Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, in a land far, far away, I was 20 years old and drinking beer at a party 15 miles from where I live. There was a party at a house located on a gravel road outside of Burlington, IA.
Some of you may be thinking, “wait, you were 20 years old, and drinking at a party??? That’s illegal buddy!!!” And for those of you thinking that, I would just like to inform you that I have never claimed to be a saint. In fact, I have never claimed to be anything more than a dumbass.
I am not trying to condone under age drinking in this story either. In fact, I wouldn’t recommend it. Some of the most idiotic decisions I have made in my life were alcohol-induced, so need less to say, my alcohol-consumption tendencies have slowed down a great deal since I graduated college. I am just writing this story the way it really happened, and it just so happens that I have always had a bit of a wild streak in me, especially around that time which inevitably resulted in some entertaining stories.
Anyways, there was approximately 150-200 people at this party in which 90% of them were under the legal drinking age just like me at the time. I strolled in to the party with a couple of my friends, sporting my little red 1994 Mitsubishi Eclipse and an 18 pack of Miller Genuine Draft. Around that time, I was going through a big MGD kick. I have no idea why, but for some reason I always felt so cool drinking it.
I arrived at the party around 10:30 PM, and at around 11:00 PM, I was already 4 beers deep when someone yelled, “COPS!!!” Now, for those of you who are unaware, before I turned 21 I had been to many underage drinking parties that the cops busted. I was relatively scared the first time I was at a party and the cops decided to invite themselves over, but after a while, when this happened it just became another day at the ballpark for me. While some girls would start crying and some dudes would start panicking, I always found myself swimming in a pool of adrenaline.
Whenever I heard someone at a party yell the word “COPS!!!,” I always considered it a perfect opportunity to polish off my hide and seek skills. Growing up on a farm, I played hide and seek all the time when I was younger, and to tell you the truth, I kicked major ass at it. I was an average seeker, but an excellent hider. I would become a baby Einstein in order to ensure that I was not found while playing that game. These awesome skills became very beneficial years down the road when forced to hide from cops when they busted parties. When the cops arrived at this particular party, I was hanging out by the front door of the house talking to some people. My immediate reaction was to find somewhere in the house to hide, and that is exactly what I did. I did this with confidence, because of the success of playing “hide and seek” and “hide from cops” I had achieved in the past. I was usually never found when hiding. I have always been crafty like that.
When I entered the house, I decided to go for one of my most loyal hiding spots. I decided to hide in a closet (no pun intended), and cover myself up with some of the clothes that were hanging in the closet. This hiding spot was always golden while playing hiding seek. This hiding spot is destined to work 90% of the time if utilized in correct fashion.
There are very few feelings in life that are more satisfying than the feeling of hiding, and listening to the person who is trying to find you, walk by you without even the slightest clue that you are literally just a few feet away from them. I was pumped up. I couldn’t wait to fool these cops.
Almost immediately, I found a bedroom which also contained a closet in it. I ran right for the closet and hid behind some clothes. There were some other people hiding in the room as well, who hid in spots such as behind the door, under the bed or behind a shelf. These people were captured the first time a cop entered the room to search for us under-agers in hiding. I remember thinking to myself, “wow, these jackasses suck at hide and seek.” I continued to hide, silently as I listened to cops find more and more people.
After about 10 minutes of the police searching through the house for underage drinkers, I thought my hiding spot was officially a success. Then I heard a cop step into the room I was hiding in for the 4th time. Due to my long track record of successful hiding, I wasn’t too shook up about this cop entering the room, until I heard him say, “Hello Mr. Hairy Legs, I see you. Please come out of the closet right now.”
Evidently, when I hid behind the clothes that were hanging in the closet, I forgot to cover my legs. I was devastated. Not only did I come to the realization that my hide and seek skills had declined over the years and that it looked like I was on the road to my second underage possession of alcohol ticket, but I had also just learned that my legs were noticeably hairy.
I admit, since I can remember, I have always been a pretty self-conscious guy. Being known as a person with overly hairy legs was a reputation I never wanted to have. There was a guy I graduated high school with, who had extremely hairy legs. I remember some of the guys at my school would joke around about him looking like a monkey due to having so much body hair. I remember eavesdropping on a couple girls’ conversations about how gross they thought he looked because of his hairy legs. Since then, I knew that I didn’t want to be a hairy-legged monkey man, but now the cat was out of the bag….. according to this smart ass cop, I was Mr. Hairy Legs. Until that point, I always thought I had pretty nice legs.
After being found by this cop, I made my way to the front porch, where the police had about 50 people detained and lined up. They were giving everyone breathalyzers, and writing them underage possession of alcohol if they did not blow zeros. Most of the girls in the group were crying. A lot of the guys were either “trippin” or pouting because they didn’t know what to tell their parents or how they were going to pay for the fines they were about to receive.
I also had a “pouty” look on my face, and anyone in that room who caught a glimpse of my face, probably thought that I wasn’t handling my speculated very near-future underage drinking ticket with grace. Honestly though, the thought of receiving my second underage possession of alcohol ticket in less than a year wasn’t on my mind at all. It wasn’t even a thought in my mind. There I was, lined up and ready to receive a citation, and I was so insecure and self-pitied that the only thing bothering me was the fact that I had just been called “Mr. Hairy Legs.”
I remember standing there, waiting to be given a citation and thinking to myself, “my life sucks, I’m never gonna be smooth with the ladies again because of my stupid hairy legs,” when a commotion broke out about 50 feet away from me. I am unsure if a fight broke out or if someone became disorderly with the police or what, but right when I saw the cops running towards the commotion, I immediately forgot about my hairy legs and took off in a dead sprint towards my car and drove away, leaving my two friends there to receive tickets. Hey, I would have given them a ride if they were on the ball and ready to go like I was.
A couple other people ran at the same time as I did, and the cops didn’t even bat an eye at us. We just hopped in our cars and took off. It was a clean getaway. I was and still am sly like a fox. In fact, maybe I am part fox. That would explain how I acquired these hairy legs. Nah, I am probably just a werewolf. No biggie, chicks dig werewolves. You ever seen “Teen Wolf.” The werewolf in that movie was such a pimp.