My passion for all things alcohol-related started at a rather young age. Like most teenagers, I experimented with alcohol and was first in line to attend the party for whoever’s parents were out of town that night. I discovered pretty quickly that I like booze.
And my friends discovered pretty quickly that when I’m drinking I can be convinced to do some pretty dumb things.
Case in point: After a night of boozing, my friends and I somehow ended up at a local “park” (really it’s a retention base/hill). This park was about two blocks from my house and known for having a pretty big Fourth of July carnival (still to this day). Back in the good old days they would blast hard rock music while my body was whipped here and there on the Zipper or the Flying Bobs. One Fourth of July some hooligan (probably a carnie) even spray-painted Metallica on my mom’s car (or “Meta Leaka,” as my mom pronounced it at the time).
The last time I went to a carnival they were playing techno music and I noticed an awful lot of riff raff. I think I’m getting old. I haven’t gone back to a carnival since (small hands, smells like cabbage).
Back to the story!
There was not much going on at this park on a Friday night at 11 p.m. in 1996. I was one of two girls in the group. My other friend was pretty busy fighting with her boyfriend and not paying attention to the events at hand. Some of my friends called me over. I turned around to see a trash can rolling down the hill. My friends were cheering.
“What’s going on?” I asked excitedly, always hating to be left out of the fun. They explained to me that someone had just rolled down the hill (in actuality, the trash can was empty) and did I want to try?
Who would pass that opportunity up?
“Sure!” I exclaimed.
They brought the trash can over to me and helped me heave my 100-pound body into it. (At the time, I was trying anorexia on for size. However, apparently when you’re anorexic you don’t eat, so it was pretty hard to be successful in my case.) I crouched down as they set the can on its side and then let it go straight down the hill.
I WILLINGLY got into a can that is used for garbage and rolled down a friggin’ hill.
Fortunately, they stopped it midway when I started to roll out. They were afraid I was going to break my neck.
The worst part was that I was wearing my favorite khaki corduroys, which were forever ruined.
It was a long year.
Moral of the Story:
If getting into a trash can seems like a good idea, use the bottle you are guzzling out of to smash against your head and hope to be rendered unconscious. That will probably be the one and only good decision you will make that night.