Northern Exposure, Day Four: The Mushroom Cloud

I apoligize for the lateness of this post but if you could imagine waking up in a strange place with two other people in your bed and the pain of a thousand unsedated colonscopies rattling your brain while watching womens basketball then you'll understand the type of hangover I was experiencing for the days following the trip.

I've never had a hangover that lasted into the next day. Then again, I've never stolen a tire. There must be some sort of correlation.

The morning started with the sound of the women folk starting to clean up the mess we had made over the course of 4 days of complete self-indulgence. Bottles, cans, shattered glass, tire schrapnel....we had it all. It was this clusterfuck of a living situation that led me to dub the room, "The Mushroom Cloud."

Usually, hotel rooms lend free reign for trashing. You do your worst and see what the maid can do with what's left. Unfortunately, Kate, Kayla, Sam, and Whitney had what many would call a "conscience."

As they were picking up and bagging the scraps I began to think that this disturbance could only be brought on by the devil himself and that it could not get any worse. I learned I was mistaken when Kate slapped me and told me to "wake the fuck up." It was at this point that, for the first time ever, I felt the urge to puke after SLEEPING OFF a night of drinking. Oh God.

Standing up, I felt as if my legs weighed tons and my head was throbbing like someone's thumb on a cartoon when they hit it with a comically large hammer. It wasn't until I had finished and hour and a half of pouring liquid down my throat that I felt as if I could open my eyes without them falling out.

Upon doing so I have to say I was pretty impressed with the condition of the room. The plethora of beer bottles were all in plastic bags and all that really needed done was some vacuuming. I was now feeling like a worthless bag of excrement.

Passing on a shower, I packed my things and waddled my way into the parking lot. Sitting beside Timmy's exremely large Chevy Suburban were all of it's passengers, minus me. They were all looking at me. I knew what was coming.

"Hey Mosser, you think you could drive?"

Oh shit.

Piling into the vehicle I pushed down the desire to empty the contents of my stomach onto the dashboard and turned the key. We were on our way.

However, there was one man standing between us and hamburgers, fireworks, and constitutional rights. That man was the one working the border for the Dept. of Homeland Security.

"Good morning sir, could you lower both the front and back windows please."
"Sure thing."
"What was the purpose of your stay in Canada."
"Vacation. Gambling."
"How do you all know each other?"
"We go to school together."
"Why aren't you in school?" ( Was this guy going to cavity search us for playing hooky?)
"We're on Spring Break."
"How much money do you have on you?"
"I don't know, maybe a couple hundred dollars."
(Obviously annoyed by my lack of detail.) "Does anyone have more than a thousand on them?"
(Whole car laughs.) "Um...no."
"Whose car is this?"
"It's Tim's car."
"Well why isn't he driving it?" (I knew I shouldn't have driven.)
Tim: "Because I'm not a good driver."
"I don't see any scratches on it." (Is he just bored and alone or do these questions matter?)
Tim: "Well, it's brand new."
"I see. Do you know what the terror alert level is today?"
"Um....orange?"
"Nope. It's blue. Now turn around and pull down your pants."

Okay. So those last three lines were never actually said...but we all wish they had.

After getting the third degree we started our journey that ranged from the streets of Detroit to the fields of Michigan to the overall boringness of Bowling Green. This tame and dull trip down I-75 reminded us all that we were heading back to a place where normality applied and the people we lived with for the past four days would no longer exist. I imagine this is what the Darling children felt like when they eventually left Neverland. Only in this case, our Peter Pan was a dirty old man who only wanted a few American quarters so he could buy a bottle of bum wine. Regardless, we all knew we were leaving a special place. A place that we would remember forever and would be seen only when you looked into the eye of another who had been there and you both nodded, as if to acknowledge your mutual experience.

The 40's had World War II to do this. My generation had four drunken days in a tourist trap. I guess it's just important that we both have one.

That's really all I can muster. Only so much can be said, before it has to be lived.

Until next time..."See ya Andy.....and thanks for the mittens!"