The 24th Short Story
Yodeling Can Be Dangerous to Your Health
"Yodeling Can Be Dangerous to Your Health"
ANDY'S LESSONS FROM LIFE
My 24th Short Story
It's not often that one lays out the toughest confession of their life, but that's what I'm doing in this particular short story. Please don't hold it against me. I hope you enjoy more of Andy's life experiences and the lessons that come with them.
Caution: If you have a weak stomach, you may not want to be eating while reading this story.
"Yodeling Can Be Dangerous to Your Health"
“Learn to recognize your limits.”
--Andy Skrzynski
I wouldn’t exactly be honest about my life’s story, if I didn’t confess a few of my fool-hearted exploits. Mind you, I’m not proud of this story, but it is a fond memory, and it's part of my legacy to endure.
Bonnie suffered a few sacrifices when she married me and moved to Texas, but the one that put 1200 miles between my new bride and her dearest friend hurt quite a bit. It saddened my lovely wife to leave Sandy in Michigan, where they couldn’t party hearty whenever they wanted.
Being creative souls, they quickly found a temporary remedy to their dilemma. Bonnie’s loyal friend promptly booked a flight to Austin, Texas, only one month after our wedding in July of 1987. I wasn’t quite sure whether I minded or not, since our honeymoon had only just begun.
The three of us had been out together several times, while I was still dating Bonnie, and Sandy was very friendly and quite humorous. The more I pondered the inevitable, the more it grew on me. We’ll have a blast! That part was not in question.
After I picked Sandy up at the airport, Bonnie and I took her and our daughters to a nearby park. Shannon, being seven years old, and Colleen, only a couple years younger, loved playing on the swings and monkey bars.
Late that afternoon, we left our sweet girls with a trusty babysitter, while us three grownups hit the road. Of course, we had to show Sandy one of our favorite views from the Oasis, a huge restaurant with 26 decks on different levels, built atop a tall cliff.
After our arrival, the hostess led us up and down several steps before we reached our table. I smirked toward Sandy. “They certainly get plenty of exercise at this joint!”
While slumping into my chair, I glanced out over the treetops and down to the glistening lake, far below us. The bustling restaurant overlooked the largest body of water near the eastern end of Lake Travis.
A couple of small islands poked through the reflective surface, not far from the dam on the Colorado River that formed the magnificent attraction. Hordes of people from Austin and the surrounding areas absolutely loved and often frequented the 60 miles of pristine water for swimming, fishing, skiing, and so much more.
That particular day was no different, as sailboats zigzagged their way up and down the river. We were perfectly positioned on one of the upper decks to observe the wondrous display. There were red sails, blue sails, and others with every color of the rainbow.
Skiers sprayed sheets of water high in the air as they slalomed behind the powerful motorboats, roaring along the shoreline. I couldn’t imagine a better view of the gorgeous, deep blue lake that evening.
A waitress stopped by and interrupted my observations. “What would you like to drink today?”
Sandy spoke up immediately, “Have you guys ever tried a Long Island Iced Tea?”
Bonnie and I glanced at each other and shook our heads. I shrugged. “Sounds kind of boring. I thought we were going to have some real drinks.”
Sandy laughed. “Oh, this isn’t the kind of iced tea you’re used to. A Long Island usually has at least 5 different liquors and a splash of coke.” She grinned. “They’ve got plenty of kick. Trust me.”
I didn’t doubt her one bit as Bonnie and I gave each other a look-see and both replied, “Okay, let’s do it.” My wife raised her finger toward the waitress. “We’d also like an order of your special nachos with everything on them!”
I smiled. “That’s a great idea! They’re delicious, but let’s not eat too much. I want to take you guys to Vincent’s on the Lake afterward. We’ll eat dinner there.”
My wife and her blond friend, with a fashionable, 1980s hairdo, grinned. “Sounds good to us, but you're paying!”
