Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Fear and Loathing in Boston: A savage journy for an American celebration

I was already jotled awake with a couple of those Starbucks doubleshot expressos. The kind that are supposed to make you feel trendy and cool at 6 in the morning as you get in your jetta and prepare to sit in traffic on the way to your deaden accounting job at some no-name firm downtown.

I decided the caffeine surging through my body needed some food to compliment my digestive track before my eyes poped out of my head. There was not much in way of food on the cape except for those crappy sit down country breafast spots. So, I decided to stop at the gas station for a microwave buritto. Nothing like a good 'ole American mande mexican buritto to start off the Fourth of July celebration.

Only my intention in the 7 eleven were more than jsut a food expidetion. I was looking for mixers. I needed something to throw into the liter of Vodka i had jsut stolen from my landlord and was planning on drinking on the trian into town. The whole trick was to make it a color and flaovr that noboy but myself and who ever i deiced to share with would know about.

Only my appearance at the front counter with two burittos and three bottles of root beer drew a little suspision from the state highway patrol man standing there getting gas. Try to act calm, trhis is jsut an all american drink and some burittos for a wary travler at 8 in the morning.

he was not buying it.

Staring right at me he could tell something was up. He probably thought I was going to robbthe place. No person in their right mind comes into a 7 eleven and get two burittos and three root beers. Maybe a serial killer with some hell-bent ttiwsted routine for eating microwaveed food with his victim before raping them and doucing their bodies in root beer, but not me. I am the model american boy.

This guy was not getting it. His swager represented everything I was there to celebrate, freedom to ramdoly question anyone who approaches you who appreas different. Wait, that is not what it represents.

Fuck it I though, deal with the pig.

The confrotation was brief. His words were simple short and spoken like a true nantucket native. "No worries officer, I am jsut here to celebrate like every other god fearing american."

As I left I began chanting U.S.A. - U.S.A...it seemed like the natural thing to do before he pitol whiped me into submission.

Back behind the wheel with the caffieen taking full hold. Blood shot eyes, lack of leg muscle control. 100 mph down highway 6 across the only bridge off this god forsaken Cape. The trip to Boston should take a normal human being some like an hour and half to drive. Mine, 45 minutes. There was no time to waste. I had to get into the holiday spirit and priase the freedoms to drink in public and shout obseniuties knowing I am protected by a constitution that says i can.

I had the entire train to myself. perfect. With a large ominous sign overhead warninig of the dangers of dinking while poregnate, I mixed my vodka and root beer. 10 a.m. - it was going to be a good day.

The state of Massachusetts is a weird state. It gave birth to one of the grests political dynasties tthis country might ever see - all of them alcoholic.

Yet, it is the strictest in way it deals with its own vice for alcohol. You are not allowed to have na open continer anywhere in public. The only way that businesses are allowed to have alcohol served in their restraunts is becasue it is inside (yes, law declares there must be a door between the public and the drinking masses), and it must be in private. No drinking in the park - well fuck to that system.

The first friend I made was sitting in the parrk behind a bench I had deicded to sit on for a little while. He wander up to me and asked for changee - I honestly did not have any to give the poor bastard, but I said Id give him a stong drink.

Who needs change when I can give him booze directly. cut out the middle man.

"Shit, man. I don't want to fucking get caught with htat here..."

His response surprised me...so my first reaction was not a good one.
"What are you a fucking cop?"

From there our friendship blossomed. I was not in any mood to get shived in the middle of a tourist heavy central park in boston,. So, I hightailed it to the nearest crowded area. He will never find me here.

MMy publlic dispaly of alcoholism was not going over well. Things needed to change and I needed a better cover than a clear nalgeen water bottle. The cops knew I was drunk. There were pigs on jsut about every streety corner.

Each of them trianed and heeling dogs that could spot disenters a mile away. Ready to tear off your arm as soon as you began to hiel hitler or praise the advances of stail.

Bad vibes all around me...this day was only going one direction.

End part one...

3 comments:

Lacy said...

Perhaps it's your dark, luscious locks that draw the attention of all the coppers

adventures out of college... said...

I agree with lacy, however sunny-d both tastes better with the congress, and looks much less suspious in the morning. Other good choices include all of the DOLE (fake juices) and of course...straight. tis a bit smelly that way but hey if its in your nalgine bottle....

Glad your summer is going well!

Coulter said...

I'm proud to be an American with you behind the wheel.