"How did I get home?" stories

Dang, RACEHEAD. Pretty intense story.

This one doesn't pertain to home... but work.

One really rainy morning in 1983 (that year, we had some of the biggest waves and storms hit our coastlines), I was doing what I did every morning... open the Long Beach Auto Haus. But this particular day, I overslept a few minutes. D'OH! So, I fire up my orange '66 and haul arse down to the beach. Thankfully, I could get there in ten minutes as long as I got all of the lights green. It's pouring HARD. I'm driving next to a brand new Vanagon and a gorgeous gray Porsche 930. As I was shifting up into fourth gear, I felt the front of my car lift a little bit. Next thing I knew, I was spinning 360º circles as I'm flyin' down the street.

To my amazement, the other two drivers must've realized what was going on before I did and they managed to get out of harm's way. To this day, I still think it's a miracle that my car and I ended up safely parked next to the curb in front of Vet's Stadium. There I was... white knuckles, shaking, shocked, heart pounding, and fully freaked out on what just took place. I looked out of my door windows and noticed that two very concerned people were on either side of my Beetle. I rolled down the windows, still trying to figure out what went south. They turned out to be the drivers that were next to me. Both of them asked me if I was on medication, drunk, or something was wrong. Told 'em that I was just trying to get to work and open the shop.

That day and every day thereafter, I don't drive fast in lowered air-cooled cars in the rain. First and last time I hope that I ever hydroplane in a car.

#1

I remember the first time that I ever got really drunk and had to drive. Probably around 1980 or '81. Can't remember and don't care... but I was at one of the famous D.K.K. parties and they were full throttle blow-out/tons o' fun/epic gatherings. Our club president was Alex Gonzales at the time and he lived somewhere in Orange County (Anaheim Hills, I think). I had way too many biers and as the night wore on, something happened. I was eighteen or nineteen years young and that thing was... the entire house started spinning around and getting faster by the minute. "Good God!", I thought. "What the heck's HAPPENING?!?" The only thing that I recall is walking outside of the house... trying to remain calm, finding a quiet place where no one was hanging out, then ejecting everything that was inside of my stomach, with projectile deft-like speed. It was some of my best work and I even took the liberty and care to respect the owners' house by not allowing this to take place within the inner-sanctum, therein. I felt that I was doing the party a huge service by hiding my groceries behind the shrubbery that ran alongside the dwelling. Thought that I was pretty smart, at that juncture.

The very next thing that happened next (in my mind and what I saw) was just about as bizarre as the previous chain of events. It was late the next morning and there I was... sleeping on my bed. Which was conveniently located within my bedroom. That was also within the confines of my home. "This is GREAT!", I thought to myself. But wait... how, on this ball that we call Earth DID I get here? And why am I fully dressed? Why is my club jacket, shoes, and everything else still on my person? Even more bewildering; why are my car keys clutched in my left hand? Aside from being a left-handed person, that was only half of the mystery.

At about this moment during my profound confusion, my Mom knocks on my door. She walks in and asked if I had a good time, last night. I laughed and told her that I haven't the foggiest recollection. Furthermore, I confessed that I was nowhere near being qualified to answer such a query. She laughed and advised me that I should be more careful with my car. "WHY?", I wondered out loud. So I returned to to the upright vertical position and wandered outside onto my front lawn. That was where I decided to execute a rather crappy parking job. Right in the middle of my Mom's front yard. I literally thanked God that I was delivered home safely and that there was no damage to my car or any one else.

The next Thursday was, of course, D.K.K. meeting night. Joy. I get to hear heckling, jeers, and jokes about what stupid things I did when I was in another dimension. Great. Okay, bring it on. I order my pizza and salad. I take my usual chair. The meeting takes place just like any other meeting. Except we got to New Business. Alex basically thanked me in front the entire crowd at Larry's Pizza for feeing his cats. The place roared with laughter. My face turned nine shades of a brilliant hue of red. And for weeks afterwards, I was known as that guy that fed Alex's cats.

#2

Basically same story as #1 but it took place at one of the Berg sons' house(s), about a year later. Again, I don't/can't remember. I was told, later, that while the night got later, I got braver. I asked how and found out that I ended up singing Heartbreak Hotel by Elvis. Another story claimed that I sung said tune while standing on the coffee table in the front room. Good Lord... I never knew because I was enjoying way too many brews that were handed to me. Mostly stuff that was brought over from Europe. Watney's Red Barrel, Samuel Smith Nut Brown Ale, and another one from Holland. Orangeboom(sp?) or something of that nature. All great but to be consumed in moderation. Or at least that was my theory as I reflected back upon that evening/morning. Again, I don't remember driving home and woke up the exact same way.

I DO remember that Dyno Don and I took a drive in his sano Notchback. He was telling McNew and me that he can drive so precision, that he can make the transmission sound/perform like an automatic. I challenged him to it and figured I'd call his bluff. WRONG. Dyno always takes a dare. So he got up from the couch he and I were sitting on. He looked down at me and said, "Damn it, Fred... GET UP." Next thing I knew, we were driving all over Orange County in this super clean Type 3 and he, without a shadow of a doubt, proved his point to me. I also gave him extra credit points for doing it NOT sober. HAHA!! After we got back from our drive, a magazine was being handed around the house. Someone from D.K.K. said, "Hey, Fred... LOOK, it's YOUR car!" So it made it's way down to me. I set down my bier and was amazed! In this beautiful magazine from Japan, there it was... a huge close up shot of my engine taken at the recent Bug-In. On glossy paper stock, no less. I was shocked and very flattered. At the top of the page was some crazy looking Austin Powers font that said: Doin' It California Style. I begged Don for that mag. He told me no way and that he just got it. After admiring the rest of it, I noticed the price on the front cover... $12 U.S.D. YIKES! That was a LOT of money, back then.

