this, but I’m just so excited that I stumbled across this–I am wondering if you’d like to meet your nine year-old son? At first I wasn’t sure if he was yours but when I would set him down in his playpen he would drag his bottle across the plastic bars and his first word was “Piazza” so I’m sure of it. I’m not looking for money (on that night you bought me four years worth of diaper money in Wild Turkey shots). His name is Poop Chu Jr. and he needs a male role model in his life. Fanks in advance.
-Roxanne
Why does this happen every time I get drunk!? I should start putting condoms on BEFORE heading out to the bar.
What a tool! How dare you break the law. People like you should be thrown in a cell and given a tin cup!
Yeah, unexpected police run-ins are not usually fun. Sure, if you know it’s coming, like say when you beat your neighbor half to death with a cinderblock in the middle of his driveway, you can kind of assume his wife or someone would have called the cops, and you can prepare thusly. Strip down to your undies, spray paint “I’d rather be in a cell with a tin cup” on your chest and sing Styx at the top of your lungs. THAT would make a good story.
Sounds like our annual Poopoopachu Thanksgiving tradition.
Awesome. you are one wild and crazy guy! (snl steve martin/dan ackroyd) I got nothing.
[“I’ll be fine”…How many stupidly drunk people tell themselves this before doing something they soon regret?]
When in those situations, I use the split-personality 2nd person accusatory – “YOU’LL be fine” – as if my inner sober self is counseling my intoxicated self.
And I remember that Met’s game (perhaps better than you do?), – the most memorable moment of Robin Ventura’s career other than getting headlocked by Nolan Ryan.
I have a tremendous story about a friend whose “inner drunk self” called and left his soon-to-be hungover self a voicemail during a particularly epic and career-threatening company holiday party. I hope that I’ll get a chance to share it with everyone at some point. Thanks for reading, ecrussell!
I too, hope you get to share that story.
ok, i wasn’t there that night and i certainly DID NOT watch that game…but any story involving too much miller high life makes me feel like i belong. LOVE.
Lee Lee, you’ll soon learn that A LOT of my experiences that I’ll share here are tied to my propensity to over indulge in High Life, Jagermeister and/or Wild Turkey. …doesn’t make me a bad guy. I’m just sayin’.
Agreed. Well…with the EXCEPTION of Wild Turkey. But only because I speak from experience in my early, early…let’s just say too early for drinking ANYTHING especially, Wild Turkey.
Wow, you are a gifted storyteller, sir. LOVED IT!
Aww shucks, lil’ lady. Thank you much. [That’s how people speak in Texas, right?] I may solicit your help writing headlines for future posts, because “The Dick Fairy!” still has me crying.
[…] (Circa ’99) For the most part, my mischievous behavior has been free and clear of police activity. Except for this one time… http://30pov.com/2009/08/28/on-the-lamb/ […]
[…] On the lamb | 30 Points of ViewIt was just before ten o’clock on the night of October 17, 1999, and I was probably two hours past guzzling my dozen’th beer and who-can-remember’th shot of whisk’ at a local bar. … Obviously, it was time to celebrate with more beer and more shots. Rounds of Red Dog bottles and … Finally, shortly after midnight, […]