Nin and the night of 1000 alcohol-related crimes II
HALT! This won't make any sense until you read Part I (and maybe not even then).
The three of us sat in absolute silence, straining to hear the sobriety tests taking place behind the car. Occasionally we could make out the officer shouting things along the lines of,
"Do you understand what I'm telling you to do, Eric?!"
At last we heard a dull thud, as Nin was pushed up against the back of his Blazer, and the unmistakable series of clicks that can only signify the adorning of handcuffs.
"Oh", I thought, "So that’s his real name."
Moments later, the darkness was penetrated by a bright flashlight inches from my face. I maintain that there is no sobriety catalyst quite like a cop's flashlight. Coffee, water, cold shower, nothing. In that split-second I went from maybe being able to tie my shoe, to being able to recite the Gettysburg address and tie my shoe at the same time.
The cop collected our IDs and read them into his radio while standing by the car. When his dispatcher told him of Pantera Dave's earlier doings, he chuckled.
"Looks like one of you has already been in some trouble tonight", he laughed.
Since Pantera Dave was sitting behind me, I could only imagine the look of contempt on his face, but I'm sure that it was there.
In a surprising moment of compassion, the officer let the three of us go. He asked if any of us were capable of getting Nin's Blazer home for him (we were now no more than a 1/2 mile away), to which we replied "Fuck no" in the politest way possible. We had seen enough action for one night, and Nin wouldn't need it anyway; he was being escorted downtown, and not expected to drive.
So we walked, and counted our blessings all the way. Being 21, KC carried what was left of our beer (which was apparently more important than Nin or his car), and arrived home shortly thereafter.
The evening's revelry picked up where it left off at Kamikaze's; there were many roommates and guests to share our adventure with. Even Pantera Dave was beginning to see the humour by retelling recent events, despite his mood following his apprehension.
Eventually the phone rang, and we were informed by the police that someone would have to pick up Nin, lest he spend the night in jail. This proved to be a dilemma for the house, because basically, none of us really cared if he spent the night in jail or not.
Enter Darren. Darren was our neighbour, and a good friend of Nin's. He was also blind drunk. He admonished us for not being willing to assist our roommate, and proclaimed that he would rescue Nin from a night in the slammer. Not receiving any real resistance from anyone, off he went.
Time passed. An unusually long amount of time, in fact; long enough that those who remained at the house began wondering where Darren and Nin might be, then stopped wondering, and ultimately forgetting about either of them.
Presently, the phone rang again. My roommate Superdave answered.
"Hello?"
I could tell by his initial reaction that it was a phone call of a formal nature. Almost immediately, however, he started giggling uncontrollably. By the time he hung up, the hilarity had amassed quite a curious audience.
"OK," he began, trying to compose himself, "Now someone has to go pick up the guy who went to pick up Nin."
Apparently, Darren had rear-ended someone at a red light on his way to the police station, and now he too was in custody.
As hilarious as all this was, we realised that any of us that attempted to retrieve those two from jail would be picked off one by one. The police knew what our little corner of Campbell Hill Apartments was capable of, and were counting on our bravery to net the city a few thousand dollars each in the form of DUIs.
Luckily, we did have one sober roommate, who had been peacefully sleeping throughout this entire ordeal. He remained surprisingly patient as we painstakingly recounted the evening’s events to him, and he and his girlfriend, Jody, drowsily set off towards the police station. They returned just minutes later, with a back seat full of criminals.
Upon their arrival, Jay and Jody went right back to bed, and Nin and Darren had quite an exchange of drunken words outside. What exactly was said, I'll never know, but they could be heard through a heavy glass door that routinely silenced helicopters, low-flying aircraft and tornado sirens. Eventually Nin stormed into the house, and without a word, skulked off to bed.
The night was finally winding down, and the excitement seemed to be over. Superdave had had a few friends over himself, and as they drifted towards the door, his friend Angie leaned over and belched into a semi-conscious Pantera Dave's ear. He passed out in his chair shortly thereafter.
It wasn't until the next morning that Pantera Dave realised that fate had one last "Fuck you" in store for him. Angie had not only belched in his ear, but also unknowingly vomited a little into his hoodie.
