Nin and the night of 1000 alcohol-related crimes
Kamikaze's is one of Bowling Green's more underage-friendly drinking establishments. In fact, considering the bar's clientele, horrendous music and disco lighting, it's safe to say that Kamikaze's is populated solely by underage drinkers, with just a sprinkling of perverted elderly men. Under 21's are branded with a felt-tip "X" on each hand, which they then proceed to wash off immediately in the bathroom, if they haven't licked them off on the way there. Kamikaze's bouncers occasionally take steps to prevent this, but tend to be lenient, not wanting to see their livelihoods diminish and be forced to return to whatever other menial labour it is that bouncers can do.
On this warm mid-September evening (still months away from my 21st birthday), I was enjoying my premature alcohol fix on the patio at Kamikaze's rear. I was joined by Pantera Dave (also underage), my of-age roommates KC and Nin, the latter also serving as our designated driver. He was not with us on the patio, instead opting to make public nuisance of himself inside.
I mentioned that Kamikaze's bouncers tend to be lenient of underage consumption, but unfortunately, that night was not such an occasion. Courtesy of Pantera Dave's obliviousness to nearby staff, it didn't take long for him to be kicked out. This does little to deter a young drunkard however, and we continued to feed him drinks through the patio fence. He seemed content to stand in the adjoining alleyway, as long as there was a steady supply of beer.
And then the slippery downward slope of the evening began. Two police officers happened to be strolling down the alley, and immediately caught sight of Pantera Dave. I turned quickly to warn him, but he was already half walking and half running in the opposite direction. This was a hilarious sight to behold, as Pantera Dave is a lazy man, quite possibly the laziest in Wood County. To see him actually hurry was like watching the awkward bipedal motion of a speeding collard lizard.
The alley ends in a gas station parking lot, and as soon as he thought he was invisible to the cops, he hurled his half-full beer cup several yards. It was to no avail, however; he wasn’t fooling the long arm of the law, and was charged with open container and underage possession.
With one man out of Kamikaze’s for good, he, KC and I decided that it was probably time to leave. We just had to locate Nin (nicknamed such after an eighth-grade Trent Reznor obsession), who was currently doing weird Nin things within the bar. He had this tendency to spend his drunken evenings (read: all his evenings) in public by following this exact schedule:
We did so. I drunkenly clambered into the passenger seat of Nin's blazer, KC and Pantera Dave, still pissed about his ticket, sat in the back.
We had already begun our voyage home when it occurred to me that having Nin drive may have been a mistake. Still ranting and raving, he sped us down Wooster Street, one of BG's two main roads. I quickly spotted a police car, waiting specifically for shitty drunken drivers, as they often did at that time on Friday nights. I brought this to Nin's attention, not realizing that he would react by accelerating, instead of slowing down, and then scream "COME GET ME, BITCH!" out my window.
A fellow motorist chose that inopportune moment to pull out somewhat aggressively in front of Nin. Even madder, Nin leaned on his horn and accelerated further, until we were mere inches behind the intruding vehicle, and still honking wildly. All this in plain view of the police car, of course, which pulled out and began following us.
Over the next mile, Nin forgot that he was angry at the driver in front of us, but continued to yell about a variety of topics. He also continued to drive like a retarded blind person, sometimes drifting toward oncoming traffic, and sometimes hitting the curb on my side of the car. I assured Nin that he could shout all he wanted, as long as he looked at the road while he did it, instead of at me. Every few seconds, I glanced in my side mirror, hoping that if the police car was going to pull us over, he would just get on with it. I knew there would be repercussions if we got caught, but those repercussions seemed preferable to those that Nin was careening us into.
For some reason, Nin decided to take us home a new way (I'm sure he wasn't even aware of the cop at this point), and took a wide right turn down a side street. This was no regular wide turn, however; this was the sort of turn that semi trucks make, just at speed. I can't recall for sure, but I'm almost certain a few pedestrians had to dive for safety. The cop, of course, followed, and finally, FINALLY, turned on his lights. Nin, in a rare moment of sound judgment, pulled over.
I remember the Blazer being very quiet as the officer approached; the three passengers weren't saying anything, and Nin had finally run out of things to gripe about. The cop tapped the driver's side window, which Nin had not yet bothered to roll down. Nin obliged him by opening it just a crack.
After being provided with license and registration, the officer asked the fateful question,
"How much have you had to drink tonight, sir?"
"Two beers", Nin slurred, although the way he said it made it seem like there were more K's and G's in that phrase than normal.
"Step out of the car please."
