When I was in college, sadly longer ago than I prefer to admit, I had some clashes with authority. My fraternity got a $1000 fine for blaring speakers too loudly and I was able to whittle it down to some community service with my brilliant defense in the esteemed court of New Concord, Ohio (population 1,707). I also battled the school, overturning an alcohol violation with an even more genius oration. OK, two of the professors couldn’t make it and I knew the students on the judicial board, but whatever. I’m basically Perry Mason, if Perry Mason only took cases involving binge drinking.
I had a college show this week at a small college in Columbus. I have done the show before; it’s on the third floor of a rec center. They usually serve beers, so I went to grab one. I was informed that they only had them downstairs this time by the pasta cook, a young, rather effeminate fellow. Thanks, I said, and walked down the stairs. I got a couple beers and the young lady told me since I was doing the show, I could take them back upstairs no problem. As soon as I walked in, my once helpful friend in the kitchen rushed out. “You can’t drink those here! You have to go back downstairs!” Umm…didn’t you tell me to go downstairs and get them? “Yes, but you have to drink them down there! It’s against the rules!”
2000 Chris would’ve chugged the beer, smashed the bottle on the ground and kicked over the trash can, but I’m proud to say I’ve really matured. I said, “You’ve got to be shitting me.” Then I walked around the corner and pounded the beers in the hall leading to the stairs, refusing to walk down again. It’s not as exciting as old me, but old me probably would’ve been cuffed and stuffed about 15 minutes later, so it’ll have to do.