Friends in Low Places
A Narrow Escape from the Depths of My Own Stupidity
It's Christmas of 1985, and I'm back in Roane county snow skiing. There were several real cold years and there actually was a small ski resort called Renegade at the Crab Orchard exit off I-40. It's hard to believe we used to get that much snow here. I farted around and got left behind. Kingston, was on the other side of the mountain and I called and noone had much sympathy for my predicament, and they didn't want to drive over the mountain in the freezing ice and snow and get me. Nobody wants to interrupt their rooting around in their dens with christmas ham to go drag the straggler back.
I was wandering about the resort trying to find someone I knew to get a ride back. It was getting later and later when finally I notice a crowd in the bar. Walking in who did I notice, but Angela an old friend from high school. I asked her about getting a ride back (she was busy chatting up some fellow), and she said I could get one with her brother whom she introduced me to. I sat down with her brother and his friend who were having a couple of beers. They agreed, and then said "How much money you got?"
Being young and really naive at this point I told them. Mark that as a rule of life, never, ever, let anyone know how much money you have. After drinking all of that money in beer, we stumbled out to their car: a freshly tuned Lancia. We proceeded over the mountain well in excess of 100 miles per hour with that high rev engine screaming like a wild cat, tires peeling as we rolled into Kingston. I began to notice the pretty flashing blue lights behind us. The driver pulls over, the policeman walks up. He opens his door and proceeds to barf all over the policewoman's black boots. She grabs him by the collar and hauls him out of the car. I'm wondering how cold the jail cell will be tonight, when the other passenger turns arounds and says, "This is your stop."
I said, "What?" in a slobbery drunk voice.
He replied, "You don't understand, they're dating. It'll work out, but you're a complication so vanish."
I got out and walked across the street and called my uncle for a ride. He drives in to get me, and I'm drunkenly hanging from a street lamp, while across the street it looks like a police convention. Apparently some state troopers were after him as well, just let the local girlfriend/cop try to fix that one. I slowly walked over to the car and got in. We drove off as I waved goodbye like a 4 year old to the police out the back window.
Comments