I am sitting in a little bar on the west side of Tucson. It is called the Turquoise Turtle and my big brother and I were pounding down Cutty Sark scotch like it was water. After about three hours, we got into some sort of an argument. My bro has always maintained his physique and strength, but I was 21 years old and in the best shape of my life.
You might think that my brother would take it easy on his little brother, but guess again.
We got into an old-fashioned wild west saloon brawl, knocking over tables and drinks, and I got bloodied up nicely. My perfect nose was broken, my bedroom eyes were blackened, and I was temporarily out of business.
I must have looked like hell, so what do I do?
I became smooth-talking Romeo of the West, and decided to try and pick up a beautiful little University of Arizona co-ed who was perched on a barstool. She looked at me like I was a stain on her prom dress.
Turns out she was not a co-ed. She just wore the clothes with the name on them.
She was an ACLU attorney named Ginger.
We got to talking and I thought I was getting closer to The Prize. I told her I had some Thai Stick and asked if she wanted to partake.
I bought her another drink and said I would be back as I went out to my truck to get my weed. I looked like I had just been mugged, and when I got to my truck, I slipped and fell in the dusty parking lot.
A huge dude approached me.
Huge and not fat.
“Here, grab my hand,” he instructed.
He picked me up and I insisted I repay him by sharing some Stick.
We got beaucoup stoned and he hopped out to go into the bar. He said he was meeting his wife here and that she had just got off work as an attorney.
I told him I would be in after a few minutes and he left. As soon as he opened the door of the bar, my ass was history.
I never had one more drop of Cutty, but I did do some damage several years later, on some (supposedly) 200-year old scotch which I paid 500.00 for a two-ounce draft, and it was worth every cent.
I showed up to court for what would not turn out to be my fourth DUI in a month. I was being charged with too many serious charges to beat. I absolutely knew that I had run out of luck.
I thought for sure I was a goner.
My court appearance was at 10 am so I went to my bar and started drinking at 6 am. I got blasted and showed up at 9:55 sharp.
I sat in waiting as they called the cases. I was third in line and my attorney was prepared to fight a battle he would surely lose and my ass would be headed to Carson City.
Not so fast.
I rose to my feet as the judge instructed, and listened as he called for Officer Stewart, my arresting officer.
He called for him four times.
I headed back to the bar to celebrate.
This was one of the songs on the jukebox: