Bartles & Jaymes & Stabbing
Despite the grisly events of two Halloweens ago, last night was blissfully murder-free.Probably because of the cold, however, very few trick-or-treaters showed up, and we were forced to offload undispensed candy in bulk, as well as give third helpings to neighborhood children whom we don't like (because they display behavior that includes the social faux pas of coming back twice for Halloween candy) but felt sorry for (because they felt the need to come back twice).
I was reminded of Halloween, 1986, when I and a group of high school friends rented a limousine to take us 25 miles south to Harvard Square.
I used to sing in a barbershop chorus in Lowell, MA. and I was good. I once misguidedly wrote a four-part arrangement to the Beatles' "Helter Skelter". Even then I realized that singing in a barbershop chorus with a bunch of old guys was probably the least cool thing one could do. I've overcompensated since then.
One of the older guys, in his 50's at the time, ran a limousine service. His name was Jerry. I arranged to get one of his limousines for Halloween night. I forget what he charged me.
As we were finalizing plans, he asked, "Do you take a drink?"
I had no idea what he was talking about. But everybody likes to stay hydrated, so I said Yes.
"OK, I'll put some champagne in the car," he said.
Oh. "No, I don't drink," I said.
"It ain't an extra charge," he said.
"I still don't drink," I said.
Halloween arrived and the bunch of us got in the limo. I can't remember any of the other guys' names. But we went to Harvard Square and stayed out all night and followed some girls to Arlington, of all places, and did a lot of standing around and got in fights and watched people throwing up.
I quaffed a six-pack of wine coolers in Arlington. Between that and singing in a barbershop chorus, I don't know what I'm more embarrassed of.
You can always tell which are rented limousines and which are not because the latter rarely have people throwing up down the side of them and yelling "FUUUUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOOOOOOOOU" out the moon roof. While I was not one of the people yelling or vomiting, I kept thinking what an inconvenient form of travel a limo is.
So it turns out our chauffeur for the evening drank the bottle of champagne and then he tried to charge us for it. I guess knowing Jerry personally was like knowing Don Corleone so that situation was taken care of quickly by means of a gigantic car phone.
Still, I remember the driver asking us if we could stop by his girlfriend's place at Revere Beach for a while and we said no. Even having never been to Revere Beach before, it still sounded like the type of place you wouldn't want to have a girlfriend in.
We cleaned the vomit off the side of the limo in our Halloween costumes in the breakdown lane of Rt. 93.
We were dropped off around 5 a.m.
At 8 a.m. I took the SATs (800 verbal, 420 math) and remember thinking, somewhere around congruent triangles, "I think I'm going to throw up."
But I didn't, and I got into Harvard, as well as a bunch of other schools I could nary afford. I am assuming my membership in the barbershop chorus compensated for my abysmal math score.
To this day, the smell of wine coolers is repellant to me (as is that of strawberry schnapps and cheap cigars, but that was a year later), but I still look forward to reaching the age where I can say things like, "Do you take a drink?" and "Don't give me your guff."
posted
by Marty Barrett at Wednesday, November 01, 2006
4 Comments:
And that was back when an 800 meant something!!! They've screwed around with SAT grading in the past 10 years or so, so a lot more kids get 800's or close to it.
Save the date:
http://www.lowellsun.com/local/ci_4597938
You can come home again!
Sheila
There is now pee on my patio chair - thanks. It was the fuuuuuuck yooooooou that did it.
First of all, being in a barbershop quartet is about the coolest thinig I could imagine, and raises you even higher in my estimation.
Second, I have a limo story to share: The owner of the ice Cream store I worked for is friends with the owner of The Yellow Rose, a local strip club. One night I was babysitting for her, and she had the Yellow Rose Limo pick me up and drop me off. During the ride I chatted with the drivere and mentioned that my friend was a dancer (which means NAKED dancer) at the Yellow Rose. He asked me why I didn't strip too, and I replied that i was too self-concious, because it's all I could think to say.
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