“Of course, I will, with my wallet that’s sitting in Bonnie’s purse.” I pointed at the overstuffed, leather bag she frequently kept close to her side.
My sweet wife packed everything into her cavernous purse that she might possibly need to keep herself looking fresh, over the course of that evening. You practically needed a crane to lift the blasted thing.
If I dared say a word about its weight, she’d insist, “It’s only this heavy because you make me carry your wallet all the time.”
We couldn’t have been married more than 5 weeks, but I heard that same comeback at least 30 times, if I heard it once. Knowing better than to utter a word, I bit my tongue. Shut up, Andy, or she’ll make you sit on that thick wad wherever we go -- for the rest of your life.
When the waitress passed out our drinks, I sniffed it first, then took a sip. “Mmm, not bad. You can’t even taste the booze.”
A wry smile creased Sandy’s lips. “That might be, but it’ll knock you on your butt, so you better be careful.”
Coming from the girl Bonnie spent a lot of time getting smashed with over the years, I thought twice about guzzling it too quickly. While we munched the scrumptious nachos, smothered in a spicy queso, seasoned taco meat, onions, salsa, and enough jalapenos to set your tongue on fire, we ordered a second round of those great-tasting Long Island Iced Teas.
As we finished off our last bites, the scattered clouds morphed into billowy pink and lavender puffs overhead, as the massive orange sun ever so slowly dipped behind the silhouette of cedars and live oaks on the distant hilltop. Just as the last remnants of the brightly glowing ball of fire slipped away, one of the waitresses vigorously rang a big, brass bell, hanging from a wooden post.
The resonating dings filled the air, while everybody cheered and clapped to their heart’s content. A perfect ending to our Oasis visit.
When I stood up to leave, the effects of all that liquor weakened my knees. I steadied myself, and the three of us returned to the parking lot and climbed into the red Mercury Cougar. Feeling a tiny bit woozy, I tentatively drove down the curvy roads to Vincent’s on the Lake, a floating restaurant on another part of Lake Travis.
After our new waitress seated us and asked what we’d like to drink. Bonnie ordered a glass of white wine, and Sandy ordered a highball. I should have known better, but like many young men, I was much more foolish than wise. “I’ll have one of your top-shelf margaritas -- frozen -- with salt, please.”
The cute waitress smiled. “Sounds good. I’ll be right back to take your food orders.”
After she returned with our drinks and scribbled down our meal selections, we proceeded to watch the noisy ducks, squabbling next to the deck, while we sipped our alcoholic beverages and chatted.
Before our food arrived, three well-groomed men, who looked to be in their mid-to-late 30s, were seated at a nearby table and promptly proceeded to strike up a conversation with us. They had just returned from spending a day in New Braunfels, where they had competed in a yodeling contest.
A bit skeptical, I closed one eye and stared at them with the other. “You’re pulling our leg. Right? You guys can’t really yodel. Can you?”
That was all the invitation they needed. Before I knew it, they were yodeling like lovesick tomcats, serenading a feline in heat.
Their masterful renditions echoed among the nearby canyon walls, and everybody in the restaurant was staring in our direction. When they finished, delightful applause filled the air. Like those around us, I was duly impressed.
They coaxed the three of us to try, and we gave it our best, but we would have had to pay someone to listen to our sad attempts. None of us were cut out to be yodelers in the least bit.
The three of us continued conversing with the trio of yodelers as we consumed our meal and far too many drinks. About the time I stuck the last fried shrimp in my mouth, my stomach roiled. Suddenly, that last bite decided it wanted to escape back up my throat, so I rushed to the bathroom.
Quite honestly, I’m not sure what really happened between the time I left the table and made it to the men's room. The next thing I knew, one of those yodelers woke me up. I slowly lifted my chin. “What happened?”
He chuckled. “You got sick.”
Opening my eyes wider, I looked around and realized I was hugging the stinking toilet. “Yuck!”