I asked Don about this magazine, recently. He told me that he still has it in storage. COOL! Don... if you ever come across it, please call me so I can drive us to the nearest copy place and burn a color copy of that. I'd be stoked.

#3

Fast forward to Dave Purnell's bachelor party in 1989, four months after I got married. It was Christmas season and very cold. The bash was being hosted around the corner from my house. The very home that I grew up in and bought from my Mom the previous year. When I got to my friend's house, I went behind their bar and started looking at the different bottles of liquor. I found one that caught my curiosity. It was from Greece and it's name was Uzo. Mmm, licorice! I ended up drinking about 95% of said contents from the vessel. I carried it with me all night and offered not one person any. It was mine and mine only. Keep in mind, I've never been a fan of hard alcohol and only drank dark biers. My old friend Joe (Worked for me at Auto Haus and several other jobs. Also my roommate up until last year) followed me home in the middle of the night because of two things. Dawn was rapidly approaching and I had to get home to be at work at 0600hrs. The other reason was that Joe kept telling me that he was worried about me driving home. Since it was only about a ¼ mile away, I'd be fine. The next day, he called me and went on to say that I was swerving all over the road in my VW Rabbit. NOT GOOD. Thankfully, I got home safe.

After a very short sleep, I woke up and said goodbye to my wife. I got to the refinery where I was a very well paid Operator. Refineries are very noisy, for those that have never been in/to one. Tons of steam lines clanging, hot oil lines hissing, cooling lines, pumps whirring, vacuum towers, and a lotta trucks all lined up to load product from our loading rack, just outside my office. Another reason I shall never forget that morning is it was the first and last time I ever had a hangover. Yes... you read correctly. At twenty-seven years of age, there I was. Still buzzed outta my mind. Sick to my stomach... which was extremely rare. The world's most painful raging headache. Last, but not least, every joint/bone in my body ached. I had to turn down my two-way radios, turn off the music radio, and keep my head buried in my arms on top of my desk till I try to make sense of what was taking place. And furthermore, why was this happening to me?

My co-worker and department partner, Kevin, was my age. He loved to fish a lot and listen to jazz. He was happily married with two great kids. He looked like Gregory Hines (famous dancer/actor) and had a great sense of humor. Never raised his voice and spoke in low tones. But when he approached me, put his arm on my shoulder, and asked if I was okay... I kindly asked him to please not talk so loud. Something that he and I still joke about because he speaks so low. The only thing I wanted very badly at that point was my favorite sport; FOOD. At that job site, you cannot leave for any reason. Once you're clocked in... that's it. No escape to the outside world and all of it's charm and reality. We were a city within a city. Because of that, I was subjected to obtain nutrients from the Roach Coach (catering truck, grease wagon, lunch truck) when it arrived at around 0900hrs. Those three hours were a lifetime in my small and meaningless little realm. But when I heard the driver's horn, I was on my Schwinn Cruiser and the first one in line, helping the driver and his wife open shop and get setup. I ordered a huge breakfast and a fresh squeezed orange juice. Don't ask me why any of that makes sense. But back when I used to drink and get polluted, the only things that sounded good the next day were orange juice and a lotta food. Didn't matter what kind of food, either. Jack In The Box cheeseburgers and two of their soybean tacos would bounce me right back into shape the next day.

Anyway... after I inhaled my food and downed the wonderful orange liquid, life was a lot better. Not perfect, mind you. Just better. My sickness had subsided, the headache was gone, but the body aches were still running strong and proved to be relentless in nature. I felt as though I was ninety-five years of age and barely able to walk. So I battled with that and finished my shift. Of course, once Kevin announced to the rest of the refinery that not only was Mark hungover, but it was his FIRST one. Goodie. Let the festivities begin. And so they did. I got pretty heckled that day until quitting time at 1400hrs. Came home, plopped down on the couch, and slept for a few hours before climbing into bed. Told my Irish wife that she's a professional and I'm merely an amateur when it came to drinking and I swore that I'd never get another hangover again.

To this day, I can proudly say that I have kept that vow. About two years later, we decided to start our family and were blessed with two awesome sons, born twenty months apart. From the day that I helped deliver them both naturally into this world in my bedroom till now, I've not gone back to that drunken state being. And have no desire to. It's much more fun to wake up before the dawn... go hit the skatepark, or surf, or go fishing. While the rest of my friends are still beating their livers to a bloody pulp, I'm happier with an alert mind.

Those three instances when I could literally not remember driving home scared the crap outta me. And also scared fear into me, for I'll never again put my life or any one else's life into peril like that. Learned my lesson and I got off light, too. Things could've been a lot worse. Now, my boys are on the tail end of high school. We still do the things that we like to do together. Everything is exactly the same as it was in 1989. But I'm an old man. A very thankful one, at that. Thankful 'cause I survived my own stupidity and taught myself to survive sans "partying." I can have just as much fun as everyone else and still indulge in a confident drive home. I no longer drink my dark biers... I enjoy 'em.

Sorry to ramble. Let's hear some more stories. Mine were fairly rated G for all audiences.