Tuesday, April 23, 2013

I'll Always Remember Them Well, Especially Neal.

         Rule number one for getting through high school without incident is; never ever reveal to your friends that your parents will be out of town for the weekend. Especially if you've ever partied at any of their houses while their parents were gone. In High school you have two options, you can opt out of the party scene all together, that means never attending a single party as long as you live with your parents (this option comes recommended by the way) OR you have the obligation of hosting such an event if your parents go out of town weather you want to or not. The logic makes sense when you think about it. High Schoolers are new to partying so the excitement of such an event is through the roof, and what makes it even more exciting is the opportunity drink indoors is somewhat rare. No one wants to host a party at their parents house, it's an obligation if you expect to be welcome anywhere else.
         I personally hosted about four "official parties" at my parents house while living there and a few small gatherings that didn't really qualify as full on parties. I think when there's under ten patrons and none are female, it's downgraded from "party" to "hanging out, playing video games (with beer)". It was the aftermath one of the official parties that I narrowly escaped a summer of being grounded. It wasn't easy, I had to fabricate quite a tale, and on the fly to accomplish this.
          After a party, it's essential to clean more thoroughly than you've ever cleaned before and then check everything two more times. At least in my case, a single bottle cap that fell behind the couch could be enough evidence to destroy my entire summer vacation even if discovered a year later. After a particularly drunken night, with head aching I cleaned every corner of the house, I found a flattened foil MGD label between the pages of a dictionary on the shelf (Thanks a lot Steven. I don't know why but to this day I blame Steven for that, maybe it's because he peed in a Corona bottle and conned me into drinking it. That kind of behavior can get you blamed for ten things you didn't do as well.....he even put it in the fridge). After combing through every bush in the back yard for cigarette butts, I was certain that I had accounted for everything. One thing I didn't consider was; it's not always what's found that can incriminate you but what's missing.
          In accordance with party protocol, I made sure I wasn't home when my parents got back. It's always best to avoid that awkward moment when they arrive (Me sitting casually on the couch of a freshly cleaned house as my parents start sniffing the smell of still moist Resolve on the part of the carpet that is now mysteriously cleaner than the rest). So I sauntered up to the front yard later in the day to find my dad watering the plants as expected. I chose a simple "Hey dad" to casually greet him with. Instead of getting a "Hey" back he replied with,
          "Where's the wine bottle?" My brain went into instant hyper drive. A response, a good response was required within half of one second at the most. The first thought in my head didn't help, it was a visual flashback of where the wine bottle actually went. I was sitting on one side of the dining room table with everyone at the party standing shoulder to shoulder around it. The only other person sitting was my friend Devon. He was opposite me, the long way. He would take a swig then send the bottle sliding down the table as if it were a bar in an old Western movie where I would catch it and repeat the swig-then-slide motion back to Devon which caused a triumphant eruption of cheers from the audience every time. This proceeded until the finale where Devon took the last swig then turned it upside down over his head with a cheer igniting a short lived dance party to White Zombie.
          "Oh...that wine bottle" I said confidently to buy myself the amount of seconds it took my dad to say,
          "Yeah...THAT wine bottle" It worked, sorta. As he said those four short words affirming his discontent I came up with something. Well... at least something I could fudge my way through over the next ten seconds which by comparison was better than nothing. Coming up with a convincing lie is hard. Making up the next word as the current B.S. word is leaving your lips is harder. The trick is to prioritize the correct cadence and tone over plausibility of the story or you're dead where you stand. One of the few advantages to being a creative person is being able to think quick. It's a skill that I've had an edge on the rest of my peers for as long as I can remember. I'm not the smartest guy on the block, nor am I known for being very reasonable or rational, but I can come up with a halfway decent idea faster than most in almost any circumstance. So I said:
          "That explains why Ryan acted so weird when he left with it". I chose Ryan because he was the closest friend I had that my Dad had not met yet. I knew as soon as I dropped his name I might need him later to corroborate something but didn't want to incriminate someone whom my father already knew for a few different reasons. I should back up here and explain an important detail. My parents said it was OK to have a couple friends over to play video games while they were gone. I used this clause to my full advantage and continued on.
          "I had Mark, Kiel, and Steven over to play video games when Ryan showed up and suggested that we drink the wine bottle he was holding. I thought he brought it over so I told him to take it somewhere else. He must have taken it out of the fridge moments before without me seeing. That would explain why he looked at me weird when he agreed and left with it". Whew! that wasn't half bad. I was somewhat proud of myself but I could tell my dad wasn't going for it.