Pushing myself away, I struggled to get to my feet with the help of my new drinking buddy. Totally embarrassed by the whole ordeal, I quickly washed my hands, trudged out the door, and returned to the table with my arm around my helper’s shoulder.
I felt like I’d been run over by a train, and the voice inside my throbbing noggin insisted on calling me an idiot. Lowering my head, I kept thinking. Just take me home. I want to lay down and go to sleep.
Who was I kidding? The girls were all hyped up about going out on a boat our yodeler friends had tied to the dock. While I was embracing the toilet bowl, they were all scheming what to do next.
Unlike my lovely companions, I wasn’t used to drinking so much. While I was ready to hit the sack, they wanted to play. As Bonnie and Sandy kept urging me to take a ride on the boat. I waved them off. “I don’t want to go out on the lake. I want to go to bed.”
Not the type to ever give up, they tugged my arms. “Come on. We’ll have fun!”
I gruffed. “Yeah, right. You guys will have fun. Not me.”
Taking full advantage of my weakened state, the next thing I knew, I was lying on a padded bench in the boat, and the engine was roaring as we sped across the water. None of this was making my stomach feel any better. I’m gonna puke again. I know it.
Clasping my hand over my mouth, I mustered just enough gumption to hold it back. If we would have soared over another wake, part of my dinner would have been flying in all directions.
Fortunately, it wasn’t long before the pilot cut the engine, and the craft slowed to a crawl. Bonnie wiggled my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go skinny dipping.”
“Skinny dipping? No way! I can barely move. I’ll drown out there!”
She frowned. “Oh, you’re just a party pooper.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going in the water. Besides, it's way too dark. You can’t see a doggone thing out here!”
“Okay, if that’s the way you feel about it, but I’m going. The weather’s perfect.”
In a flash, I heard a splash, and Bonnie had disappeared. While Sandy stayed on the boat to keep me company, everybody else abandoned ship.
My lone companion at that moment attempted to soothe me, but she might as well have been talking to a rock. I didn’t understand a word she said and just kept moaning.
Reaching the limits of my patience, I finally mustered enough energy to barely holler, “Bonnie, where are you? Let’s go home.”
At first, I didn’t hear a thing. My heart leapt with fear. Did she drown?
Frightened, I yelled louder. “Bonnie! Where are you?”
Finally, she answered. “I’m over here. Keep talking. It’s so dark; I can’t see the boat.”
I continued to call out to her as she made her way back to the boat. After the yodelers returned, we headed back to Vincent’s.
The tricky part of the evening was just about to get underway. Practically dead to the world, I crawled into the back seat of the Cougar and laid on my back as I groaned. Unfortunately, I was the only one who knew where we were.
Sandy volunteered to drive as I gave her directions from what I could see from my back, while looking out the rear window -- not exactly the best navigator one could hope for. Bonnie's friend was a mess as she covered one eye with her hand while driving rather erratically down the windy road.
Getting more nervous by the second, Bonnie stared at her friend. “Pull over! You can’t drive. Let me do it.”
They swapped positions and Bonnie continued down the back road and up highway 620, while I did the best I could to give her directions. In the meantime, Sandy was getting sicker by the minute and puked out the passenger window. I thanked my lucky stars that my widow was closed, or I’m afraid I would have been getting the worst kind of shower one could imagine.
Despite all this, Bonnie was actually making great progress in moving us ever so closer to home. That was until we slowed for the red traffic light at the intersection of 183 and Spicewood Springs Road.
Out of nowhere, I felt a tunk. Bonnie immediately blurted, “Oh no. I think I just hit that truck ahead of us.”
Those simple words sobered me up for an instant, but as soon as I sat up, everything started spinning about me. I shook my head and blinked a couple of times, trying to clear my vision.
The man in the Chevy pickup ahead of us, opened his door and got out. Looking rather serious, the elder gentleman slowly walked toward the back of his truck and leaned over. He stared at his bumper for a second, then inspected our frontend.
