25 March 2013

A Return to Daytona Beach in 1982

I hate to post this again but it's a favorite and it is Spring Break.

In 1982, GM was a word. "Geeyem." Like someone from Georgia says, "Jim." This one was a Buick deuce and a quarter. A white hunk of fat Detroit steel that made a trip one Spring Break from St Augustine to Daytona Beach with four friends.

Troyer drove the chariot. Golden haired and Aryan, none of us in the car that night knew he was gay. Some of us still don't. A cold case of canned Schaffer shared the back seat with Fusco and Beaudoin. None of us knew Fusco would wind up a screenwriter and producer -- although none of us would've bet against him. Movie star looks but amazingly cheap...he was pre-ordained for Hollywood success.

Beaudoin sat next to Fusco chasing raisins from a generic one pound box with beer. Brillo headed and bearded, the war in El Salvador was excuse for six hours of his indignant Boston accented argument that the Monroe Doctrine was the ultimate evil.

I'm riding shotgun and have to take a leak. Troyer offers to pull over on a stretch of darker-than-the-inside-of-a-goat, I-95. "No need." I say. Wise old man of the car, I explain how I pissed in cans during Army convoys while, "you fuckers were starting ninth grade." I open a beer can with a P38 on my key chain and pull down the fly on 30/30 khakis. I stick my dick in the can careful to avoid the sharp edges.

Success as I fill the can but seconds later feel warm pee covering my khakis. "No problem unless you piss more than 12 ounces," I say and fling the can out the window not knowing the back window is down. Not remembering all the windows are down in the white Detroit slab-o-steel Troyer's mom should be driving.

"Fuck, Tinseth!" Fusco screams as my nephron unit (thanks, Dr. Lardner) formation strikes him head and chest. Beaudoin, slow to catch on, thinks its raining for at least five seconds before a handful of piss-misted raisins are digested. Troyer, of course, laughs.

I spend the rest of the trip holding khakis out the car window at 70mph in an attempt to dry the large stain on my crotch. My friends. And they have remained friends... are tolerant. Like friends who get pissed on always are.


Dallas said...

i certainly didn't hate reading it again.

listened and read the words why'd you do it. wow.

Tim said...

I was too scared to ask this last year because I thought it would just sound really stupid, but is that, or is that not you guys in the video?

Regardless, i still love that video. Whoever is wearing that old GK baseball jersey seems like a pretty funny dude. Definitely the kind of bro you'd want to go on spring break with

Ben said...

I did some stupid shit during those weeks myself that I would never commit to print, out of a sense of decorum and modesty.

Kudos to you for being a true writer.

tintin said...

Dallas- Thanks. "Why D'ya Do It" is pretty amazing. I told the raisin eating fella in this story that I loved the song. He wrinkled his forehead and said, "She's very angry." I said, "That's why I fucking love it!" Maybe I have issues but no fucking tissues.

Tim- No, that's not us. And that's a stupid question. Are you from Philly?

Ben- Pretty sure I wouldn't have written the story had I been hit with the piss. Then again...

Main Line Sportsman said...

Damn Tin-Tin...another gratuitous Philly slight...I thought you were over that.
It is a top flight story and the vid and sound track bring back memories of similar outing for me and the boys....I was a Freshman at Lehigh in Spring of 82. Great post as usual.

tintin said...

Main Line- Actually, Tim is from Philly. If he's the Tim I think he is. If he isn't - Apologies, Tim. As my friend Charley Bowdre would say, "We was just hacking on ya."

Anonymous said...

Man that's the truth about good friends.

Main Line Sportsman said...

Be careful of the sharp edges...always sound counsel...in almost any scenario! Well, except chopping wood.