That Night

March 6th, 1992.
It has been a date that will live in infamy for myself and a gaggle of my closest friends. Over the next few entries, I am going to attempt to dust the cobwebs off of my memory and recount the details of that particular night. This past March 6th was a Friday and marked the 17th anniversary of a night all of us will no doubt remember.
Since my memory has faded worse than my hairline some items are either what I can remember or unintentionally omitted due to my waning memory. This is a true story and based all on true events. Since the statute of limitations on any legal infraction committed that night has long since passed and all charges have been expunged after our 18th birthdays, I have changed no names, places, or events.

Like most of the best laid plans conceived by a group of teenagers, the night of March 6th, 1992 was born over Tater Tots and some undistinguished protein during high school lunch period. Not unlike ‘The Perfect Score’ and the premise of hijacking the answers to the Sat’s, my friends and I had decided to get fall down drunk that Friday night(okay, it was nothing like Perfect Score). So Monday the 2nd of March, during our sophomore year at Antietam High School(which had attendance equivalent to the population of a fringe town in Alaska) my friends and I hatched our plan to attend that Friday’s dance hammered drunk.
While my friends and I imbibed in some illicit behavior during our years spent as minors, you will find, amid the debauchery exterior, students who were class valedictorian, student council president, class president, and all county scholastic athletes. We were all on the College Prep course our Guidance Councilor put us in at the end of the 9th grade. We had some redeeming qualities. That week, we had just decided a weekend spent foggy with booze honoring the age old tradition of underage drinking was in order.
During lunch, the week leading up to Friday we debated the where, when, and how’s of our plan. Where was the booze coming from, where would we be meeting, how do we get to the dance. By that Wednesday, before our pony sized cartons of Icy Tea’s were empty, we had figured out the logistics of our plan we all had agreed on how utterly flawless and innately brilliant it was. It was surmised that our forethought and planning surely mirrored the Fat Man and Little Boy planning committee.
The plot involved stealing a bottle of Seagram’s finest whiskey from Matt’s house, making our way down to Antietam Lake(where the cover of night would provide the proper concealment for our bent elbows), make our way the few blocks through Stone Creek to our high school gymnasium for some dancing to Ce Ce Peniston and En Vogue. As a bonus we would attempt to remain conscious enough to hang on for the obligatory ‘Stairway to Heaven’ grand finale. We would end the night spent at a friends house sleeping off the remaining effects of the Seagram’s(and possibly drinking some more).
As with most logic stemming from the brains of sixteen year old boys, this one was about to go down in a Hindenburg type disaster(I still swear I heard someone gasp “Oh the humanity” at one point during that night). Ignoring the legal, parental, and school ramifications, as well as our flawed adolescent intelligence, as the bell rang for the end of school that Friday, the ten of us were about to make history.

….to be continued.


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