1. Snorting cocaine while in the lavatory of an airplane: Might as well start the list off right. I was 17 and on my way to Utah to meet my biological father for the first time. I had found him on the internet and after surprising him with a call he thought he'd probably never receive, went to visit for a week. This trip just happened to coincide with my coke days and I was nervous enough that I thought it almost a necessity. I am a member of an entirely different mile-high club -- and yes, I licked the bag. Talk about being jittery when you stepped off the plane. On the trip I learned that Mormon girls are indeed easy, my dad was as big an asshole as me, and that Utah, although beautiful, was not my cup of tea. That trip remains the only time I've ever visited my father and to this day I still haven't spoken with him again.
2.
Telling a black off-duty police officer, "Well maybe you outta suck my....": With only a week left on parole, I decided to visit Birmingham. I had gone over to a friend's house with a six-pack of
Steel Reserve tall-boys. I know, disgusting...but beer in Alabama is weak across the board, except for the Reserve. I had only made my way through two of the beers when he and I got into an argument and I decided to leave.
I had been dropped off by a girl I dated while she went to one of her own friend's houses on the same side of town. I walked to the base of the apartment complex and posted-up outside the gates of the pool with my only beer in hand (we had split the six pack) and waited for Hannah to show up. While minding my own damn business, just a cracker trying to keep his cool, an Explorer pulled into the parking lot. Some real Magnum P.I. shit.
The SUV nearly slid into a spot used for pool-goers and out jumped a sawed-off little lady with an obvious scowl. She looked as if she'd just left the gym and I almost retreated a step. I didn't know what the hell she wanted, but I was the only person around. "Maybe you should throw your beer away," she said. Her tone was demeaning, authoritative, and totally out of line. Her dislike of whitey was apparent. I should have told her how I sat on the black side of the prison cafeteria for three years and to just chill -- we were on the same side. But I was already pissed and assumed she thought I was below the legal drinking limit (I've been carded for video games at Wal-Mart). I was 27 and replied with my best smirk, "Well maybe you outta suck my...."
After she realigned her jaw, I was informed she was a courtesy officer for the apartment complex and that she was going to get her cruiser and come back down the hill to prove it to me. I believed her (that was the only way a cop could afford to live there), but why hadn't she identified herself to begin with? I would have gladly complied in that case. Such is my luck though; and the reason I drink infrequently.
The officer held true to her word and quickly returned with her squad car. While I sat on the curb waiting for an on-duty police officer to show up, Hannah arrived and tried talking the woman into just letting her give me a ride home. The officer replied, "Don't worry honey, he told me to suck his.... I'll give him a ride." I am in no way a racist, but take a trip to Alabama and you'll be hard-pressed to meet white or black people that aren't. I find it highly unlikely she would have treated a black man the same way. I mean, we're talking about a BEER here.
3.
360 degree turn at 135 MPH: It was my first week of having a 300zx. I was 17 and decided to take a road trip to Tyler, Texas. I headed up I-45 with my friend David as co-pilot and when on a deserted stretch of the highway in a remote region of the state, I pushed my new car to see what it had. I've always had an obsession with speed and quickly accelerated to 135 MPH. The highway was two-lanes wide on each side and separated by nothing but grass.
I can remember approaching what looked too be a painter's van (there were several ladders on top). The van was in the fast lane and I was doing more than twice his speed. Texas highways are notorious for their signs cautioning, "Left lane for passing only."
The van didn't look like it had any intentions of abandoning the fast lane and I calmly steered my way into the slow lane. Just as I was about to pass the van, the driver cut me off and I was forced to swerve back into the vacant lane. I immediately lost control and passed him in reverse before completing the turn and careening off into the median. The T-tops were down and my black interior became littered with freshly cut grass. David sat in the passenger seat, hands clenched to the dash with a pile of shit in his pants. Alive and without a scratch to the car, I headed on my way to Tyler. David rarely rode with me again.
4.
Having sex with a married woman and then her daughter while a resident of their home: The consequences of this act are what set my crime spree into motion. Homeless in the winter of Colorado, this "achievement" had little chance to set in. I definitely regret this one and for more reasons than one. No one likes being called a whore, right?
5.
Taking a dump in the middle of the aforementioned crime spree and getting apprehended because of it: You haven't started reading my
autobiography yet?
6.