Before I could even gather my senses, Bonnie hopped out of the car. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you.”
His hardened appearance softened ever so slightly as he spoke. “Lady, everything’s okay. There isn’t any damage.” He looked her over. “I think you need to get back in the car and go home.”
Bonnie let out a huge sigh. “Thank you so much. I’ll never do that again. I’m truly sorry.”
She slunk back into the car. After the friendly man turned right and headed off, my suddenly cautious wife slowly continued along 183 toward home.
Her eyes were pinned to the road as we barely crept along the highway. We couldn’t have been moving for more than 5 minutes before Bonnie blurted, “I’m hungry! We’ve got to stop somewhere fast.”
Sandy pleaded, “It’s too late. Let’s just go home. Haven’t you had enough excitement for one day?”
Bonnie wasn’t deterred in the slightest. “Don’t you understand? I’m starving. I’ve got to eat now!”
Just as the words left her lips, she spotted a Jack-in-the-Box up the road and pulled into the driveway. Sandy and I just shook our heads.
After tentatively stopping beside the outdoor menu, Bonnie proceeded to bark her orders, “I want a cheeseburger with everything, but no tomatoes. Also, add some mayonnaise, but….”
A young woman’s voice emanated from the big clown’s mouth and interrupted her. “Sorry, ma’am, but we’re closed.”
Though my lovely wife can exhibit a calming persona when she chooses to, this was not one of those moments. Bonnie yelled at the clown, “What do you mean you’re closed? I’ve got to eat -- NOW! Just take my order!”
A timid voice replied. “I’m really sorry, ma’am, but I can’t. We just shut everything down.”
Fuming, my hungry wife screamed, “You’ve got to be kidding!” She jammed the shift lever in gear and took off like a rocket out the driveway. We hit a few bumps as she cut a sharp turn back onto 183 and headed home.
I didn’t remember much after that point, until I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. My forehead was pounding so hard, my eyes felt like they were about to explode.
I groaned, “Why did I drink so much? I’m never touching another drop again!”
With my eyes barely open, after doing my business in the bathroom, I shuffled my bare feet out the front door of the house and grabbed the newspaper at the bottom of our steep driveway. As I trudged back up the hill toward the garage, I noticed our trusty car was leaning hard to one side. I must be dreaming.
When I got to the top of the driveway, I stood there and stared at the tires on the passenger side. At that point I knew it was a nightmare alright, but unfortunately, I was wide awake. Both tires were flatter than pancakes.
Worse yet, that entire side of the car was covered in the dried remains of whatever Sandy must have eaten the previous night, before puking her guts out the window. It stunk so bad that I held my nose, while trotting inside, so as not to lose what remained of my own dinner.
Reflecting on our experience, we were very fortunate to make it home that night with no more damage than what I dealt with that morning. Even more importantly, we were lucky nobody got hurt.
Needless to say, after repairing two flat tires and scrubbing that smelly gunk off the car, while suffering the worst hangover I ever experienced, I vowed never to get drunk again. To this day, I’ve kept my promise and prefer not indulging in alcoholic drinks.
Occasionally, I’ll sip on a weak mixed drink, but usually only after a bit of coaxing. I’ve been pretty good at cutting it off, whenever I’ve had enough.
Everybody knows they can count on me to be the designated driver when we go out, where drinking is involved. As a prior drunken offender, I gladly accept that role.
**********
That's it for now.
I hope you enjoyed the latest of my experiences. This one was a "not proud but thankful to be alive to learn a lesson from my huge mistake" kind of story.
We certainly had a blast up to a point, but there were so many things that could have gone wrong that night! I owe my guardian angel an immense debt for keeping us and those around us safe, during that unfortunate turn of events.
I am also grateful for being able to correct my bad behavior, during the remainder of my life. Thank goodness, I have not had any further inclinations to hug a toilet, since that ugly moment.
