Have any of you guys just jumped in your ride one day, pointed it in a general direction, and drove without worrying about a destination or consequences? This is a story about that kind of freedom.
When I was a youngster I was a member of my town’s volunteer lifesaving crew. They had a senior and junior crew so teenagers could join. Well, all of my friends and I joined up one day and started training to be EMTs. We all passed our certification which meant we no longer had to be gophers for the older members, well, not as much that is. One day I was at my house with Stephanie when a call comes over the radio. It was for a 10-50 PI which is an automobile accident with personal injuries. For a seventeen year old kid, this was some exciting stuff. Blood, guts, personal injury, and a trip to the hospital to flirt with hot candy stripers were not to be missed so I grabbed my kit bag and started out the door. Just then my friend, Steve, came flying up my driveway in his beat up Honda Civic. He asked if I wanted to ride with him straight to the scene and I quickly accepted. We put the bubble light on the car and tore off to the scene. We were the first responders so we did a triage assessment, placed Philly collars on everyone, took care of any open wounds we could find and began taking vital stats. We got through two people when a convoy of ambulances and other personal vehicles sped up and out jumped nearly the entire senior crew. Nothing brings out hicks in a small town like an accident with personal injury. Well, Steve and I were pushed aside so we stood back for a few minutes then decided to get the hell out of there. We got back in the Civic and started taking the long way home.
We pulled onto a side road; then Steve reached behind the seat and produced a half-gallon of Wild Turkey. That just goes to show how stupid some kids can be. We’re leaving an accident where it looked like alcohol was involved and decided this was a good time to drink and drive. We thought we were invincible so I guess that fact didn’t penetrate our thick skulls. We started drinking and after about an hour decided to go to the beach. We lived five hours from the beach and it was already three in the afternoon. I told Steve that Steph was at my house and I needed to tell her something. He said if he refused to drive by the house then I could just blame it on him. She couldn’t be mad about that, could she? Hell, it sounded good to my drunken brain so we set off. We felt as free as birds and were having a hell of a time for the first three hours. Then we heard some noise from under the hood and pulled off to take a look. We checked the oil and it was empty. It seems that Steve’s car burned oil faster than gas. Did I mention that this car sucked? Probably so. We drove the car to a service station, praying the entire time that it wouldn’t die, and bought all of the oil that “under the seat” change could buy. We then topped the oil off and set back out for the beach. Steve’s grandparents lived there so we thought that would be much smarter than trying to make it back home. Well, the car got us to Virginia Beach’s city limits then let out a death wheeze and promptly died. This was before cell phones were widely accepted and used so we had to stagger, we were pretty wasted by this point, to the closest pay phone we could find. We called Steve’s grandparents and they agreed to come pick us up. We said our farewell to the Civic and hopped in the car with them. We made it to the grandparent’s house and started trying to figure out a way to get home. We came up with hitchhiking but we were in a strange area and didn’t feel like ending up on the six o’ clock news. I had to call my parents.
Well, my parents weren’t the happiest campers and yelled at me for a good half hour. They let me know how disrespectful and stupid my decision making process was and how disappointed they were with me. Stephanie was beside herself and, having called all of my friends looking for me, most of them were there for the tirade. If I was my Dad I would’ve driven to pick me up just to have five hours to kick my ass all the way home, but my father isn’t me. His reaction was to leave me there to get home on my own. Shit. My sisters had a different idea though. They conferred with my friend Reggie and made the decision to come pick me up. Damn I love those women; they should’ve left me there though.
My saviors arrived about six hours later and, after a little ribbing, we got in the car and started home. I was informed of just how pissed my Dad was and began bracing myself for what I would receive when I got home. I think the look of disappointment in my Mom’s eyes was the worst though. She always did have a way of making me feel like the biggest asshole in the world with just a look. Well, we made it through our adventure a bit worse for wear but ok just the same. I was grounded for a month and Steve got two. We both shaped up and found out just how much our bone headed plans and actions affects people who love us. It was a lesson well learned.
Did you know that company cars need oil too? I didn't and the damn thing caught on fire out on the beltway. My boss was about as happy as your folks.
by anna at February 2, 2004 6:08 PM
God, I was such a dork. I think the worst thing I ever did was write an excuse about a dentist appointment so I could see Rusted Root play at a protest when Pitt University was going to build a telescope on Mount Graham, a sacred Native American landmark.
You, Ezy, are a bad ass mutha.
by Linz at February 3, 2004 9:11 AM
Anna, company vehicles need oil?! Well, that changes some things.
Linz, more like a dumb ass mutha. I was a pretty wild kid that did whatever the hell I wanted to, damn the consequences. I've learned, the hard way, that the rest of the world doesn't work that way.
by Ezy at February 3, 2004 11:35 AM
I love this... Ezy, you'd BETTER write your memoirs someday.
by jean at February 8, 2004 11:44 PM
I'm going to have to start soon Jean. I have many stories, that I haven't even told yet, of my adventures growing up and when I was in the Army. Everytime one comes to memory I write it down because the day is coming when I won't be able to remember details. Damn those 80s!
by Ezy at February 9, 2004 11:26 AM