THE COP MAGNET
Even before Friendly and I did the dirty deed we socialized a bit. As I said before, she was my guitar player's girlfriend before hubby and I got in there. In those days I was way more social on all fronts. I would have spagetti dinners at my EV pad and in the summer time I would invite my friends up to the country for a weekend of carousing at my family's lake house. Over the years it became a tradition to drop acid at these little get togethers. We weren't kids. Friendly was probably the youngster in the group, by now well into her 20's.
We would pile into a motley assortment of vehicles, point them towards the Catskills and in two hours be singeing our pastey skin on the dock. By midnight the cabin would be glowing purple, breathing and rocking from side to side as the band was set up and the LSD took hold. It looked like a Roger Corman B movie set, complete with girls gyrating on the coffeetable and light weights puking in the laurel bushes. Some years I was involved with someone, other years I was single. In either case I always tripped, much to the dismay of whoever I was with. You think I'm fun drunk? Wait until you see me on a head of classic LSD25. Like a barrel of electric monkeys.
One year in the early nineties I brought a pocket full of the stuff and aside from one stalwart, I was the only one to trip. Everyone poo-pooed the idea. "I'm too old." they'd whine. "I'm pregnant." Whimps. So I just put the rest of the acid back in a matchbook and stuck it in my pocket. At this time I was working weekends as a doorman at a city bar so I had my weeks free. I was also involved with a woman who I was later to marry. She had to get back to the city to work, but I decided to stay with the guitar player and Friendly to catch one more day on the lake. Late that Monday afternoon we headed back to town.
I drove a puke green 1972 Chevy Malibu with a bad muffler that screamed pull me over to any officer of the law whose path we might cross. Put three dodgey looking individuals in the from seat smoking a joint and...well you guessed it. On the Palisades' we got pulled by a NY Statey. He smelled the weed. I had taken it upon myself to take the fall. Friendly and the git player had just been popped in South Carolina on a pot charge and they could ill afford another. I could be the goat. How much could a little marijuana get me? Smokey patted me down and immediately found a pipe and the weed in my shirt pocket. As he read me my rights and put the bracelets on me, he asked if I had anything else? I said no. I thought I was being honest. I'd forgotton all about the LSD. When he pulled the match box out of my pants pocket I remembered. He smiled like he'd just won the lottery when the little pieces of blotter fluttered onto the trunk of the car.
As I sat handcuffed in the back of the prowler I could see him talking to my friends and watched as he began searching the car. I had no idea what they had in their luggage. Then I saw him emerge from the back of the Malibu waving a big bag of something in Friendly's pretty face. My forehead dropped to the front seat head rest. I didn't look good in orange. At least I'd get three squares and a cot. The fiancee would surely give me the death penalty.
We would pile into a motley assortment of vehicles, point them towards the Catskills and in two hours be singeing our pastey skin on the dock. By midnight the cabin would be glowing purple, breathing and rocking from side to side as the band was set up and the LSD took hold. It looked like a Roger Corman B movie set, complete with girls gyrating on the coffeetable and light weights puking in the laurel bushes. Some years I was involved with someone, other years I was single. In either case I always tripped, much to the dismay of whoever I was with. You think I'm fun drunk? Wait until you see me on a head of classic LSD25. Like a barrel of electric monkeys.
One year in the early nineties I brought a pocket full of the stuff and aside from one stalwart, I was the only one to trip. Everyone poo-pooed the idea. "I'm too old." they'd whine. "I'm pregnant." Whimps. So I just put the rest of the acid back in a matchbook and stuck it in my pocket. At this time I was working weekends as a doorman at a city bar so I had my weeks free. I was also involved with a woman who I was later to marry. She had to get back to the city to work, but I decided to stay with the guitar player and Friendly to catch one more day on the lake. Late that Monday afternoon we headed back to town.
I drove a puke green 1972 Chevy Malibu with a bad muffler that screamed pull me over to any officer of the law whose path we might cross. Put three dodgey looking individuals in the from seat smoking a joint and...well you guessed it. On the Palisades' we got pulled by a NY Statey. He smelled the weed. I had taken it upon myself to take the fall. Friendly and the git player had just been popped in South Carolina on a pot charge and they could ill afford another. I could be the goat. How much could a little marijuana get me? Smokey patted me down and immediately found a pipe and the weed in my shirt pocket. As he read me my rights and put the bracelets on me, he asked if I had anything else? I said no. I thought I was being honest. I'd forgotton all about the LSD. When he pulled the match box out of my pants pocket I remembered. He smiled like he'd just won the lottery when the little pieces of blotter fluttered onto the trunk of the car.
As I sat handcuffed in the back of the prowler I could see him talking to my friends and watched as he began searching the car. I had no idea what they had in their luggage. Then I saw him emerge from the back of the Malibu waving a big bag of something in Friendly's pretty face. My forehead dropped to the front seat head rest. I didn't look good in orange. At least I'd get three squares and a cot. The fiancee would surely give me the death penalty.
posted by mike osterhout at 9:15 AM
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