Take Your Chance
In the town where I lived there was a main drag nicknamed, “the avenue” where everyone drove up and down at top speeds of 10mph, showing off cars, flirting, or simply because we weren't old enough to go out to a real place. We’d spend our time and gas money on that one road for many summer nights and Sunday afternoons.
I was about 16 years old and riding in the backseat with my friends. The B-52s, "Rock Lobster" and Duran Duran, mostly, comes to mind as the provided soundtrack for the evening, while everyone else seemed to have their stereos thumping to Morris Day and the Time.
At the end of the avenue there was a bar named the First & Last Chance. It was rumored if you drove around the backside and blew your horn, an old black man wearing a white uniform would swagger out and ruggedly ask, "Canna take yo' orda, pleathse?" You gotta love Louisiana.
Originally, we wanted to go out of town to see a movie called, "The Gates of Hell", but without parental guidance or an I.D. that stated I was 17 or above, I couldn’t get in. So, we headed back into town just to cruise around and see what was going on, trying really hard not to be too disappointed.
I had 10 bucks to my name. Drinks were $1.10. Need I say any more than this?
I was embarrassed that I had ruined everyone's night, so I requested to be taken behind The Chance. We pulled up slowly and after a few bomp, bomp, bomps, we quickly found out the rumors were true once the tall, black guy staggered out to take our order. We all believed he was the zombie from the Scooby Doo cartoons.
Bourbon and cokes were a steady stream, mostly, but just to have one under my belt for the hell of it, I also ordered a martini. Maybe it was more hunger than anything, considering the big juicy olive that came with it. Either way, it made for an interesting evening.
The only thing that comes to mind with any clarity after all this time is the phrase, "my numb is face", as I recall pinching my cheeks and rolling my bottom lip with my hand trying to feel anything at all - aside from guilt.
Knowing that I was the cause of the evenings turn of events and wanting to entertain, I managed to talk my friend into letting me ride on the hood of his car as if I were a princess in a parade.
I had the closed-fingers wave down pat and was just dying to display that to the world. Not much arm-twisting later, evidentally by all the horns that began to blow furiously by everyone who witnessed, I was crowned the princess of the avenue.
Unfortunately, one vehicle that happened to see this display was a part of the parish sheriff’s department fleet. Within seconds we were standing on the side of the road getting more attention than George Michael in a public restroom, simply by having our faces lit up with blue and reds.
We stood there in a losing-battle attempt to try to convince them that we were not on drugs. We proclaimed that we were the only ones who weren't on drugs in that town and even gave car models and names to back up our claims. They didn't believe us.
They ransacked the car anyway, looking feverishly for anything that would get us into trouble. No luck. So, with a stern warning and a haughty grin, they finally let us go. My friends and I firmly believed it was music choice that led to the traffic stop. New wave stuff wasn't very popular in that neck of the woods, needless to say.
The night came to an end after the initial shock of that encounter wore off - meaning after hysterical laughter being had by all for being pulled over for something so stupid. They dropped me off and as I tried to unlock the door, to my surprise, the chain lock was strung across the doorway.
How was I supposed to get in? Not only would I break curfew, but also I certainly didn’t want to wake anyone up, especially at that late hour of 11 pm! After much deliberation, which lasted about 2 seconds, I did what any sensible, drunk 16 yr old would do: I broke the door off of the hinges.
Once that obstacle was negotiated, I staggered in at lightning speed through the apartment and headed up to my bedroom to sleep it off. Talk about your Gait from Hell.
The next morning I woke up with a giant hole in my stomach, previously evacuated by a Sonic burger and fries, as judging from my fast-food laden sheets. Apparently, I didn't just eat olives the night before.
I hurriedly did the laundry and then sat in the tub with the shower beating down on me for at least an hour. I swore to God, by the hole in my stomach, that I would never do that again - at least not until the next weekend.
Needless to say, I wasn't Hungry Like the Wolf for some time afterward.