          "Oh yeah? well if Ryan just came in here and robbed me last night, then I'd like to speak with him. What's his number?" My dad asked. He was calling my bluff, OK don't panic, this is why you chose Ryan over Mark or Steven. Time to fire back and not seem like you're firing back.
          "I don't have his number, I can get it for you though, do you have to call him?", I pleaded. Then I got lucky and my dad bought me a day to tie up the fast amounting loose ends of my tale.
          "As a matter of fact, I'd like to speak with him in person", he proclaimed. I believe my dad chose this route so he could better sniff out if Ryan was lying because it's so hard to tell over the phone. That evening I got a hold of Ryan and over a pretty hilarious ass-kissing negotiation we settled on $50 for him to come apologize to my dad for something he didn't do. It could have been more, and I think Ryan knew that. I believe after all my pathetic pleading he sympathized with my situation and found my tall tale too funny to not be a part of himself. Furthermore, I believe Ryan is of the rare type that actually enjoys this kind of stuff, and is quite good at it.
         The next day, Standing just over six feet tall with slicked back flaming red hair, Ryan showed up to my parents door, hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket, bearing a rehearsed solemn look on his face. He and my dad left for a stroll around the block and returned after the longest fifteen minutes of my life. My dad told me later on that night that his talk with Ryan went very well and that he thinks there's hope for him yet. It was bittersweet victory. My feelings of guilt trumped my thrill of Ryan's success. I was proud of my execution of the fabricated story on the fly, happy that I wasn't grounded, but learned a bigger lesson that day. Lying to your parents whom you'll be connected to somehow for most of the rest of your life, isn't worth it.
          At school the next day I showed up to my standard lunch table a little late and was greeted with smirks and a few pats on the back as I produced a crumpled fifty dollar bill and slid it over to Ryan who had obviously just finished his end of the story to the rest of the table.
          "Ya know, I had a great talk with your pa, It made me realize that I need to change my wondering path and stop to think before I do something as silly as that again" He sarcastically announced so everyone could hear it. I hung my head in shame.          
       
          Another story that came out of the few parties I hosted at my parents house involved Ryan as well but it's mostly about our mutual friend Kiel. Kiel was a good guy. He was an honest friend who meant well, although he had a penchant for getting in trouble at almost every turn in his life. He would blame it on his shit luck but once in a while one of us guys would carefully remind him that it was his poor decision making that landed him in the situation he was currently complaining about. I honestly felt bad for him most of they time because I could see that he wasn't any worse of a guy than the rest of us, he just got caught more often. Of course my sympathetic opinion would change for a few weeks every time his antics involved me. Although even at the time these events occurred, I recognized that I had participated in Kiel's contagious bad decision making somewhere along the way to land myself standing next to him knee deep in freezing mud at five in the morning with a hangover.
          After a long fun get together at my house, most of the patrons had gone home and all that was left were some empty bottles and my core group of buddies crashing on various soft surfaces around the house. I was passed out in my own bed that at the moment was being shared by two or three others as well when I got a tap on my shoulder. It was Kiel.
          "Hey Jon" Kiel whispered, "Ryan needs to get home, can I take your van to go drop him off?"
          "Are you kidding? you've been drinking and that's my mom's van, Ryan can walk" I replied.
          "It's four in the morning I haven't drank for three hours, Ryan's mom wakes up in a little while and is gonna flip if Ryan's not there, I promise I'll just go there and back and drive the speed limit the whole way" Kiel pleaded. Now this had bad idea written all over it but I was half asleep and also felt that Ryan would have done it for me. I also appreciated Kiel's dedication as a friend to take on the cause on behalf of Ryan. The camaraderie we all shared in looking out for each other seemed to trump any common sense I had at the moment and I gave him the keys. I went back to sleep immediately. It seemed like no time had passed at all when I was woken up by the same tapping from Kiel followed by the familiar whisper.
           "Jon, Jon wake up", He insisted.
           "What, I'm sleeping, what is it? Is Ryan home? is-is everything ok?" I stuttered. The sleeping bodies around me started groaning.
          "Yeah, Ryan's home everything's fine, It's just I need your dad's truck now, The van got stuck in some mud and I can't get it out. I need the truck to pull it out."
