Well, he got the ball rolling, anyhow. I don’t know if you know this about my friend, but he enjoys women. Thoroughly.
When I was about fifteen years old, I worked at a cottage resort on the lake. I cleaned up the grounds, mucked out boats, murdered carp, and got my ass kicked by the owner’s kid. He had Tourette’s, amongst other problems. I wasn’t allowed to touch him, but he was allowed to chase me with rakes, shovels, axes, etc… One day he chopped a hole in the door of the store to try and get me. Well, enough about him, we were talking about Bugs, some scotch, and a Stan Smith shoe.
I don’t know how many of you know Rice Lake in southern Ontario, but it was an amazing place to while away a childhood. There was one problem though, with such a beautiful, serene place to grow up, and that was underage drinking. Yep, we would get pretty bored and need some sort of excitement, but we didn’t have any money to go on said adventures. Now if you’re a teenage boy, and you can’t afford to go somewhere to do something fun, what do you do? Yep, Royal Reserve. The cheapest whiskey that you could buy at the time, and you got a nice sticker for your collection. I wouldn’t even try a guess at how many bottles of that we would have drank over the years, but a lot.
On this particular occasion, we lucked out. An unnamed person had given Bugsy some part bottles of scotch to give to his father. It was Friday night, summer, and we were teenagers. We also had plans to try and get the twins that were vacationing at my place of employment to come out for a little party with us. What can I say, we were from a village of about two hundred people. Fresh meat is fresh meat. Besides, we couldn’t get any of the girls that knew us to go out with us, so who better to
prey onask out than some strangers in a strange land?
I had worked earlier that day, and my friend that worked with me was on that evening. It was starting to get really windy, so we grabbed a couple of travellers and walked down to the resort to see what the girls were doing. When we got there, I was spotted and told that they needed me to help get the boats into the shore because there was a tornado or hurricane warning. I sobered up really quickly and we started wading into the frothy lake. The waves were getting pretty big, and we needed to work fast. Bugs had gone back to his place to wait, but it was only about five or six houses up the road, so it wasn’t too bad. We worked for at least an hour, and it was getting pretty dark out by the time we were finished. Because the bosses were gone, we snuck up to the bar and had a couple beer, while blowing up our stories of how dangerous it was being in the water, and how they really owed us these beer for saving their boats, not to mention all of the windows and other things that would have gotten busted.
Part way through my second telling of how the undertow had almost swept me all the way to Roseneath, and how luckily I knew to wrap my legs around the dock, and not let it pull me down, one of the twins came barging in, screaming and crying.
“Are you okay? What happened?” We asked her. She was so pretty and sweet.
“My dad is beating someone up behind our cottage!” She yelled. “I think he’s really hurting him.”
I must have looked like I didn’t give a shit, because she looked right at me and said “It’s your friend!”
I ran as fast as I could to their cabin, and heard the commotion out back, When I got there, I see Bugs, half beat, and three quarters passed out, mumbling incoherently about how he’s sorry, and he would like to take this guy’s daughters on a date some night, because they are really pretty, and he thinks they are probably really nice. I think they were from Ohio or somewhere like that, between fourteen and sixteen, and were leaving the next day. Maybe not the best idea to suggest a date to their daddy, who just caught you knocking on their window. Basically you are saying that you want to try and get into his twin daughter’s pants, and then never see them again.
Fuck off, you guys were all thinking the same thing. There’s no way teenagers are going to keep a long distance relationship going for more than a week. Jesus, the God damned long distance bill would be through the roof. This was long before you could talk all month for $20.(Did you like my double blasphemy right there?) While he is rambling through what resembled words, I was trying to talk to the girl’s uncle who was there for the fishing trip with his brother.
I guess the father wasn’t liking Bugsy’s answers, and he hauls off and drifts him one. I jump in and start screaming and shoving, and the uncle grabs me, and pulls me back. I tell them to let us go and I’ll take him home, but they want to come too, and talk to his parents. I told them I didn’t know where he lived, and I was going to take him to my house because he was hurt and drunk. They threatened to call the cops, but finally just let me carry his shoeless, hammered ass home. We did manage to find one of the Stan Smiths, but the other was a casualty of war.
I laid him out in the grass by the road, and went to get his old Montego. I brought it back down to the camp, and was able to load him into the passenger side. I got him home and couldn’t get him up to his room, so I left him downstairs. I then grabbed the rest of the scotch and headed across the road to have a drink with our buddy over there.
When I told him what happened he was pretty mad, so we drank as much booze as we could fit into us, and then decided we should go down and have a little talking to with the dirty bastard what beat up our fuckin’ best friend. He never hurt no one n don’t deserve to get his head kicked in by some big, stupid asshole. It’s not like he’s the Pied Piper or anything like that. He just wanted to kiss a pretty girl that he loves. HE LOVES HER, BUDDY!!! He told me so. Fuck that guy, ’cause now Bugsy don’t got a shoe, and they were brand new! (Did you see the way I got more drunk and belligerent there? It was for effect.)
So anyhow, with nobody to explain that this was a piss-poor idea, we trudged off down the road and knocked on the door. The light came on, and the father looked out. “What do you want?” He asked
Our buddy comes unglued and starts threatening to pummel the guy in front of his family, while I kind of stand back and wait for those guys to come out. They didn’t. We shake the cottage pretty hard, and bang on all of the walls until we figure we’ve got our point across.
I guess our point was that if you beat up our friend for sneaking around your place in the night, we’ll get drunk, call you a bunch of names, threaten you, and shake your cabin so hard that your daughters start crying out of fear. We will then clap each other on the back, and walk home talking about how no one comes to our village, and messes with our friends, and gets away with it.
I went to work the next day, and was told that I was fired. I thought maybe it was for the beer drinking, or even because my friend was involved in some shenanigans while I was working. Nope. When he told me that it was for terrorizing some guests at 1AM, I was shocked. Partly because I had kind of forgotten that until right then, but also because… What the hell was I supposed to do? I’d seen enough Matt Dillon movies to know that you gotta stick up for your pals. Didn’t this idiot know the different codes of honour?
Anyhow Bugsy, now I’m forty, sitting here at 3:25AM, tapping away at the keys and drinking coffee. I’m thinking about those days, and how I’d feel about some dumb boy knocking on our windows here at the house in a few years. All I can say is that I’m glad we have all kinds of swamp in our backyard. There’s enough room for a few pairs of Stan Smiths.
Well if you ever go back into Wooley Swamp, well you better not go at night,
Q. What’s the farthest you’ve ever driven for a booty call?
P.S. I’m claiming poetic license on this one. That was a long time ago, and probably not as exciting as it sounds.