Getting charged with 17 counts of second degree burglary and not calling your mom to tell her about it and beg for legal representation: I ended up not needing one. I was facing 8-24 years and was ineligible for probation. I was sentenced to 8 years in prison at the age of 19.
7.
Driving a Suburban into the ocean: This was another "what the hell" moment of my teen years. At the beach with my high school quarterback Quincy Tennon, we got wasted and started looking through cars of vacationers. A Suburban owner had left their keys in the ignition and we...drove it into the ocean. Why? Who the hell knows, but I can still see the headlights shining into the night and the waves crashing into the hood. We didn't entirely submerge it, but it was in Galveston Bay for sure.
8.
Taking my SAT in the joint: I might have been the first person in the whole United States to do such. The GED teacher at my facility had to get certified to administer the test and the warden had to approve of the whole idea. All those books I had read in 23 hour lock-down definitely helped with the verbal sections. I scored a 1310 overall and often wonder what my score would have been had I not been out of high school for four years. Some of the math required had long been forgotten. BTW, colleges weren't exactly beating on my cell-door to offer me a scholarship.
9.
Wahooing beer while tripping on shrooms: Wahooing is a term used to describe stealing beer. You walk into the place and grab your beer and then run out. Pretty simple. Doing so while trippin' and in the rain can be a disaster. I parked the car across three available spots and almost directly in front of the door. I guess I thought I was in a Dukes of Hazzard episode, except
Felipe, Mario and David definitely wouldn't have agreed on a Rebel Flag paint scheme.
Felipe and I casually walked into the quickie mart, grabbed two cases each and walked out. You are supposed to run, but I guess we were invincible or some shit. I jumped into the car after handing my two cases to my friends in the backseat and closed the door. Felipe was already in the passenger seat as I depressed the clutch and threw the car into gear.
I looked to the right and a dude with a turban was holding the longest crow-bar I'd ever seen. He took a check swing at the front windshield -- Felipe's side -- and Felipe fell for it, leaping up and out of his seat onto the console. This of course knocked my car out of gear as I let the clutch out, and my car died. The clerk heard it and took three healthy swipes at my windshield before I could pull away. The windshield looked kind of cool sagging inward without entirely caving in. They were some good shrooms! Why did we need beer?
10.
Stealing a rented crotch-rocket from Panama City: Senior week, 16 years old, and someone had a fake identification. I was there with my older cousins from my step-father's side of the family. This wasn't my idea, but I rode back to Alabama with it in my cousin's Escort hatchback. Ok, it was a mini-crotch-rocket, and it fit snuggly inside the back of his car. The problem was that you had to lay it on its side. Motorcycles leak gas when you do so, and the cigarettes we smoked on the way home were pretty nerve-wracking. A state trooper would have gotten a kick out of pulling us two over.
We did make it home though, and the motorcycle sat at my cousin's lake-house for more than a year before his dad discovered it and called the company to have them pick it up. He was a detective in Hueytown, Alabama and must have handled the situation perfectly.
11.
Stealing a keg with the same Escort getaway car: Panama City again, and the same trip to boot. This was an impulse buy -- Budweiser truck, open door, kegs, Escort. The problem was that once the keg was yanked down from the truck (it yanked me down actually) it nearly crushed my feet and was a definite hassle. This was a two-door Escort and the seat had to be pushed forward. Even then it was no easy fit through the door opening. We escaped and then were pissed to discover it was a keg of Natty Light. Damn you Anheuser-Busch!
12.
Tripping on acid in the halfway-house: Not sure which is worse. This one, or blow on an airplane?
Follow the link if you missed the last post in my biography.
For those of you unfamiliar with the intake process of county jails, after that I was then taken to the fish tank where I was kept on lockdown for three days. My cell door was revolving and I met myriad lawbreakers. They all seemed to bond out immediately, leaving me to welcome one stranger after another until I made it to a more permanent housing unit.
When I entered "B-Unit," the V-shaped room full of offenders all gave me the once-over before returning to their card games, reading materials, or conversations. I did not give their inspective glances any notice. I had been too busy taking in my new home's amenities. There was blue carpet, a hot-water dispenser(for making instant coffee or Ramen Noodles), couches and armchairs, a television for each side of the day-room, piles upon piles of magazines and books to choose from, and even board games. As I silently thanked them, I wondered if taxpayers were aware they had funded the Hilton of county jails.