          -"Mud?? Where? why is it stuck in mud? what the hell?" I snapped. The groaning around me had stopped and turned into fake sleeping noises to avoid recruitment for the issue at hand. Kiel continued;
          "Well you know that dirt road behind your house? -after I dropped off Ryan I thought I'd take it for a little off-roading you know?"-
          -"No I don't know, you said straight there and straight back! Off-roading? Dammit Kiel!" I barked growing louder in my tone. I was up now and putting my jeans on in a panic. Kiel continued on a little about how the heavy rain made for unusual conditions for another few sentences before I told him to shut his mouth. The sun was coming up now turning the heavy rain clouds from giant pissing blobs of darkness into giant grey pissing blobs of darkness. We drove my dad's '83 Toyota pickup truck to the site where I found my poor mom's van in a puddle of mud so deep that you couldn't see the wheels.
           I yelled something like "Ahhhh, Kiel! What have you done? to which he went on with his story about how whenever he tried to drive out of it it just dug deeper.
           "Shut up Kiel!" I shouted, quickly reenforcing the Kiel-silence clause.
           We used some tie downs to hook up the truck to the van and started trying to pull it out. The tires of the truck were just spinning and getting nowhere. We worked for hours, freezing cold in knee deep mud digging a trench for the van to hopefully use to crawl out. We tried everything we could think of finally landing on the bright idea to have Kiel jump up and down in the back of the pickup while I gassed it. Every time he landed it would get just enough traction to pull the van an inch forward. Then a loud snap! The truck heaved forward and jumping Kiel tumbled out the back, landing in the mud. I was sure the tow straps had broke.
          "Did the Tow straps break?" I shouted without asking if Kiel was alright.
          "Nope, tow straps are fine, looks like they ripped off the bumper of the truck though". Kiel commented from a puddle of mud behind the truck. I wanted to cry. I didn't though and we kept at it. We threw the bumper in the back, tied the straps to a more secure part of the truck and went for another attempt at the hopping method. After a few more minutes of little inches forward matched with cheers from a bouncing Kiel, like Luke's X-wing fighter, the van gurgled out of the Dagobah system victoriously. It even seemed to float there for a moment as John Williams scored the triumphant moment in my head.
          We drove the van and the truck to West Seattle, about a 45 minute drive from my house, leaving all my partied out friends to sleep the morning away. It was in West Seattle where Kiel knew a guy who owned a welder. we explained our situation exhausted and covered in still wet mud. The guy smiled and helped us out. He welded the bumper back on and we took both vehicles through a car wash. We returned to my parents house where people were just waking up and making coffee. Somehow less than an hour after it was all over, I was able to laugh about it with Kiel and everyone else. We all helped to clean the house and everything worked out. I thank Yoda.    

          One of my most memorable stories from my High school days did not involve drinking, lying, or even any of the friends I typically hung out with. It started when a group of my friend's friends and I went on a three day backpacking trip in the Alpine lakes wilderness about an hour and a half drive outside of Seattle. I was the youngest and was tagging along with my slightly older friend Jared and three of his buddies from another High school whom I hadn't met prior to the trip. Cory and Nick were great guys, Neal was not. He was overweight and talked/complained a lot....OK, more than a lot. We couldn't really shut him up because he had just gotten his driver's license hence making the whole trip possible.
          Neal was complaining about lack of breaks, pack pain, and just about everything else before we hit mile marker one. Cory and I ended up marching a head of the rest to avoid Neal's external monologue. We eventually got about four miles in and a few thousand feet up. The rest of the guys showed up and we set up camp on a large flat portion of grass overlooking a beautiful lake. After surveying our food count versus our intake thus far we realized that we messed up and food was going to be scarce. Luckily, one of the freeze dried meals Jared brought said it could feed five on the side of the bag. There happened to be one pot large enough to accommodate it so we were all pretty psyched. The stew took about a half an hour to make. The sun was setting and the scene was five guys frothing at the mouth, taking turns to put their head over the steam to smell it. After each whiff, the 'smeller' would let out a long "mmmmm" as large eyes looked on as if to make sure the verdict of impending deliciousness was still the same. It was Jared's stew so it was up to him to say when it was officially ready to eat. The time for devouring was getting close, I looked over at Neal sitting a little bit behind the rest of us unnaturally quiet and noticed in the dimming light that he was shoving two cold hot dogs down his throat at once.
