Relationships

1973, Ninth grade, two misguided youths.
Gary and I were up to our usual mischief one evening. This usually involved figuring out how to “cop a buzz”. Only weeks ago, I had my first taste of beer and the corresponding feeling that went along with it. I knew I liked it but I didn’t know how to control it. Hence, the McDonald’s Story.

I was over Gary’s house, hanging out as you might say. Gary’s house had an extra refrigerator down in the basement stocked with beer. His father bought cases of beer and kept the fridge mostly full. Gary and I, being exceptional bright teenagers, figured out that Gary’s father didn’t keep to close of an eye on the number of beers in the fridge.

Over the years, Gary and I had to do complicated math problems to figure out how many beers we could snatch out of the fridge without his dad catching us. It went something like this: there are 25 beers in the fridge, if we take away 8 beers that leaves 17 beers left and Gary’s dad won’t notice. See, there was some use in taking all those math classes after all.

On this particular evening, we took our acquired beers to our favorite place to drink them. It was our only place to drink them since we were 15. The Woods. Yes, we would hide out in the woods and drink our beers. We also topped our beers off with another nasty teenage habit, smoking cigarettes. Yes, we were cool. Hiding out in the woods in the dark, drinking stolen beers and cigarettes. Yeah!

After finishing our 4 beers a piece, we then began walking around the neighborhood enjoying our buzz, goofing off. That would have been the end of it except for a complete stroke of luck. Two sisters, out driving the family sedan spotted us and pulled up beside us. I mean how they could resist two 9th grade young men out for a walk, smoking our cool cigarettes. We were babe magnets!

The teenage sisters, one of whom was our age and her older 17 year old sister, asked us what we were doing? I don’t think the word “chillin” had been invented yet, but they got the idea. They asked us if we wanted to go to McDonalds. We calmly said yes and got in the back seat of their family car. I am thinking: DAMN, I HAVE HIT THE JACKPOT! I got a beer buzz, I have access to transportation other than my bike, and I have two hot babes in the front seat (P.S. All babes are hot when you are a 15 year old boy/man), this is GREAT!

As a side note, going to McDonald’s in the early 1970’s was special. They were not on every street corner back then. Our family went to McDonald’s about once a month as a BIG family treat.

So we are cruising to Mickey D’s and of course the conversation wasn’t really flowing to well with the ladies. For one, we were drunk. For two, we were inexperienced teenagers, awkward at best with conversation. Our game plan was that the girl’s clothes would just accidentally fall off. I decided to let actions speak louder than words. I pulled out one of my cigarettes and lit it up. I thought “yeah, this will show them I am so cool”.

Within a few minutes of going through the drive-thru, we had our orders of food. I had ordered a hamburger and a milkshake. I was time to munch out. “Cool Dale” threw his cigarette butt out the partially rolled down window but “Drunk Dale” missed. The cigarette bounced off of the glass, back into the car and rolled down a crack in the back seat. Smoke started rising from within the deep crevasse of seat. The girls started screaming, “Get that fire put out!” and also something melodramatic about how their dad was going to kill them. “Quick, quick, get the fire put out!” All I could think of to do was pour my chocolate milkshake down the crevasse, which I did. It stopped the fire instantly. I viewed that as a success. The girls didn’t view it the same way. They started really screaming at me now as milkshake was dumped all around the back seat, something about ruining the fabric and again with the drama of how their dad was going to kill them. “Quick, wipe up the spilt milkshake!” I’m thinking “Damn, they are bitchy, put out the fire, wipe up the milkshake, bossing me around.” I looked in my McDonald’s bag for napkins, there were no napkins. There was absolutely nothing that I could wipe up a milkshake with. Yet, the girls were continuously yelling about wiping it up now! Being a resourceful soul, I reached into my Mc D bag, grabbed my hamburger bun and began wiping up the milkshake with the bun. I figured the bun would soak up the milkshake. Pretty smart, eh? Once again, the girls didn’t see it my way and went ballistic. Now there was hamburger bun smashed into “fabric” with the milkshake, and just a hint of ketchup, mustard and pickle.

That was it, nothing more could have been done. It was a very quiet ride home. The girls just accepted the fact that their dad was going to kill them. They could just blame it all on me and beg for mercy. Gary and I were let out on the sidewalk where we were picked up.

I seen the girls at school a few days later, so their father didn’t actually kill them. They refused to acknowledge my existence. I accepted that as they were a little too mature and sophisticated for me. I don’t blame them. They just couldn’t resist hanging out with a cool, cigarette smoking dude.