The rest of the class of 1982 put on their mandatory suit and ties, evening gowns and got their hair and faces all fixed up to pile into un-air-conditioned school buses in route to continue the sweat fest at Disney World. But not me. I couldn't see the logic of getting dressed up to go to a theme park. I wasn't about to go hang out with a bunch of chaperoned, overdressed, sweaty teeny boppers having to sneak in booze.
Even though the drinking age was 18, those of us that had already turned 18 prior to graduation were not allowed purchase alcohol at grad night so I elected to go to a keg party that night instead. Plus the entertainment lineup that year didn't appeal to me, I wasn't a fan of Tommy Tutone, Bertie Higgins or Sister Sledge and I never heard of the other three acts and I don't think anybody has heard of them since then. Bertie Higgins once opened a show for my band at a Cinco de Mayo gig in Daytona Beach but that's whole nother story.
The keg party was out in the woods by Fox Lake Park, a popular spot for partying and off road fun. All the young people in town congregated around the big bonfire that was adjacent to the kegs of beer. A one dollar donation got a soul all the foamy, warm beer they could stand. It was impossible to keep the kegs iced in the middle of the woods at the beginning of the Florida summer.
Everybody parked their vehicles along the side of the single lane, dirt road and walked to where the action was. There was just enough room for a car to squeeze by that was either coming or going to the party zone provided the pedestrians stepped aside. One end of the party zone, K92FM, the country radio station, playing over the truck radios and at the other end, Rock 100, WDIZ the rock station, was blasting over the car stereos. Everyone strolled between the two ends socializing or, more accurately, seeking out a joint.
My buddy Chugs and I were walking along towards the beer supply when two hot chicks in a white, Cobra clipped Chugs. As he spun around from the low speed impact, he smashed a bottle of beer on the roof of the car. The girls sped away, spraying us with sand as we exchanged fuck you's. We didn't think any big deal about it, just another night in Tightassville,
I still have my 64 ounce, brown glass, belly buster keg party mug that I had just filled up with 3/4 foam and one quarter liquid beer. Chugs and I made our way back to my pick up truck and were sitting on the tailgate bullshitting with some of the other fellas when the hot girls in the white cobra with the blue stripes came hauling ass towards my truck, causing my crew to jump out of the way just as the girls slid to a stop a foot away from my tailgate.
The driver got out screaming at the top of her lungs, wanting to know who hit her car. We just thought she was psycho and some of the fellas started to walk away, nobody wanted to deal with that hot mess. She retreated after not getting the response she wanted and grabbed a .357 revolver from underneath the seat of her car, walked right up to me and aimed it between my eyes.
She screamed her question at me, "Who hit my car?!"
I could see the hollow points in the cylinder. Her hand trembled with the weight of the gun as she tried to maintain her aim at my forehead...
"I have no idea who hit your fucking car, man," I said calmly. She honestly did not scare me one bit.
"Somebody's going to pay for hitting my boyfriend's car," she screamed hysterically.
"Fuck him," said Chugs. "I hit your fucking car because you hit me."
Her high-pitched bitching had attracted the attention of some of my other friends at the party and as the word got around that she was holding a gun to my head, one of my buddies got the bright idea of getting his shotgun out of his truck and firing off a round as a warning. A warning for/about what, I don't know. I guess it just seemed like the thing to do at the time.
The instant the shotgun went off, her hand flinched and for a second I could imagine my gray matter splattering across the bed of my truck and running down the back window, the blood contrasting against the white of my long bed F100 with the three on the tree, no ac and not even a single speaker, AM radio... The basest model...
At the end of that second, I snatched the gun out of her hand. Her friend had gotten out of the passenger side of the car and as she approached she was chopping a line of cocaine up on her compact case mirror saying to her enraged friend, "Do another line. Mellow out." I remember thinking to myself, "I don't think cocaine mellows people out."
The girl that was driving turns on the tears and says that her boyfriend is going to beat her up when he notices the dent on the roof of his car. The crew I was with told her to bring him out here and they would beat the living shit out of him for her. They even offered to follow her to his house and kick his ass in his own front yard.
I emptied out the bullets from the revolver and placed the gun back underneath her car seat. Looking back, I had every right to keep that gun but I'm just not that kind of a guy. The way I looked at it, no harm, no foul. Besides, I had a 44 magnum under my seat that I traded for an ounce of pot sometime later. I haven't owned a gun in 30 years, haven't felt the need for one.
That was the first time I had ever seen cocaine. Shortly after that crack cocaine would be introduced to America and I watched some of my friends get sucked into that hole, just one of many holes that can swallow you up on this planet if you ain't careful. Shit you might even want to be a musician one day... Talk about holes that will swallow you up and shit you out...
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Sister sledge
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