          "Hey what the hell? Neal's eating hot dogs!", I proclaimed. Everyone turned around and Cory continued,
         "Neal, you didn't disclose that you had hot dogs when we surveyed our food". With his mouth absolutely full he protested,
          "They my haw dogs!"
          "That's fine, more stew for us". Jared interjected.
          "Whatheva, fine, I didn wan your thtew anyway", He bickered as he choked down the last bite. It was almost completely dark at this point and the following event was debated over for the rest of the trip. I'm not sure how it happened because I didn't see it, but I heard it. Apparently Neal chose a precarious path through the camp site on his way to go relieve himself and "accidentally" kicked over the stew, spilling it everywhere. On one hand I can't understand how someone could be so careless and stupid but on the other hand there was no reason for him to do it intentionally. He didn't seem like the vindictive type and the hot dog argument didn't go far enough into the anger zone to warrant aggressive behavior. My stance on the matter was that I believed him that it wasn't intentional, which of course makes him clumsy and stupid. He didn't get chewed out immediately because it had spilled onto a flat rock. After a two second collective groan, we put our ass-beating instincts on hold to slurp up the puddle of stew as best as we could before it had completely mingled with the earth around it. By the time there was no more edible stew left to slurp, the argument started. Neal was eventually ordered by the jury to reveal the rest of his hot dog stash and disperse them amongst us which seemed to satiate our thirst for his blood.
         To sleep, the five of us crammed into two tents. I was in a tent with Jared while Cory, Nick, and Neal slept the other one. I was about to fall asleep when Nick spoke up from the other tent said in a room tone voice,
          "Hey guys can you hear me ok?"
          "Yeah, what's up?" Jared replied.
          "Well, I was just wondering if you guys had heard about what happened out on this trail about a month ago?" I perked up, something had happened? Why was I just being told this now? What was it? He had my full attention. I felt pretty dumb about two minutes into the story when I realized where it was going. I can't remember every detail but I'll do my best. The abridged version went something like this:
           "Well, I read in the paper before we left that about a month ago there was this hiker dude and his girlfriend hiking around here. The weather wasn't as good as it is now and it started to rain so they pitched a tent to wait it out. With nothing else to do they decided to have sex..." A few snickers could be heard from the other tent as well.
          "Hey stop, this really happened -let me finish... So they got naked and started doin' it and lightning struck their tent and burned them both really seriously, the girl died right away actually." The laughter stopped.
          "Once the dude regained consciousness he tried to run for help but when he tried to move he realized his junk was fused to his girlfriend from the lightning.."
          "what the fuu.." Jared whispered.
          "..So he picked her up and started carrying her naked down the hill and tripped down one of the steep parts, hit his head on a rock, and was out cold with his dead girlfriend still attached. When he woke up he puked all over her face at the site of her dead body. Just then a bear came around the corner and started licking up the puke. After he ate it all, he still wasn't satisfied so he began eating her head starting with crunching her skull" The laughter started up again, this time joined by Jared and I as there was no doubt left amongst us to the authenticity of the story.
          "Wait Wait, there's more, guys this really happened", He continued, "..So he shouted real loud and scared the bear away and continued running down the hill. About a mile later he finally found other hikers. It was a group of Catholic school girls on a church outing."
          "Bwaaa ha ha ha" we collectively lost it at this point and I can't remember if the story when on from there but I'm sure if anything, it just got more ridiculous. I don't know if I ever laughed harder. As with all great stories, 90% was the impeccable delivery of the speaker of course. It probably helped that I had just met the guy and didn't have his B.S. figured out yet.
          The next day was pretty fun for most of our daylight hours. We decided to not hike any further in because of our food situation and the fact that the lake we were at needed swimming. There were waterfalls and cliffs to jump from. The weather was in the upper eighties. It couldn't have been a better day until we heard it.
          "Yeaoooowww!" Shrieked Neal from around a bend in the rocks. We rushed over to him at the base of a twelve foot waterfall screaming in pain. We later found out he was attempting to rock climb up it and fell about three feet from the top. I noticed the water around him was turning bright red and got really scared. We rushed down to him and discovered he had a bad injury. A chunk of his flesh was missing from his leg right above his knee about one inch by one inch wide and about a half inch deep. It was bleeding profusely. Nick had a cell phone that didn't work up there but he had a hunch that if he climbed up to a nearby peak it might get service. We consoled Neal and took turns holding pressure on his wound until Nick returned. He came back successful and said that search and rescue was on their way. I guess I didn't know what to expect until I saw the helicopter come over the hill. It felt like we were in a war when the noisy chopper lowered down a basket for us to hoist Neal into. They left as fast as they arrived and there we were, dazed and confused.