Thank you so much for your wonderful support!
Andy Skrzynski
ANDY'S LESSONS FROM LIFE
My 24th Short Story
It's not often that one lays out the toughest confession of their life, but that's what I'm doing in this particular short story. Please don't hold it against me. I hope you enjoy more of Andy's life experiences and the lessons that come with them.
Caution: If you have a weak stomach, you may not want to be eating while reading this story.
"Yodeling Can Be Dangerous to Your Health"
“Learn to recognize your limits.”
--Andy Skrzynski
I wouldn’t exactly be honest about my life’s story, if I didn’t confess a few of my fool-hearted exploits. Mind you, I’m not proud of this story, but it is a fond memory, and it's part of my legacy to endure.
Bonnie suffered a few sacrifices when she married me and moved to Texas, but the one that put 1200 miles between my new bride and her dearest friend hurt quite a bit. It saddened my lovely wife to leave Sandy in Michigan, where they couldn’t party hearty whenever they wanted.
Being creative souls, they quickly found a temporary remedy to their dilemma. Bonnie’s loyal friend promptly booked a flight to Austin, Texas, only one month after our wedding in July of 1987. I wasn’t quite sure whether I minded or not, since our honeymoon had only just begun.
The three of us had been out together several times, while I was still dating Bonnie, and Sandy was very friendly and quite humorous. The more I pondered the inevitable, the more it grew on me. We’ll have a blast! That part was not in question.
After I picked Sandy up at the airport, Bonnie and I took her and our daughters to a nearby park. Shannon, being seven years old, and Colleen, only a couple years younger, loved playing on the swings and monkey bars.
Late that afternoon, we left our sweet girls with a trusty babysitter, while us three grownups hit the road. Of course, we had to show Sandy one of our favorite views from the Oasis, a huge restaurant with 26 decks on different levels, built atop a tall cliff.
After our arrival, the hostess led us up and down several steps before we reached our table. I smirked toward Sandy. “They certainly get plenty of exercise at this joint!”
While slumping into my chair, I glanced out over the treetops and down to the glistening lake, far below us. The bustling restaurant overlooked the largest body of water near the eastern end of Lake Travis.
A couple of small islands poked through the reflective surface, not far from the dam on the Colorado River that formed the magnificent attraction. Hordes of people from Austin and the surrounding areas absolutely loved and often frequented the 60 miles of pristine water for swimming, fishing, skiing, and so much more.
That particular day was no different, as sailboats zigzagged their way up and down the river. We were perfectly positioned on one of the upper decks to observe the wondrous display. There were red sails, blue sails, and others with every color of the rainbow.
Skiers sprayed sheets of water high in the air as they slalomed behind the powerful motorboats, roaring along the shoreline. I couldn’t imagine a better view of the gorgeous, deep blue lake that evening.
A waitress stopped by and interrupted my observations. “What would you like to drink today?”
Sandy spoke up immediately, “Have you guys ever tried a Long Island Iced Tea?”
Bonnie and I glanced at each other and shook our heads. I shrugged. “Sounds kind of boring. I thought we were going to have some real drinks.”
Sandy laughed. “Oh, this isn’t the kind of iced tea you’re used to. A Long Island usually has at least 5 different liquors and a splash of coke.” She grinned. “They’ve got plenty of kick. Trust me.”
I didn’t doubt her one bit as Bonnie and I gave each other a look-see and both replied, “Okay, let’s do it.” My wife raised her finger toward the waitress. “We’d also like an order of your special nachos with everything on them!”
I smiled. “That’s a great idea! They’re delicious, but let’s not eat too much. I want to take you guys to Vincent’s on the Lake afterward. We’ll eat dinner there.”
My wife and her blond friend, with a fashionable, 1980s hairdo, grinned. “Sounds good to us, but you're paying!”
“Of course, I will, with my wallet that’s sitting in Bonnie’s purse.” I pointed at the overstuffed, leather bag she frequently kept close to her side.