I was about 16 years old and riding in the backseat with my friends. The B-52s, "Rock Lobster" and Duran Duran, mostly, comes to mind as the provided soundtrack for the evening, while everyone else seemed to have their stereos thumping to Morris Day and the Time.
At the end of the avenue there was a bar named the First & Last Chance. It was rumored if you drove around the backside and blew your horn, an old black man wearing a white uniform would swagger out and ruggedly ask, "Canna take yo' orda, pleathse?" You gotta love Louisiana.
Originally, we wanted to go out of town to see a movie called, "The Gates of Hell", but without parental guidance or an I.D. that stated I was 17 or above, I couldn’t get in. So, we headed back into town just to cruise around and see what was going on, trying really hard not to be too disappointed.
I had 10 bucks to my name. Drinks were $1.10. Need I say any more than this?
I was embarrassed that I had ruined everyone's night, so I requested to be taken behind The Chance. We pulled up slowly and after a few bomp, bomp, bomps, we quickly found out the rumors were true once the tall, black guy staggered out to take our order. We all believed he was the zombie from the Scooby Doo cartoons.
Bourbon and cokes were a steady stream, mostly, but just to have one under my belt for the hell of it, I also ordered a martini. Maybe it was more hunger than anything, considering the big juicy olive that came with it. Either way, it made for an interesting evening.
The only thing that comes to mind with any clarity after all this time is the phrase, "my numb is face", as I recall pinching my cheeks and rolling my bottom lip with my hand trying to feel anything at all - aside from guilt.
Knowing that I was the cause of the evenings turn of events and wanting to entertain, I managed to talk my friend into letting me ride on the hood of his car as if I were a princess in a parade.
I had the closed-fingers wave down pat and was just dying to display that to the world. Not much arm-twisting later, evidentally by all the horns that began to blow furiously by everyone who witnessed, I was crowned the princess of the avenue.
Unfortunately, one vehicle that happened to see this display was a part of the parish sheriff’s department fleet. Within seconds we were standing on the side of the road getting more attention than George Michael in a public restroom, simply by having our faces lit up with blue and reds.
We stood there in a losing-battle attempt to try to convince them that we were not on drugs. We proclaimed that we were the only ones who weren't on drugs in that town and even gave car models and names to back up our claims. They didn't believe us.
They ransacked the car anyway, looking feverishly for anything that would get us into trouble. No luck. So, with a stern warning and a haughty grin, they finally let us go. My friends and I firmly believed it was music choice that led to the traffic stop. New wave stuff wasn't very popular in that neck of the woods, needless to say.
The night came to an end after the initial shock of that encounter wore off - meaning after hysterical laughter being had by all for being pulled over for something so stupid. They dropped me off and as I tried to unlock the door, to my surprise, the chain lock was strung across the doorway.
How was I supposed to get in? Not only would I break curfew, but also I certainly didn’t want to wake anyone up, especially at that late hour of 11 pm! After much deliberation, which lasted about 2 seconds, I did what any sensible, drunk 16 yr old would do: I broke the door off of the hinges.
Once that obstacle was negotiated, I staggered in at lightning speed through the apartment and headed up to my bedroom to sleep it off. Talk about your Gait from Hell.
The next morning I woke up with a giant hole in my stomach, previously evacuated by a Sonic burger and fries, as judging from my fast-food laden sheets. Apparently, I didn't just eat olives the night before.
I hurriedly did the laundry and then sat in the tub with the shower beating down on me for at least an hour. I swore to God, by the hole in my stomach, that I would never do that again - at least not until the next weekend.
Needless to say, I wasn't Hungry Like the Wolf for some time afterward.
posted by On My Watch at 09:37
2 Comments:
Yes! Loved the story. Autobiographical gold with plenty of humor, pop culture and a brush with the law. Very impressive!
I loved your parade position and your ingenuity of getting past a chain-locked door.
why, thank you kind sir. coming from you I take your words as a great compliment. :)
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