          "Well I guess we should go home now" Said Jared.
          "Shit! they left us with his 90 pound back pack!" shouted Nick. We took turns carrying it down the mountain grumbling the entire time about Neal. The whole thing felt like we were in the movie "Stand By Me" only we weren't hunting for a dead body, just trying to have a good time. Besides Jared, I never saw those guys again but I'll always remember them well, especially Neal.  
   
         
 
        

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

The Van Perspective.

          I recently read a blog entry by someone who spent the last 30 years in the advertising industry getting paid for his creative ideas. The overall tone painted a very bleak picture of where creatives have a place in the current industry and where it's heading. He mentioned a few times how the Zeitgeist of his line of work occurred in the eighties and now a creative mind is just another commodity. He ended with a note that when read between the lines was a suggestion to others like him to spend more time with your family and if you can, do something else for a living. I've heard different renditions of this perspective from people who are still struggling to make something of themselves and also from a few who have. I'm going to take the next few paragraphs to offer my own perspective for what it's worth, and you guessed it, it incorporates living in a van.
          I'm going to tackle this "we're past the Zeitgeist, so why start now?" notion first. Let's assume that that is true for starters. Why would I argue with someone who's done it for 30 years, lived through the changes, and saw it all first hand? Is there anything I can do about that? I certainly don't have any access to a working time machine, so no, their isn't. I often consider the "glass half full or half empty" analogy in my daily life. The way I figure it is nothing is fair, ever. So forget about fairness, that's not life. For the few sperms that are lucky enough to find an egg in the first place, some get hatched in a North Korean concentration camp. Lately that one has been my go-to whenever I'm feeling like I'm getting shit on (at least I'm not one of those poor people).
          Speaking in terms of making money, I wasn't born very lucky. I was born a creative person and according to the blogger I referenced, as far as making money and the ease of which that will come to me, being this way is a curse. I will be taken advantage of whenever possible and as industry/technology progresses it will only get harder. I apparently value people's positive reactions to my work more than money (ok that's true) and thus get trampled on in the free market. Does that suck a lot? yes. Do I wish it was different? yes again. By all fairness should it be different? Shouldn't people be answering to the idea man and not the other way around? yes, I believe so. Out of a little over seven billion people on this planet ricocheting off each other like charged electrons around a nucleus, am I going to be able to change the way things are. NO! Instead of choosing another career path to be comfortable I decided to place money lower on the totem pole of important things in life. Easier said than done as even basic necessities cost money. If you've been reading my blog from the start you see where I'm going with this. That answer: Live in a Van. Did I mention that this blog entry was a two part-er? I'm going to shift gears now and tell a short story about a slice of life that doesn't have anything crazy happening in it. No narrow escapes, or eccentric people encounters. It's an example of a casual day that could have gone unnoticed in a van dwellers life but the reason I remember it so well is nothing goes unnoticed in a van dwellers life. That's part of the philosophy, you learn to appreciate things that say, a North Korean concentration camp refugee might appreciate.
          It was a sunny fall day when I woke up next to my girlfriend, Rachel in my comfy van bed. I took a moment to appreciate her as I always do because not many smart, talented, and beautiful girls would move into a van with their boyfriend in the first place. Sure I could say I'm lucky but I like to look at the van as a giant filter that scares off all the others early on so the best ones are the only options from the get go. You know that if your girlfriend moves into your van with you that real or fake diamonds on the engagement ring aren't going to be an issue down the line for instance.
          I fired up the engine just to drive it two blocks while she still lied in bed stretching and yawning. I parked next to a park and about ten feet away was a bench where I began setting up the propane stove. Cheese and avocado omelets were on the menu this morning. After that we went to the gym for a shower but started with our ritual of a ten minute soak in the hot tub of course. Noon was upon us now and we sat in a coffee shop sipping our drinks which was the first I reached for my wallet so far.
          "What should we do today?" she asked. "It's too nice to waste the sun, the rainy season will be here soon" she warned. I had an idea:
          "Let's go to Stevenson, It's a gorgeous little town only about 40 minutes away from here," I said. Stevenson stays quaint because most people don't want to pay the dollar toll go over the bridge to get to it. West Coasters hate tolls even if it's cheaper than a Popsicle.