My sweet wife packed everything into her cavernous purse that she might possibly need to keep herself looking fresh, over the course of that evening. You practically needed a crane to lift the blasted thing.
If I dared say a word about its weight, she’d insist, “It’s only this heavy because you make me carry your wallet all the time.”
We couldn’t have been married more than 5 weeks, but I heard that same comeback at least 30 times, if I heard it once. Knowing better than to utter a word, I bit my tongue. Shut up, Andy, or she’ll make you sit on that thick wad wherever we go -- for the rest of your life.
When the waitress passed out our drinks, I sniffed it first, then took a sip. “Mmm, not bad. You can’t even taste the booze.”
A wry smile creased Sandy’s lips. “That might be, but it’ll knock you on your butt, so you better be careful.”
Coming from the girl Bonnie spent a lot of time getting smashed with over the years, I thought twice about guzzling it too quickly. While we munched the scrumptious nachos, smothered in a spicy queso, seasoned taco meat, onions, salsa, and enough jalapenos to set your tongue on fire, we ordered a second round of those great-tasting Long Island Iced Teas.
As we finished off our last bites, the scattered clouds morphed into billowy pink and lavender puffs overhead, as the massive orange sun ever so slowly dipped behind the silhouette of cedars and live oaks on the distant hilltop. Just as the last remnants of the brightly glowing ball of fire slipped away, one of the waitresses vigorously rang a big, brass bell, hanging from a wooden post.
The resonating dings filled the air, while everybody cheered and clapped to their heart’s content. A perfect ending to our Oasis visit.
When I stood up to leave, the effects of all that liquor weakened my knees. I steadied myself, and the three of us returned to the parking lot and climbed into the red Mercury Cougar. Feeling a tiny bit woozy, I tentatively drove down the curvy roads to Vincent’s on the Lake, a floating restaurant on another part of Lake Travis.
After our new waitress seated us and asked what we’d like to drink. Bonnie ordered a glass of white wine, and Sandy ordered a highball. I should have known better, but like many young men, I was much more foolish than wise. “I’ll have one of your top-shelf margaritas -- frozen -- with salt, please.”
The cute waitress smiled. “Sounds good. I’ll be right back to take your food orders.”
After she returned with our drinks and scribbled down our meal selections, we proceeded to watch the noisy ducks, squabbling next to the deck, while we sipped our alcoholic beverages and chatted.
Before our food arrived, three well-groomed men, who looked to be in their mid-to-late 30s, were seated at a nearby table and promptly proceeded to strike up a conversation with us. They had just returned from spending a day in New Braunfels, where they had competed in a yodeling contest.
A bit skeptical, I closed one eye and stared at them with the other. “You’re pulling our leg. Right? You guys can’t really yodel. Can you?”
That was all the invitation they needed. Before I knew it, they were yodeling like lovesick tomcats, serenading a feline in heat.
Their masterful renditions echoed among the nearby canyon walls, and everybody in the restaurant was staring in our direction. When they finished, delightful applause filled the air. Like those around us, I was duly impressed.
They coaxed the three of us to try, and we gave it our best, but we would have had to pay someone to listen to our sad attempts. None of us were cut out to be yodelers in the least bit.
The three of us continued conversing with the trio of yodelers as we consumed our meal and far too many drinks. About the time I stuck the last fried shrimp in my mouth, my stomach roiled. Suddenly, that last bite decided it wanted to escape back up my throat, so I rushed to the bathroom.
Quite honestly, I’m not sure what really happened between the time I left the table and made it to the men's room. The next thing I knew, one of those yodelers woke me up. I slowly lifted my chin. “What happened?”
He chuckled. “You got sick.”
Opening my eyes wider, I looked around and realized I was hugging the stinking toilet. “Yuck!”
