While texting my daughter this morning, we came across the memory of an adventure with my brother Randy and my wife, Kathy. And if it were an adventure with me during the late seventies and eighties, there was cocaine not too far away. We had a blast! (Ha!) Of course, at this time, I was the one doing the blow; brother and Kathy abstained. This one was my cocaine story. This one was before any of the kids were born, and I was a wildman doing wildman things. I snorted a line so big that I thought my heart might burst!
Thank god for years of previous drug use, I could talk myself down from the high without flipping out. But standing in line to register at the Rosarita Beach Hotel was a ride! The line was out the door, and I was sweating up a storm! I thought a million thoughts in like about five minutes, going everyplace good cocaine would take you and then back. What a fucking trip. I was stiff as a board, and a big gust of wind could have knocked me over. My brother was wondering what was wrong, wherever I was then, my brother was never far behind. I was buzzing so hard all I could do was nod my head in the affirmative that I was okay. I was grinding the fuck, outta my teeth. Then, like a smooth breath of fresh ocean air on a hot day, the coolness washed over me, and I was fucking riding the wave. I could walk, and boy could I talk. And we had a fucking blast.
I was smooth… I was dancing in the middle of the outdoor restaurant, to the music, always to the music. The band was excellent, and I had money, so I was tipping, well. They played some excellent music, a rock n roll, and mariachi mix, it was great. And I was dancing, twirling Kathy around and around, through the tables we danced. Smiling across from each other, only as two young people in love can do. We were in love, and it was beautiful. All eyes in the joint were on us. We were doing what so many of them wanted to, but were too uptight to do, buncha uptight whites at the Rosarita this night.
And when we broke out the Roman candles and were battling over the tops of their uptight white heads, someone complained, and the Federales were called. I mean, it was if these people had never seen two guys blasting away at each other with Roman candles. I must admit it might have been a little over the top, but we were in the groove, and it felt good to cut loose. Especially as Kathy and I both had jobs in the financial district in Bakersfield, high-stress situations, And my brother was working on a massive subdivision in Hollywood Hills, he was running the job. And it was not uncommon for my brother to peel off his Brooks Brothers jacket and sling on a tool belt, so he worked hard too! So it felt good to cut loose. ( I am taking a little writer’s thingie(poetic license), where I change the timeline a little. It makes the story flow.) We were playing with other people’s money, Shit! As I turned to look at the stairs that were the exit from the beach dinner club(which was just so cool)! Federales were running down the stairs, trusty M-16’s in hand.
Fuck!” Senor!” I turned my head, and the singer from the band was motioning us over with his hand, waving like a madman. The singer was the gentleman whom I had been tipping. And we had a good conversation going about family and having fun. And he showed us the way out, through the kitchen and up to our rooms. The back way into the rooms, up on the staff elevator, and we were standing in room 305 in no time. I was throwing money around left, and right, I was a nice guy and a good tipper, both of which go a long way with the locals. I especially threw money at the concierge. “We have been in our rooms all night, right?” I pleaded. “Si” was all he said, and I was outta there!
We were sitting there quietly, having a beer (and a line for me, woohoo!) watching TV when the Federales beat on our door, which I answered, a shit-eating grin on my face and “Que Pasa?” on my lips. The smile faded from my lips as the M-16 was raised under my chin. “We know it was you senor.” As I reached into my pocket, my hand was deftly removed, and my entire roll lifted by a Pro. Of course, this was not my first foray south of the border, and I had several rolls strategically placed, but this one I kissed adios as the dude stuck the gun hard enough under my chin to leave a nice mark and bruise. And he blew me a kiss. And I took this to mean it was goodbye. So we packed our bags and switched hotels. But the head dude followed us there; I came out of my room, and there he was, sitting and smiling. He just shook his head. And we cut our trip a little short. No need to press one’s luck.
I always listened to the little voice in the back of my head, it has never lied to me. I believe it was this ability that kept me out of jail, that and I never got big enough for them to try. They tried once, even sent in this really hot chick into a local lounge, where I was tending bar, which was a big hint fella’s. There she was, in a redneck bar, drop-dead gorgeous and a body that would not quit? She tried everything short of sex to get me to sell her something. I gave her several grams of some terrific blow as a tease. But that is another story…
My Two Cents 