          "I shot a wedding out there once and drove around a little to explore it while I was there. It's a beautiful place," I continued.
          "That sounds nice, I'm tired though and I don't know if I want an adventure today", she replied. We were up late the night before and the sun had woke us up, a common inconvenience of sleeping in a van. We had sleeping masks but didn't always remember to wear them.
          "How about this, we go to Stevenson, find a park, and take a nap in the van. After we wake up we'll go out to dinner at one of the restaurants overlooking the river." I enthusiastically suggested. She agreed and everything went as planned. It was a wonderful day and the van helped every step of the way. Slightly more than a regular car in gas money to get there but the amount saved by not getting a hotel room for a few hours for our nap made it a wash. Money aside, who would ever get a hotel room to take a nap? it just doesn't happen. under non-van circumstances, I would have just dealt with being tired all day and as a result probably would have become irritable, I know myself at least that much.  
          That evening we decided to sleep in Stevenson for the rest of the night because after all we lived in our van. A few extra drinks helped make our decision as well, but once again, the van gave us that option -to be able to responsibly indulge in that last round. That was about a year ago now and I am currently engaged to Rachel. We are getting married this fall.                          

Saturday, April 6, 2013

The Story of Pirate Jones.

          His name was not Jones, I can't remember what his name was and it's probably better that way. I only knew him for an evening but that was enough. I actually really liked the guy even if he came so very close to killing us both. Unlike Pirate Mike (See previous blog entry, "The Story of Pirate Mike") , Pirate Jones was a real pirate. How real you ask? Well, he had an eye patch, He lived on a boat, and he narrowly avoided death at every turn. How much more qualifications does one need?
          Our story begins in Seattle. I was married at the time and my (now ex) wife had an annual weekend long family reunion on Andersen Island located in South Puget Sound. The only way to access the island, like so many other islands in Puget Sound was by ferry. The ferry departed from Steilacoom, traveled a little over three miles to reach it, and stopped running at 8:00 pm on weekends. It was Saturday and Leah, (my ex) wanted to get out there early to see her family. I complained because that evening was the only time during the week the other two members of my newly formed band were able to practice. I called up Darren, my guitarist and he agreed to drive me down to catch the last ferry after practice. Leah left with her sisters after reluctantly agreeing to this plan. Practice went well and afterwards Darren and I got in his car and he drove me towards Steilacoom as promised. We got on the highway and the one factor I forgot to consider in my plan made itself very known; Traffic. I figured for a moment that because it was the weekend there wouldn't be a rush hour but growing up in Seattle I should have known that all hours were rush hour. Seattle has some of the worst traffic congestion in the nation. We inched forward at old-lady-walker pace for about an hour until it cleared up enough to actually shift gears. From there Darren expertly weaved through cars to get to the dock as it was looking like we still might make it. We curved around the final bend and saw that the ferry hadn't left yet, we had made it! Darren dropped me off and I ran down the dock. I got to the gate and it was closed. Just beyond, the ferry was pulling away at that moment. We had not made it, and now Darren was gone. With no cell phone and only $25 cash, I went to the bar. I sat there nursing a beer contemplating my options, which I really didn't have any of besides just sitting there and hoping my luck would change. I watched the sun disappear through the large windows until I could no longer see the shape of the island on the scenic horizon. I had no where to sleep, I was getting hungry, and worst of all Leah was going to be very angry with me as she wasn't too fond of the band practice plan to begin with. I eventually struck up a conversation with the bar tender and explained to him my predicament. He pointed his finger to a man with long grey hair and an eye patch drinking by himself and said that he knew he had a boat. I cautiously approached him and it wasn't long before we were chatting like old friends. He was very drunk and confessed that in addition to alcohol, he was also on a lot of pain meds on account of his bum leg. (Did I mention he had a limp as well? -Yeah Pirate.) It was getting later and the bar was about to close so Jones and his boat became my only ticket. I offered him my remaining $20 to take me to the island which thankfully he promptly agreed upon and we walked together down to the dock where his boat was.
          "There's my boat" he said as he pointed to an aging yaught looking craft. I immediately felt better about everything, this was going to be fun. I boarded the boat which was a mess as it doubled as his home. He began to piss into the water and while doing so lost his balance, hopped a few times on his good leg while traversing sideways down the narrow dock, still pissing the whole time and caught himself inches away from falling in. I knew my last chance to back out was approaching but I didn't know what else I was going to do at this hour and was in the mood for an adventure anyways. Once safely on the boat, Jones moved some trash aside and pulled out a small outboard motor.
