Beer Run by dixē.flatlin3

Beer Run by dixē.flatlin3

            Time to get my creativity flowing again.  I have been busy with academic writing, which has its own rewards, but can be less than satisfying.  So, let’s talk about beer runs.  You remember those, right?  You’re at a party and suddenly there is no more beer, and that simply has to be corrected as quickly as humanly possible?

            This was a common occurrence during my formative years, and because I had a car, I was often the one called upon to assist in these emergency situations.  Of course being female also meant I was often times a necessary implement in procuring the alcohol.  We called it ‘pimping beer’, which essentially meant I had to stand around outside and ask adults, usually males, to purchase it on our behalf.  This particular evening though being female was not part of the equation, only the car.

            I have accepted that my main role within the crew of guys I hung out with was as their designated get-away driver.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but looking back I can see that is what I did.  I believe that the statutes of limitations have expired for most all our juvenile delinquent activities, at least I hope that they have.

            To say that I ran with a rowdy crowd is a polite way of admitting that I was a borderline hoodlum.  This particular evening a group of skinheads had shown up to the party we were at.  At some point during the festivities I was called upon to assist with a beer run.  I didn’t see this as unusual because as I have mentioned, it was one of my regular duties.  After we had all loaded into my car, I noticed that it was too late to purchase alcohol, and I mentioned this to my passengers.  There were two guys from my normal crew, and two from the one that had shown up.  One of the bald guys told me not worry about it because he knew of a place that he could still get beer from.  I followed the directions he gave from the back seat as we drove along the deserted streets.

            Eventually we pulled up in front of a closed liquor store.  I was somewhat confused as the two bald guys told us to wait in the car, and got out.  They casually approached the front of the store, picked up a huge cement ashtray by the entrance, and threw it through the glass double-doors.  Of course I immediately went into shock because it was apparent I was now a part of something that was more than just a beer run.  As my friends and I sat in my car in a stunned silence, listening to the sound of the alarm going off, we didn’t say a word to each other.  As quickly as the bald ones had entered the store, they came back out the door, throwing a keg through the doors to make more room for their exit; however, one of them got cut by the glass on their way out.

            The sight of blood in my car was nothing out of the ordinary.  In fact, I had grown accustomed to it and the smell barely bothered me anymore.  I immediately took off once they had loaded their booty into the back of my hatchback.  The boys were all chattering, the bald ones laughing, but my pals were a bit more vocal with their ‘what-the-fuck-just-happened’ thoughts.  I stared straight ahead, completely silent, and drove.  Making sure to obey the speed limit, use turn signals, and not miss a single stop sign.

            I don’t remember how the evening ended, I believe someone needed stitches, but I cannot be sure.  Several of my crew came out to assist me in cleaning up the blood that was throughout my car.  I believe they realized that I was rather upset with what had happened, but did their best to console me.  We all had a good laugh over the fact that no one had a tap for the keg that had come flying through the front doors.

            I learned a very important lesson that evening, and it is one that I have never forgotten:  Whenever someone says they need to make a beer run, always make sure that they can still legally do so before offering to drive them anywhere.


The Tale of the Rabbit

I had a green Pinto, the *year of which now escapes me.  The two-door sedan and it was god awful green.  I acknowledged this by keeping a frog on the console between the front seats.  I lovingly referred to this car as the PintOSh 2000 model and it lived up to its moniker. All that really mattered was that I had transportation.  This is always the best leverage to have as a teenager.  I had room for up to four  passengers and I never rode alone.

From what I recall, there were four of us in the car this particular evening.  We were making the rounds of all the local house parties in the area.  Names?  No idea and not important anyway.  It was four teenage girls, in a late 70s model green Pinto, during the late 80s.  No good could come from this.

I could probably still drive to the location of this party, but I cannot describe what the exterior looked like.  I barely remember the interior.  They all looked the same after a while.  Houses packed beyond capacity with vaguely familiar bodies and a band playing in the back yard.  Oh, and beer, lots and lots of beer.

Leaving one particular gathering, we piled into my car and headed on our merry way.  No less than two-blocks later a local police officer flashed his lights.  I can remember exactly what I was thinking as I pulled over, “I am so drunk and so going to jail.”  The adrenaline dump I experienced with that realization is likely what saved my ass.

I happily performed all the field sobriety tests that the kind officer administered and passed with flying colors.  I thanked the officer for his time and went back to my car.  Where there were three drunk girls completely freaked out and rather silent.  So I turned up the music.

About a mile from where we were pulled over a rabbit committed suicide in front of my car.  Everyone saw it and agreed it was a kamikaze bunny.  I didn’t stop to confirm death, we had places to be and the coyotes can always use a freebie.  The desert is like that.

Somehow, later as the sun was rising, we had decided to be mischievous and vandalize a car, gathering what we could as we drove along.  I had the thought to travel back to the kamikaze bunny since we were in the area.  In the distance I could see the outline of an animal in the road.

I stopped the car approximately 10-feet away from the bunny and was out of the car before it had fully stopped.  I grabbed the bunny by its ears and took it to the trunk.  I placed it on top of the construction sign we had also acquired that said Open Trench. Again I returned to find the car very quiet.  So I turned up the music.

Once our mission was accomplished I went about dropping everyone off at their respective residences.  The best part of this random tale is that I could not tell you how the person responded to our late night these gifts.  I believe we never knew.

Funny what you remember.

*a friend on the phone claims the correct year is 1977.