Goddamn, this story is long! Watch for "Nin and the night of 1000 alcohol-related crimes: the conclusion", coming soon. No, really, soon. I'm not going to fuck around with this the way I do with monthly Tony Tiger updates.
On this warm mid-September evening (still months away from my 21st birthday), I was enjoying my premature alcohol fix on the patio at Kamikaze's rear. I was joined by Pantera Dave (also underage), my of-age roommates KC and Nin, the latter also serving as our designated driver. He was not with us on the patio, instead opting to make public nuisance of himself inside.
I mentioned that Kamikaze's bouncers tend to be lenient of underage consumption, but unfortunately, that night was not such an occasion. Courtesy of Pantera Dave's obliviousness to nearby staff, it didn't take long for him to be kicked out. This does little to deter a young drunkard however, and we continued to feed him drinks through the patio fence. He seemed content to stand in the adjoining alleyway, as long as there was a steady supply of beer.
And then the slippery downward slope of the evening began. Two police officers happened to be strolling down the alley, and immediately caught sight of Pantera Dave. I turned quickly to warn him, but he was already half walking and half running in the opposite direction. This was a hilarious sight to behold, as Pantera Dave is a lazy man, quite possibly the laziest in Wood County. To see him actually hurry was like watching the awkward bipedal motion of a speeding collard lizard.
The alley ends in a gas station parking lot, and as soon as he thought he was invisible to the cops, he hurled his half-full beer cup several yards. It was to no avail, however; he wasn’t fooling the long arm of the law, and was charged with open container and underage possession.
With one man out of Kamikaze’s for good, he, KC and I decided that it was probably time to leave. We just had to locate Nin (nicknamed such after an eighth-grade Trent Reznor obsession), who was currently doing weird Nin things within the bar. He had this tendency to spend his drunken evenings (read: all his evenings) in public by following this exact schedule:
- Select a girl.
- Stare at her intently for several minutes, if not hours.
- Invent in his mind conversations, subsequent interest, and a confession of love between the two of them, and assume they were going home together.
- Get upset when selected girl left with her friends/another man because in all likelihood, she wasn’t even aware that Nin was standing there.
We did so. I drunkenly clambered into the passenger seat of Nin's blazer, KC and Pantera Dave, still pissed about his ticket, sat in the back.
We had already begun our voyage home when it occurred to me that having Nin drive may have been a mistake. Still ranting and raving, he sped us down Wooster Street, one of BG's two main roads. I quickly spotted a police car, waiting specifically for shitty drunken drivers, as they often did at that time on Friday nights. I brought this to Nin's attention, not realizing that he would react by accelerating, instead of slowing down, and then scream "COME GET ME, BITCH!" out my window.
A fellow motorist chose that inopportune moment to pull out somewhat aggressively in front of Nin. Even madder, Nin leaned on his horn and accelerated further, until we were mere inches behind the intruding vehicle, and still honking wildly. All this in plain view of the police car, of course, which pulled out and began following us.
Over the next mile, Nin forgot that he was angry at the driver in front of us, but continued to yell about a variety of topics. He also continued to drive like a retarded blind person, sometimes drifting toward oncoming traffic, and sometimes hitting the curb on my side of the car. I assured Nin that he could shout all he wanted, as long as he looked at the road while he did it, instead of at me. Every few seconds, I glanced in my side mirror, hoping that if the police car was going to pull us over, he would just get on with it. I knew there would be repercussions if we got caught, but those repercussions seemed preferable to those that Nin was careening us into.
For some reason, Nin decided to take us home a new way (I'm sure he wasn't even aware of the cop at this point), and took a wide right turn down a side street. This was no regular wide turn, however; this was the sort of turn that semi trucks make, just at speed. I can't recall for sure, but I'm almost certain a few pedestrians had to dive for safety. The cop, of course, followed, and finally, FINALLY, turned on his lights. Nin, in a rare moment of sound judgment, pulled over.
I remember the Blazer being very quiet as the officer approached; the three passengers weren't saying anything, and Nin had finally run out of things to gripe about. The cop tapped the driver's side window, which Nin had not yet bothered to roll down. Nin obliged him by opening it just a crack.
After being provided with license and registration, the officer asked the fateful question,
"How much have you had to drink tonight, sir?"
"Two beers", Nin slurred, although the way he said it made it seem like there were more K's and G's in that phrase than normal.
"Step out of the car please."
Goddamn, this story is long! Watch for "Nin and the night of 1000 alcohol-related crimes: the conclusion", coming soon. No, really, soon. I'm not going to fuck around with this the way I do with monthly Tony Tiger updates.
posted by Vyvyan Basterd at 10:01 AM
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