         "Yep, there's just enough gas in here to do it." he said after examining it. I laughed nervously and replied, "You're not gonna use that thing to move this boat......are you?" He laughed a hearty pirate holler and said,
          "This boat stays at the dock, where I live. It hasn't moved in 13 years. We taking that boat, it jus got a small hole in it, that's all." He pointed to the dark water next to the boat. I realized then that the man was not just drunk and high, but also hallucinating and thought he had another boat. I didn't know what else to say so I asked quite bluntly,
          "What boat?" Jones replied, "That one thar, I told you it got a small hole in it." I peered over the edge and looked down and sure enough about 8 feet below us among the seaweed rested a small piece of aluminum in the shape of a boat on the sea floor. At that moment it jerked upwards as Jones tugged on a rope it was tied to above water.
          "You gonna give me a hand?" he asked. Not knowing what else to do, I began helping him. Once it was out of the water he quickly attached the outboard motor to the back rim and fired it up. He handed me an empty cool whip container and yelled over the noise, "You bale I'll steer, but don't worry as long as we be movin' it don take in no water." I looked at the boat and saw the reason it was 8 feet below me moments ago. There was a golf ball sized hole near the front and as I was starring at it, was taking in water rapidly.
          "Well start balin!" he shouted as he hopped into the back. I frantically started scooping out the water with my cool whip container so my new friend wouldn't sink. To my surprise, I was able to stay on top of it as long as I kept baling. Pirate Jones began yelling over the sound of the motor again, "When you get in you have to stay in the middle and don't lean to either side or we flip....well, get in!"
          I looked out into the black abyss of the ocean at night and could faintly see a few dim lights that represented Andersen Island about three miles away. I knew that this was the moment, the last moment I would have to make any meaningful choices about my fate for the next half hour or so. I did want an adventure after all. It came down to Pirate Jones' perceived confidence in the whole operation that tipped the scale and I hopped in. The metal skiff wobbled as he had warned me it would and the second I sat down we took off at full speed. True to his word, the boat stopped taking in water once we were on the move. With the wind blowing at my face and the lights of the dock quickly fading I decided I was having fun. In fact I was overjoyed, and for a brief moment felt invincible. Then the small light we had suddenly went out and Pirate Jones shouted,
          "Duck!" I didn't question why and ducked as if a Whale was breaching over the boat and was about to bite my head off. "No, just lower your head so you don't block my light", he continued then put the flashlight he had back into his mouth so he could keep steering and we kept going. Fifteen minutes went by at full speed without incident as I pondered all the possible dangers lurking in the water. Puget Sound is home to the Giant Octopus, the largest breed of Octopus in the world as well as the gathering area for a Super-pod of Orca whales. A Super-pod is what it's called when ten or so Pods of whales join together once a year and frolic by the hundreds for a few months. These are both magnificent creatures but not something I want written on my tomb stone underneath "Died of stupidity". Then Suddenly, the light went out again, only this time the motor shut off as well and the boat came to a halt within half a second leaving us in dead silence and pitch black. Was this it? A mile and a half from the shore in each direction with frigged water temperatures. It wasn't going to be a sea monster that kills me, I was going to drown. The story would be three pages into the news paper, my family would mourn and that was that. I began baling the water out once again and slowly turned around so I wouldn't tip us hoping to see Jones alive and in the boat. He was both and he still had his flashlight in his mouth but was pointing it straight down and fussing with something. "What happened" I asked as calmly as I could while baling frantically.
          Jones removed the flashlight from his mouth and replied, "Oh jus gonna take a break for a bit and smoke". I looked closer and saw that he wasn't fussing with the motor but rolling a joint instead. My instincts turned to survival mode and I decided it was best not to "rock the boat" metaphorically and literally. Any argument out here would compromise my odds of survival greatly so I continued to bale in silence.
          "Nope" was the only thing I said for the remainder of the trip in response to his offer of a drag off his joint. After having his refer he eventually fired up the engine again and we continued our journey. If he hadn't I would not be here to write any of this down. He dropped me off safely at the dock, I made sure he had the cool whip container, we said our goodbyes, and I watched him for about five minutes until I couldn't see the glow of the flashlight anymore. That was the last I ever saw of Pirate Jones.