I had been out drinking PLENTY of times before. After all... I was 17, right? A co-worker/good friend and I left the drive-in theatre where we worked shortly after midnight, and headed to beautiful downtown Albany, Georgia for a li'l fun. Oh, yeah... we had a quart of vodka, too... didn't want to arrive at the clubs sober!
My buddy assured me that he knew some bouncers who could get our ugly, under-aged asses in some places... I trusted him back then. We first stopped at a strip joint, but it seemed his "connection" wasn't on duty that night. Oh, well... didn't really want to see un-restrained, wildly-bouncing boobs, anyway (sure!). On to the next "sure thing"... same story at that place, too... hmmmmmmmmmmm. At least the vodka bottle was trust-worthy... and I was spending a lot of time with it at this point!
All that running around in circles caused us to work up a bit of an appetite, so we went to the downtown Waffle House- hangout for the wired, weird, social and sexual desperados in this redneck community... we fit in rather comfortably that night.
Things were just peachy until a cop walked in. He probably wasn't looking for anyone or anything in particular, and I REALLY don't think he was expecting what happened next. Usually cool under pressure, I paniced when I saw him (I guess vodka makes me paranoid), and bolted for the door! I vaugely remember what happened... I ran to a nearby hotel... went up the elevator... down the elevator... back out to the street... into the hands of the cop who had followed me out of the Waffle House... oops!!!
The next things I recall were the sights and sounds of a city jail in the early morning hours... lots of cell doors slamming... lots of yelling and complaining... lots of urine hitting those VERY public urinals. Things weren't too bad, as I settled into an upper bunk... until the cellblock started spinning (good ol' vodka!!!) I leaned over and started puking all over the floor! Needless to say, the guards quickly escourted me out of the cellblock, and hurried me into the DRUNK TANK. This was basically a large rectangular room, with benches along the walls, a tile floor (like you'd expect in a shower stall), and a drain in the middle. I spent a couple of hours in there by myself, making damn sure I was finished with my not-so-dry heaves!
When I felt better, I walked over to the thick steel door with the tiny window and started banging on it with my fist, until a guard let me out. He then put me in another cell, where I hadn't yet vomited on anyone, and I stayed there until breakfast. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh... raisin bran and milk, in one of those li'l boxes that you tear open and eat right out of!!!
Just about that time, I was told that somone had come to bail me out... it was my brother, and the friend that I had gone downtown with. I guess he had driven to my house (that had been left in MY care when our folks left town for the weekend) and it didn't take them long to figure out where I had wound up. The bail was a whopping $20, and my li'l 15 year-old brother was paying it! I promised to pay him back out of my next paycheck... mostly because he said he'd rat me out if I didn't!!!
To this day, my parents don't have a clue about that "event"... it's probably for the better... although they CERTAINLY know I wasn't an angel by ANY standards (nor was my brother)! That reminds me... I have a few other lurid stories of teenage debauchery to entertain you with. I'll save those for another time... stay tuned!
