Now I never was a big fan of losing control. Just there wasn't a big attraction or curiosity to see purple elephants, green horses and polar bears on tricycles. I viewed acid as a dumb gringo type tendency geared by boredom ...much like bungee jumping or skydiving. Just-Kidding-Suicide and volunteer hallucination just wasn't my thing...or maybe I was just a big floppy sissy that felt my brain would explode like rainbowed popcorn in a hail of confusion.
This also pretty much went for most of the other drugs running through the shit faucet of my younger era. This fear of drugs helped me hide behind the "Wizard-of-Oz" type red curtain of morality amongst friends and girlfriends of the time. Many times I casted judgment over those who respected me as some sort of Willpower Godfather who was impervious to such open mouthed awe when it came to drugs.
Now I did however drink like a fish...like a fucking shark... I know whales are big but I felt they might be too light in the shorts to proper emphasize how liberally I drank. My drug limitations were gloriously rationalized with excuses such as; my family drinks enough to drown a giraffe, Xanax bars are prescribed by the good doctors of America and weed comes from nature....man. It was debatable as to whether or not my drugs were harmless or more dangerous than the others...but this is my story of karma handing down the ugly, fat sister of all life lessons.
I was about 17 years old and working at a Coconut Grove coffee shop after school at Gables High. It was an extremely fun job from what I remembered except for the fact that I mostly got paid in girls phone numbers and ice coffee dreams. Realizing I needed to make extra money I took on a new venture where the demand was high and profit margin favorable...selling Acid to idiots in my circle. First, I needed somebody to point me in the right direction and give me the ground rules and regulations.
Brian, a mushroom haired surfer of some kind, had about ten years on me in age but thousands of years ahead of me in acid knowledge. Aside from the coffee shop, the dude had several other free lance jobs that kept his beamer paid, beeper chirping and rent covered. One of those odd jobs was street marketing in which he made sound most profitable and easy. I, on the other hand, was all thumbs with this sort of thing. I mean, I could fuck up a cup of coffee. Once I bought a pound of weed and it molded up like Joan Rivers in two days. I guess it's safe to say I wasn't put on this Earth for this sort of business yet I thought acid would be a sure fire easy thing to sell. No weighing, no calculating, no slacking...just boom-boom give me money. He got me a sheet of acid and quickly warned me about the details.
I'm in my room with the door locked as if a mad scientist fumbling through this "project". I had been warned to use gloves when handling in order to not risk absorption of the acid through my pores. Well, since I didn't have gloves handy I was forced to hold the acid, scissors and a composition book on my lap for the acid squares to land... all while wearing thick white tube socks like some fucked up hand puppet show on PBS. Only this mad scientist was living with his mother who randomly stormed in to check for booze and loose teenage girls. This was one of those days.
"Luis Alfredo! Open up!" I almost shit my looms at the though of my mother realizing I was involved in something like this. The poor woman had put up with many of my other delinquencies, tendency for fights and overall disregard for all authority...but this would have drove her head first into the funny farm. I was in full homeland security alert ORANGE when I hastily closed the notebook and ran to get the door. Little did I know a few acid squares flew sneakily on the carpet, conspiring to shake things up like a fat man doing jumping jacks. I guess I was more concerned with tossing the socks and supplies to notice any squares I had to pick up. I think you know where this is going.
It's been a hard days night and I've been working like dog. It's been a hard days night and I should be sleeping like a log. After a long, hot shower I was looking forward to this well deserved rest. I crawled into bed happily and began to sleep for about 35 minutes still wrapped in a towel like some sort of fucked up Lou-fajita. Suddenly an overwhelming surge of energy came over me like adrenaline-pumped Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction. This strange suspicion lead me to check the bottom of my shower-wet feet only to find two curious little white squares stuck to me like a postage stamp...of Satan himself! Charged with panic, I rushed over to my bathroom mirror and found my pupils the size of grapefruits, confirming the now undeniable. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"
The screams could be heard throughout the house which got the attention of my poor mother. "What's wrong?" she said. Clearly, like any other rebellious and hardened high school bad ass, I did the natural thing which was...wig the fuckkkk out and sing like a Canary! "Okay Mom, here's the story...I accidentally took a drug I was holding for a friend and I'm afraid a Red Elephant is gonna pop up and make me join the Marines! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, What do I do, mama help!?!!! I'm not sure what came first...my brilliant exit strategy solution or the Bruce Lee: Fists of Fury slaps by Mama Restrepo. Either way I knew I had to get to Adrian's house.
"Are you sure I shouldn't take you to the hospital?" she said. "No, Mom, trust me Adrian does drugs like these all the time. He'll know exactly what to do" So now I've sold me friend down the river as well. "What!!! What in the hell is going on here!!!" she yelled as we pulled up into Adrian's driveway. I told her to stay outside for the moment as I promised to keep her updated.
At this point I was starting to flow into trip mode. I remember walking into Adrian's house and noticed all the dark colors making deep drum-like noises while the really light colors were making high pitched piano sounds. Full freak out time was eminent. Here I am, the number one drug basher in America, staring into the teeth of something I feared like a motherfucker.
Adrian was a calming agent during these crucial few minutes. He realized that acid was a mental drug that needed to be confused into thinking everything was gonna be fine. "Look bro, you remember Chemistry class at Columbus right? Remember the PH balance thing? It simple bro, your on ACID...so how do you balance out an ACID?" A BASE!!" Brilliant Answer Adrian! MILK, that's it, MILK! The almighty "does a body good" was now turned into an LSD tonic! Desperately I started chugging the milk like Ron Burgundy out of the gallon. With my mind at ease thanks to my Placebo-faced friend, he sent me off with some sensible advice. "First bro, stay away from your Mom during this situation, Mom's and acid don't mix well. Two, try to just sit back and enjoy the shit. Three, our buddy Willy is having a party down the block so just try and keep your mind occupied until this shit wears off. And last, hurry up and get the fuck out cuz my Dad is wondering why your wearing a Gallon of 2% Milk on your shirt." Milk was a baaaaad choice.
Walking alone down the block with a half empty gallon of milk and a head full of acid, my poor mother slowly stalked behind me in the car refusing to leave me alone. When I arrived at the party my friends had trouble deciding what was funnier, the accidental trip or the fact that my poor mother was parked across the street nervously observing. After a couple of hours of partying I realized everybody was increasingly boring and my acid was getting less active. With one quarter left in this ballgame I realized I needed a strong finish to end this bizarre episode. I picked up the phone and called Monica, the Winston Wolf of all late night problem solvers. I knew I could count on her to keep my mind occupied for the 4th Qtr. My poor, confused mother delivered me over to a booty call which I think that was a first. At any rate it was a touchdown and I slept like a baby.
Looking back at all this its safe to say I learned lessons on many levels.
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