He had slept with his face buried in it all night.
The three of us sat in absolute silence, straining to hear the sobriety tests taking place behind the car. Occasionally we could make out the officer shouting things along the lines of,
"Do you understand what I'm telling you to do, Eric?!"
At last we heard a dull thud, as Nin was pushed up against the back of his Blazer, and the unmistakable series of clicks that can only signify the adorning of handcuffs.
"Oh", I thought, "So that’s his real name."
Moments later, the darkness was penetrated by a bright flashlight inches from my face. I maintain that there is no sobriety catalyst quite like a cop's flashlight. Coffee, water, cold shower, nothing. In that split-second I went from maybe being able to tie my shoe, to being able to recite the Gettysburg address and tie my shoe at the same time.
The cop collected our IDs and read them into his radio while standing by the car. When his dispatcher told him of Pantera Dave's earlier doings, he chuckled.
"Looks like one of you has already been in some trouble tonight", he laughed.
Since Pantera Dave was sitting behind me, I could only imagine the look of contempt on his face, but I'm sure that it was there.
In a surprising moment of compassion, the officer let the three of us go. He asked if any of us were capable of getting Nin's Blazer home for him (we were now no more than a 1/2 mile away), to which we replied "Fuck no" in the politest way possible. We had seen enough action for one night, and Nin wouldn't need it anyway; he was being escorted downtown, and not expected to drive.
So we walked, and counted our blessings all the way. Being 21, KC carried what was left of our beer (which was apparently more important than Nin or his car), and arrived home shortly thereafter.
The evening's revelry picked up where it left off at Kamikaze's; there were many roommates and guests to share our adventure with. Even Pantera Dave was beginning to see the humour by retelling recent events, despite his mood following his apprehension.
Eventually the phone rang, and we were informed by the police that someone would have to pick up Nin, lest he spend the night in jail. This proved to be a dilemma for the house, because basically, none of us really cared if he spent the night in jail or not.
Enter Darren. Darren was our neighbour, and a good friend of Nin's. He was also blind drunk. He admonished us for not being willing to assist our roommate, and proclaimed that he would rescue Nin from a night in the slammer. Not receiving any real resistance from anyone, off he went.
Time passed. An unusually long amount of time, in fact; long enough that those who remained at the house began wondering where Darren and Nin might be, then stopped wondering, and ultimately forgetting about either of them.
Presently, the phone rang again. My roommate Superdave answered.
"Hello?"
I could tell by his initial reaction that it was a phone call of a formal nature. Almost immediately, however, he started giggling uncontrollably. By the time he hung up, the hilarity had amassed quite a curious audience.
"OK," he began, trying to compose himself, "Now someone has to go pick up the guy who went to pick up Nin."
Apparently, Darren had rear-ended someone at a red light on his way to the police station, and now he too was in custody.
As hilarious as all this was, we realised that any of us that attempted to retrieve those two from jail would be picked off one by one. The police knew what our little corner of Campbell Hill Apartments was capable of, and were counting on our bravery to net the city a few thousand dollars each in the form of DUIs.
Luckily, we did have one sober roommate, who had been peacefully sleeping throughout this entire ordeal. He remained surprisingly patient as we painstakingly recounted the evening’s events to him, and he and his girlfriend, Jody, drowsily set off towards the police station. They returned just minutes later, with a back seat full of criminals.
Upon their arrival, Jay and Jody went right back to bed, and Nin and Darren had quite an exchange of drunken words outside. What exactly was said, I'll never know, but they could be heard through a heavy glass door that routinely silenced helicopters, low-flying aircraft and tornado sirens. Eventually Nin stormed into the house, and without a word, skulked off to bed.
The night was finally winding down, and the excitement seemed to be over. Superdave had had a few friends over himself, and as they drifted towards the door, his friend Angie leaned over and belched into a semi-conscious Pantera Dave's ear. He passed out in his chair shortly thereafter.
It wasn't until the next morning that Pantera Dave realised that fate had one last "Fuck you" in store for him. Angie had not only belched in his ear, but also unknowingly vomited a little into his hoodie.
He had slept with his face buried in it all night.
posted by Vyvyan Basterd at 9:41 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home