Tuesday, March 08, 2011
In my ever-something quest to blog about something that doesn't look like a frickin' diary entry (seriously, I'm one step away from starting posts with "Dear Kitty...."), I took a challenge from Stevie B. to do five entries based on these topics.
Crush / Lust Secret Loves
I have no idea from where he got them or how he picked them, and while some of them seem like I have to put actual time and effort into them, sometimes that's better than coming up with a subject all on my own.
I'm already a day behind him, but I wasn't really looking to move the My Monday Music post. So now, on with the first topic:
Let's time travel back to, I dunno, 1978 or so. I had been working as a mild-mannered shoe shine boy (no, I was not Underdog!) at a country club. Seriously, this was my job. I'd polish (not Polish) shoes while members went out to play golf. Upon their return, I'd clean their cleats. Oh, yes, I have led a glamorous life - much like Sheila E.
As one might imagine, it was a pretty crappy job. The boss who did none of the work, got all of the tips and never once split them with me or my work partner, Scott (not to be confused with my man-date, Scott). No wait - I think by this point I was "promoted" to busboy in the dining area. Either way..........
At one point, the manager of the club was down in the locker room and left his entire set of keys there. Me, being the ingenious boy of 14 that I was, delicately put them into my pocket for later use. One that would make me extremely popular, for about 48 hours.
My big plan was to just go into the liquor storage room and "borrow" some bottles of booze. There was tons there and would they miss a few bottles that myself and two friends could carry out of there? Doubtful.
As with the best laid plans, things didn't quite go the way I had thought. The one key that wasn't on that chain was the one to this certain room, but here we were, already in the club on a day that it was closed. So up through the ceiling seemed to be the best solution, right?
Whomever laid this place out really knew their shit. Chicken wire was lined on top of the room over the ceiling tiles. If you can say anything about three lads who normally at that age are so lazy, they'd have given up, someone should have given us credit for sticking to it.
I don't remember how we got through the wire, but we did. Bottles were handed back out through the ceiling and we had gotten out free and clear. To be honest, I'm never quite sure if we replaced the ceiling tile - which may have been our downfall.
Or it could have been Max Pensky, who allegedly saw us in the club.
Either way, one of my buddies was busted and he coughed me up like one big fucking hairball.
You'd think at 14 I was a nice little innocent, but let's just say the local police were well acquainted with me by this point. I'd been up at that station for any number of things - and that was only the stuff they knew about or that people complained about that included me. They never truly pinned anything on me, but now it was a potentially different story.
Being the savvy kid, I knew I was going to get busted, so best to confess to someone before they came a-knockin'. Also being savvy, I knew not to tell my mother. She was the disciplinarian of the house. My dad was understanding and took me down to the club for the face-to-face.
For whatever reason, the club did not press charges (maybe because my father was a member?), but I did have to pay to have all the locks changed. ....and let me tell ya, there were a fuck of a lot of locks in that club.
Needless to say, it was the end of my career in country club life. It must have killed them when I would go back there to play golf or have dinner with my parents.
Oh, as for the being popular part - several older kids were the beneficiary of that escapade. Southern Comfort and the likes were given out to make kids like us, more than us getting drunk. Even one of my older sisters was a recipient - and I love the fact that she never ever asked where or how I obtained it, though she'd find out soon enough.
If my dad ever said anything to my mom, I don't know. I didn't feel the repercussions, but there had to be questions of my now-unemployment, right? Oh, let's face it - I had probably broken my mother's spirit by that point.
...and I was only 14.
Song by: Garbage
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
These are the tales you never tell your kids until they're grown. Mine just found out about my stoner days.
Wow, a life of danger and intrigue, very cool.
We are so know-it-all at that age. I seem to remember an event where someone scored a case of wine but had no opener. Genius me used my friend's car key which broke in the cork. The rest of the night involved sneaking into friend's parent's house to get spare key. We were caught, those of us guarding the wine were caught by the police. So glad it's such a distant memory. Your plan was good, if only you hadn't stolen.
you little badass you!
The Dangerous Lives of 14-year-olds . . . .
Confession is good for the soul. See, this proves you have one. :-)
what a marvelous tale. thank you for sharing it.
You were quite the busy beaver at 14, weren't you??
Just one of the things I love most about you is how far you'll go for a drink.
Post a Comment