Acid Heroes

August 2, 2014

Drugs in general are pretty stupid, but crystal meth has to be among the stupidest

Filed under: Backwords from Ace — Ace Backwords @ 9:12 pm
Tags: , , , ,

For some reason this  morning I was thinking about some of the stupid things I’ve done when I’m drunk or stoned.  Probably because I did something stupid last night while I was drunk.  Generally, I’m a functional alcoholic and druggie.  But every now and then I’ll cross that line and do something stupid.

I remember this one time, I had been up for three days tweaking non-stop on crystal meth.   I was in the middle of a brief flirtation with meth. One of the stupidest drugs known to man. Plus, meth has that deadly combination of making you stupid while also giving you massive amounts of energy to act out your stupidity.  A bad combination.

Anyways, I’m in a men’s room stall on the campus, sitting on the toilet and snorting up lines of speed on my hand-mirror.  When I got the bright idea to start working on a collage.  I used to like to do that when I was stoned.  I’d cut out color photos from magazines and alter them and scotch-tape them together in these intricate patterns to make these bizarre pictures.  I’d work on them  for hours and hours at a stretch.  working and re-working them obsessively.  Cutting and re-taping the pictures in all sorts of patterns.  And the layers of scotch-tape would make the picture glisten and twinkle in the light in all sorts of cool psychedelic hues.  I’d become obsessed with lining up the photos exactly right.  Doing and re-doing it until I got it lined up exactly right.  Though I’d quickly change my mind — it was a semi-millimeter off — and I’d re-cut it and re-tape it and start all over again.  Like I said:  stupidity.   At a certain point, the collage would in fact look incredibly cool.  But by the time I got done re-working the picture it would be a hopeless botch of smudges and smears.  At which point I’d start over on a new collage.

So anyways,  I’m sitting there in the stall, and I have my scissors out and my scotch-tape and my magazines.  And I’m cutting and taping away.  And whenever my inspiration would start to flag, I’d just take another toot off of my hand-mirror and I’m suddenly Rembrandt all over again.  Not that I was keeping track, in fact I was completely oblivious, but I must have been in that stall for four or five hours, merrily amusing myself.  Things were going great.  Unfortunately my artistic reverie was interrupted by a loud knock on the bathroom stall.

“IT’S THE POLICE.  WE’VE HAD A COMPLAINT THAT YOU’VE BEEN IN THAT STALL FOR A LONG TIME!”

So now it’s my worst nightmare.  Confronted by the police while glazed on drugs, in the middle of doing something weird, while having drugs on my possession.  The sobering possibility of handcuffs and jail-time flashed across my mind.

“Oh, um, I’ve been feeling sick, officer,” I said.  “I’ll be right out.”

“Okay.  We’ll be waiting for you out in the hallway,” said the cop.  I heard the men’s room door open and close.

I quickly packed up all my crap, took my little bag of meth and hid it inside a newspaper and slipped it into the next stall, splashed some water on my face, checked my face in the mirror to make sure I looked semi-human, and staggered out to the hallway to face the music.  I obviously had some explaining to do, and only hoped I had an explanation.  I mean, I hate talking to the cops in the best of circumstances, let alone when I’m completely deranged on drugs.  It’s one of those situations where I just start talking and I have no idea what might come out of my mouth.  I forget exactly what I told the cop.  Something about how I had a bad case of the runs and had been in and out of the toilet for hours and how I was a hard-working street vendor and well-respected member of the community.  “I’m a good American just like you, officer.”

Much to my surprise, the cop actually bought my line of bullshit.  And after apologizing numerous times for having caused an inconvenience, he let me go without even so much as a warning.

After the cop was finally out of view I let out a “WHEW!”  that probably could have been heard for a block.  I got my ass out of there.  And didn’t come back until several hours later.  To retrieve the newspaper with my little bag of meth in it.  And I found a safer and more secure spot to continue with my artistic creations for the next 10 or 12 hours.

So, as usual, I didn’t learn much from the experience.

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2 Comments »

  1. The stupid idea was staying in the stall, why didn’t you go on campus at the lower level or the benches on the upper level around the corner and just merrily toot away and cut pictures to your hearts content?

    Comment by obadiahorthodox — September 19, 2014 @ 8:05 pm | Reply

  2. Me in Evans Hall on computers for days

    Comment by cmc — March 15, 2015 @ 2:42 am | Reply


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