Pushing myself away, I struggled to get to my feet with the help of my new drinking buddy. Totally embarrassed by the whole ordeal, I quickly washed my hands, trudged out the door, and returned to the table with my arm around my helper’s shoulder.
I felt like I’d been run over by a train, and the voice inside my throbbing noggin insisted on calling me an idiot. Lowering my head, I kept thinking. Just take me home. I want to lay down and go to sleep.
Who was I kidding? The girls were all hyped up about going out on a boat our yodeler friends had tied to the dock. While I was embracing the toilet bowl, they were all scheming what to do next.
Unlike my lovely companions, I wasn’t used to drinking so much. While I was ready to hit the sack, they wanted to play. As Bonnie and Sandy kept urging me to take a ride on the boat. I waved them off. “I don’t want to go out on the lake. I want to go to bed.”
Not the type to ever give up, they tugged my arms. “Come on. We’ll have fun!”
I gruffed. “Yeah, right. You guys will have fun. Not me.”
Taking full advantage of my weakened state, the next thing I knew, I was lying on a padded bench in the boat, and the engine was roaring as we sped across the water. None of this was making my stomach feel any better. I’m gonna puke again. I know it.
Clasping my hand over my mouth, I mustered just enough gumption to hold it back. If we would have soared over another wake, part of my dinner would have been flying in all directions.
Fortunately, it wasn’t long before the pilot cut the engine, and the craft slowed to a crawl. Bonnie wiggled my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go skinny dipping.”
“Skinny dipping? No way! I can barely move. I’ll drown out there!”
She frowned. “Oh, you’re just a party pooper.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going in the water. Besides, it's way too dark. You can’t see a doggone thing out here!”
“Okay, if that’s the way you feel about it, but I’m going. The weather’s perfect.”
In a flash, I heard a splash, and Bonnie had disappeared. While Sandy stayed on the boat to keep me company, everybody else abandoned ship.
My lone companion at that moment attempted to soothe me, but she might as well have been talking to a rock. I didn’t understand a word she said and just kept moaning.
Reaching the limits of my patience, I finally mustered enough energy to barely holler, “Bonnie, where are you? Let’s go home.”
At first, I didn’t hear a thing. My heart leapt with fear. Did she drown?
Frightened, I yelled louder. “Bonnie! Where are you?”
Finally, she answered. “I’m over here. Keep talking. It’s so dark; I can’t see the boat.”
I continued to call out to her as she made her way back to the boat. After the yodelers returned, we headed back to Vincent’s.
The tricky part of the evening was just about to get underway. Practically dead to the world, I crawled into the back seat of the Cougar and laid on my back as I groaned. Unfortunately, I was the only one who knew where we were.
Sandy volunteered to drive as I gave her directions from what I could see from my back, while looking out the rear window -- not exactly the best navigator one could hope for. Bonnie's friend was a mess as she covered one eye with her hand while driving rather erratically down the windy road.
Getting more nervous by the second, Bonnie stared at her friend. “Pull over! You can’t drive. Let me do it.”
They swapped positions and Bonnie continued down the back road and up highway 620, while I did the best I could to give her directions. In the meantime, Sandy was getting sicker by the minute and puked out the passenger window. I thanked my lucky stars that my widow was closed, or I’m afraid I would have been getting the worst kind of shower one could imagine.
Despite all this, Bonnie was actually making great progress in moving us ever so closer to home. That was until we slowed for the red traffic light at the intersection of 183 and Spicewood Springs Road.
Out of nowhere, I felt a tunk. Bonnie immediately blurted, “Oh no. I think I just hit that truck ahead of us.”
Those simple words sobered me up for an instant, but as soon as I sat up, everything started spinning about me. I shook my head and blinked a couple of times, trying to clear my vision.
The man in the Chevy pickup ahead of us, opened his door and got out. Looking rather serious, the elder gentleman slowly walked toward the back of his truck and leaned over. He stared at his bumper for a second, then inspected our frontend.
Before I could even gather my senses, Bonnie hopped out of the car. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you.”
His hardened appearance softened ever so slightly as he spoke. “Lady, everything’s okay. There isn’t any damage.” He looked her over. “I think you need to get back in the car and go home.”
Bonnie let out a huge sigh. “Thank you so much. I’ll never do that again. I’m truly sorry.”
She slunk back into the car. After the friendly man turned right and headed off, my suddenly cautious wife slowly continued along 183 toward home.
Her eyes were pinned to the road as we barely crept along the highway. We couldn’t have been moving for more than 5 minutes before Bonnie blurted, “I’m hungry! We’ve got to stop somewhere fast.”
Sandy pleaded, “It’s too late. Let’s just go home. Haven’t you had enough excitement for one day?”
Bonnie wasn’t deterred in the slightest. “Don’t you understand? I’m starving. I’ve got to eat now!”
Just as the words left her lips, she spotted a Jack-in-the-Box up the road and pulled into the driveway. Sandy and I just shook our heads.
After tentatively stopping beside the outdoor menu, Bonnie proceeded to bark her orders, “I want a cheeseburger with everything, but no tomatoes. Also, add some mayonnaise, but….”
A young woman’s voice emanated from the big clown’s mouth and interrupted her. “Sorry, ma’am, but we’re closed.”
Though my lovely wife can exhibit a calming persona when she chooses to, this was not one of those moments. Bonnie yelled at the clown, “What do you mean you’re closed? I’ve got to eat -- NOW! Just take my order!”
A timid voice replied. “I’m really sorry, ma’am, but I can’t. We just shut everything down.”
Fuming, my hungry wife screamed, “You’ve got to be kidding!” She jammed the shift lever in gear and took off like a rocket out the driveway. We hit a few bumps as she cut a sharp turn back onto 183 and headed home.
I didn’t remember much after that point, until I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache. My forehead was pounding so hard, my eyes felt like they were about to explode.
I groaned, “Why did I drink so much? I’m never touching another drop again!”
With my eyes barely open, after doing my business in the bathroom, I shuffled my bare feet out the front door of the house and grabbed the newspaper at the bottom of our steep driveway. As I trudged back up the hill toward the garage, I noticed our trusty car was leaning hard to one side. I must be dreaming.
When I got to the top of the driveway, I stood there and stared at the tires on the passenger side. At that point I knew it was a nightmare alright, but unfortunately, I was wide awake. Both tires were flatter than pancakes.
Worse yet, that entire side of the car was covered in the dried remains of whatever Sandy must have eaten the previous night, before puking her guts out the window. It stunk so bad that I held my nose, while trotting inside, so as not to lose what remained of my own dinner.
Reflecting on our experience, we were very fortunate to make it home that night with no more damage than what I dealt with that morning. Even more importantly, we were lucky nobody got hurt.
Needless to say, after repairing two flat tires and scrubbing that smelly gunk off the car, while suffering the worst hangover I ever experienced, I vowed never to get drunk again. To this day, I’ve kept my promise and prefer not indulging in alcoholic drinks.
Occasionally, I’ll sip on a weak mixed drink, but usually only after a bit of coaxing. I’ve been pretty good at cutting it off, whenever I’ve had enough.
Everybody knows they can count on me to be the designated driver when we go out, where drinking is involved. As a prior drunken offender, I gladly accept that role.
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That's it for now.
I hope you enjoyed the latest of my experiences. This one was a "not proud but thankful to be alive to learn a lesson from my huge mistake" kind of story.
We certainly had a blast up to a point, but there were so many things that could have gone wrong that night! I owe my guardian angel an immense debt for keeping us and those around us safe, during that unfortunate turn of events.
I am also grateful for being able to correct my bad behavior, during the remainder of my life. Thank goodness, I have not had any further inclinations to hug a toilet, since that ugly moment.
Thank you so much for your wonderful support!
Andy Skrzynski