This actually happened. I'm 19, and out for a night of carousing with some of my elegant friends, strangers all to the debutante ball circuit, but well known among the taverns of Towson, where the people who checked ID's were not too particular.
So we wind up heading West on this evening, which happened to be Thanksgiving night. One or more of us decided to get out of Joe's Malibu and dampen the ground along Old Court Rd in Ruxton, as a fire prevention measure. Having no buckets of water, we were forced to improvise.
A car or two passed by as we shook hands with the governors, but we were not the sort of guys who stood on ceremony, so we finished with the business at hand (so to speak) and got back into the Malibu, with the probable intent of obtaining more Slim Jims, pickled tomatoes, red hot floating brine sausages and suds. The rest of the night is lost in the miasma of history.
Except that on Christmas night that year, my brother-in-law's cousin's husband from New Jersey (sounds like a song by Ray Stevens, does it not?) sidled up to me and says, in the confidential guy-to-guy tone favored by guys everywhere guys congregate, "You know you can't get away with a #*$&@ thing these days..."
Requiring elaboration, I asked for more confidential details, and he said, "I saw you and your buddies peeing on Old Court Rd on Thanksgiving night."
He lived in New Jersey. What th'?
1 comment:
Always enjoyed that story!
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