Stop and Smell the Crazy...

An Ode to Barboursville and the days of yore...

As there are no new crimes to report from Danny’s Crackland*, that I know of, I thought I’d share some war stories from the days of my shadowy youth.

This particular event occurred in the dinosaur days of the 1980s on New Year’s Eve – when I was but a child of 17…when teenagers frequently met their soul mate through friends or at a party where actual LIVING, breathing/two-dimensional people gathered instead of hooking up on myspace or Facebook.

They might drain a keg/sip on cans of Natty Light or Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill or GOD forbid Mad Dog 20/20. And, they occasionally got arrested for misbehaving, or, perhaps, actually breaking the law (as my story will attest). However, I don’t remember anyone trying to reduce their school population with a lot of bloodshed at the hands of their Daddy’s hunting rifle….

That said, WE set out to buy beer, of course. My partners in crime included: me, Danny, my cousin Shauna, and our friend Prissy, whose name we cannot utter aloud because:

1) She’s a 2nd generation witch (possibly 3rd gen).

2) She's A DUMB blonde who hates us (now), who might accidentally or purposely…

3) Blurt OUT one of her incantations, turning us into frogs whereupon we’ll die by becoming large smears of roadkill on some deserted wagon trail in rural West Virginia … or we’ll transform into large blobs of tuna that she’ll feed to her cats. Yes, Prissy defines the word: Crazy Cat Lady with a good bit of genetic BITCHWITCH as well…

However, I digress. We took off that night in  my mother’s Monte Carlo with Heart Bebe LeStrange blasting from the 8-track player, and if you don’t know what that is…perhaps, you’re too young to be reading this ☺…

I drove to Save Mart, a convenience store in Barboursville, West by-God Virginia, a town of 15,000 or so, which was round the bend from the town of my birth. And if you ask me if I wore shoes growing up, I will HUNT you down in cyberspace and send you MANY computer viruses, or, perhaps, unleash PRISSY on you…

Upon arriving at Save Mart, I started rummaging through my purse.

“What’re you doing?” Shauna asked.

“Looking for my OTHER i.d.”

“I thought Watkins TOOK your fake i.d.?” Danny asked.

“Principal Watkins?” Prissy asked with an overly dramatic GASP. “Oh, my God!” Prissy shrieked, “How’d that happen?” Prissy asked.

“Some asshole stole my purse and $20 in tip money out of my gym locker. Then, somebody found it in a trashcan and gave it to…”

Rather excited, Prissy asked, “Holy shit, what’d you say to him about Natalie’s i.d?”

I shrugged, ignoring Prissy’s hysterics in lieu of finding my precious PASSPORT to beer until she got louder, “Did he call the cops or what?!”

“No, I said she left it in my car or some shit. So, he-” I had been using my friend Natalie’s license AFTER she turned 18 and got her OPERATOR’S, which is plastic while the JUNIOR OPERATOR’S is cardboard. And back THEN, the drinking age was 18 in WV.

“Found it,” I said, grinning as I showed Danny my altered documentation.

“What the fuck? It says you were born in 63?” he said laughing.

“How’d you do that?” Prissy asked leaning up to take a gander at my artwork.

“I erased my birthday with a pencil and typed in the 63, and POOF, I’m 18,” I said grinning.

“Are you fucking serious?” Danny asked laughing.

“Yep.”

“You’ll get arrested for forging-” Danny said urgently.

Yes, he ACTUALLY said that…incredible irony, NO?

“No, I won’t. I said I’d lost my license. The DMV printed up…this one”, I said, plucking my SECOND/re-issued license from my wallet with my correct birthday on it . “If I ever get stopped for speeding or whatever, I’ll give the cop the this one,” I explained flashing my REAL i.d. for him and Prissy to see.

“Oh, so you changed the LOST i.d., I get it, way cool…” Danny said smiling.

When I plunked down three 6-packs of Rolling Rock onto the counter, the Save Mart Clerk with seriously bad acne said,“That’ll be $11.56.”

I flashed my best pseudo-supermodel smile at the rather unattractive cashier, “I’m surprised you’re not busier with the holiday and all,” I said in my BEST Southern drawl as I handed him a 20-dollar bill.

He gave me my change with a goofy smile, his eyes cutting to my signature low-cut, black lace top/quasi lingerie top with my cleavage bulging. And, yes, no matter HOW COLD it was, I always made sure SAID black blouse was visible.

“Yeah,” the Clerk mumbled with a goofy grin. “Have a good, um thank…you,” he said awkwardly struggling to bag my beer.

“Thank you. Have a good New Year,” I said sashaying out of the store. Yeah, after ALL that, he didn’t even card me.

As I got back in the Monte Carlo, I handed our treasured contraband to Danny and pulled out onto Route 60. Not a minute later, I saw the FLASHING RED LIGHTS of a Barboursville Rent-A Cop followed by that DREADED siren.

“Fuck!” I yelled. “Danny, put the beer under the goddamned seat!”

“They won’t fit.”

“Then, take them out of the carton” I barked, driving onto to the side of the road.

But, of course, the cop was at my window just as DANNY was trying to stash our beloved Rolling Rock out of sight. The officer’s KNOCKING startled Danny, and he sat straight up with a beer in hand. FUCK. FUCK. AND DOUBLE FUCK…

When I rolled down the window, the cop/Officer Jones said, “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“No, sir, I don’t,” I replied as Jones’ eyes lit upon our ill-gotten liquid booty.

“You pulled out onto a four-lane highway without your lights on.”

I GLARED at Danny who shrank back against the seat and looked away. I left the car running ON PURPOSE. Why the hell did he NIX the lights? This was NOT his first beer heist with me! An AWESOME getaway driver he’d make…

An hour and FOUR cops later …yes, FOUR cops to arrest four harmless, wanna-be-drunk teenagers! WTF? Was Krispy Kreme closed for the holiday? Danny and I were escorted to Jones’s cruiser sans handcuffs, which kind of surprised me. Rather antic-climatic after sending FOUR of Barboursville’s finest after such a sought-after repeat but heretofore UN-CAUGHT offenders, don’t you think?

And NOW, those FOUR WORDS we usually HATE to see flash upon our consciousness…

(to be continued...

at http://tenaciousbitch.wordpress.com)…

RE: Our visit to that PILLAR of law enforcement, the office of the BARBOURSVILLE Po-Po…

With Love and MadDog/Boones Farm/Merlot in hand,

~LL

*Danny's Crackland refers to the issues as the result of my brother's subsequent drug use in the years following this incident in Barboursville, which is the BULK of the storyline in my memoir. The condensed version of the ENTIRE story about how Danny STOLE our Grandmother's life savings (to fuel his drug lust) can be found at: http://tenaciousbitch.wordpress.com/2011/03/10/as-my-mother-lay-dying/

NOTE: I'm writing the memoir under the pseudonym of Kennedy Smith.