Monday, July 25, 2011

There was this one tme, in band . . .Part 2 (Or how Boone's Farm about killed me on Space Mountain)

(The following is a story, it is just a story.  Any relation to actual events is purely coincidental)  (Big Wink)

(I in no way condone this activity)

Once apon a time there was junior in high school that went on a band trip, we'll call him David.  All of David's life he tried to be the good guy.  Where had that gotten him?  Nowhere.  David worked all the time, had few close friends and no girlfriend.  He wanted to make changes in his life and he decided he would do something drastic.  He would get drunk!  How David got the alcohol is a little fuzzy (honestly I don't remember)  all he knows is he had this God-awful brown bag and had to get it, with the alcohol inside, from a restaurant ( I think McDonalds) across the parking lot of a Motel, around the pool where some of the chaperons were, inside the room, and hidden before the room check, and not let anyone know about it.  (I'm hearing the mission impossible theme in my head now)  I almost made it until one of my classmates saw me that I was sure would rat me out.  Mind you I'm carrying this ugly brown, almost bowling bag.  She wanted to know what was in the bag.  I smiled and said I had cheeseburgers from McDonalds and I didn't want some of my other friends to know since they would try to eat them.  I then carefully unzipped the bag where she could see the McDonald's bag full of 10 cheeseburgers I had purchased and placed on top of the Strawberry Hill.  (Yeah I went all high class)

I got back to the room and I hid the bottle in the bathroom ceiling.  I then cleaned up all the dust and lint that fell in the bathroom.  A little while later there was a knock on the door.  A friend who had known the plan said it was going around we had alcohol.  This was getting ridiculous.  We agreed not to drink anything that night since we were being suspected.  That night right before we were "taped" in, there was a knock on our door and our chaperon came in.  She said there was word going around that we had alcohol.  I told her she was welcomed to look around.  And she did.  Everywhere.  She even took the back of the toilet lid off.  (that was one of the hiding places we discussed but I thought it was too much in plain sight)  She got ready to leave and apologized. She had to check, but she just knew we wouldn't do something like that. 

We didn't touch it until the night before we went home.  It really wasn't that good, but man did I get wasted.  On probably two cups.  If that.  I don't remember what happened that night, but I remember the drilling and jackhammering that was going on in our room as I was awaking.  Oh wait that was my head.  It was then it dawned on me someone was knocking on the door.  I opened the door and the sun was in the doorway.  My head spit in two.  Ok it didn't but it felt like it.  We were late for breakfast.  Someone slipped out and threw the bottle away so we couldn't get busted.  We packed up real quick (which was very slow in our condition.  I have no idea how much anyone else drank, if any at all) I thought the other two were moving and acting ok.  Me?  It was obvious I had a first class hangover.  I went to breakfast and what do you know but our chaperon walked right up to me, and asked, "Late night?"  I told her yeah, I wasn't used to that, and now I have a migraine.  She told me I needed some eggs, and insisted I have the scrambled ones made by the motel.  She even made sure and gave me some of the runny stuff.  I smiled the best I could and sat down.  There was no question what was wrong with me, but all proof was gone.  Our chaperon walked by and said, "Don't eat too much, in case Space Mountain makes you sick."  Oh crap.  I had forgotten that I had told her how much I was looking forward to Space Mountain.

Another friend, who had busted me in the parking lot a few days earlier, sat down and tried to give me an out.  She said she knew I would love Epcott, and I should go with her.  The chaperon had a smile on her face, and I could have got out of this mess, but I said no thank you.  One of the reasons I came to Florida was to ride Space Mountain.  Many times.  (cocky little cuss wasn't I)  My roommate punched my arm and said, "you've had that migraine all night, are you SURE THAT'S A GOOD IDEA!?!?"  I turned, and right in front of the chaperon said, "I can handle it if you can!"  Well now manhoods have been challenged.  What happened next, the best I remember it, was kinda like name that tune, except increasing.   Well I can ride it twice, no I can ride it 4 times . . .If I'm not mistaken, 16 was the number we stopped at before we realized the three of us were screwed beyond belief (me and my two roommates)  Our chaperon said she couldn't wait to hear about it, smiled and walked off. 

So we rode Space Mountain.  13 or 16 times, whatever the deal was.  None of us threw up on anyone, but by the end of the day, I thought I just might die.  I didn't touch alcohol for some two or three years after that.  I told my Mom what I had done a few weeks later, and while she was upset, she thought I'd had sufficient punishment.  My Dad always said that trip changed me, for the better.  I'm still not sure what he means by that.  The chaperon and I never actually discussed it, but she told me later that people have to try things.  I tried many other things that trip.  Chinese food for the first time, I rode a four wheeler across the Florida beach (with the chaperon riding behind me on one of those trips) and I tried to pierce my ear, by myself. . . for the first time. . . (to be continued)


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