I Drank and Smashed Our Family Car
Started with Jack Daniels shots, ended with being arrested
We turned onto Main Street and approached the row of University of South Dakota fraternity houses as “It’s a Mistake” by Men at Work blared on the car stereo.
I borrowed the maroon family station wagon for the evening — promising I would drive safe, not drink, and be home at curfew.
In the car with me is fellow 17-year-old juniors — and twins — Tyler and Tony Swanson. The twins’ older brother Theo is a sophomore member of Sigma Nu.
Right away, we see the mansion-like, white house with the Greek letters Sigma Nu and giant pillars. Out in the front yard, four guys are talking, and in another group are three girls and three boys laughing loudly.
Jack Daniels makes an appearance
Tyler, sitting in the backseat, pulls out an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels from a brown paper bag and proclaims, “Theo said there were two rules — I could bring two friends, but one of them had to be Jack” as he waves the bottle around in the air.
“Everybody takes a swig before we hit this frat house,” Tyler said, guzzling and passing the bottle to Tony, who takes a smaller sip, winces, shakes his head, and responds, “Ahhh. Your turn, Mike.”
Reluctantly, I grab the bottle, take a guzzle and shake my head several times.
“Nasty,” I announce.
Another shot upon entering
Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Going to Take it” is blaring on the living-room speakers as we attempt to walk through the front door. A large, buff guy stops us.
“Whoa, fellas. This isn’t a high-school dance,” he says.
“We’re Theo’s brothers,” says Tyler.
“Hang on kids. Yo, Theo,” yells the bouncer.
Theo appears from the kitchen. “Hey boys. No one advances a step further without taking a shot of Peppermint Schnapps. Sigma Nu insignia shot glasses are handed out. We say “Cheers,” clink our glasses together and chug down the alcohol.
Drinking game galore
It felt like a mixture of Animal House meets Risky Business.
Walking back to the kitchen with Theo, we peer into the bathroom and a blonde girl has her head in the toilet vomiting. In another room, two girls and two guys are throwing darts for shots as George Thorogood’s “Bad to the Bone” played.
At a kitchen table a group of six, mixed co-eds are playing strip poker. One bodacious blonde sorority girl is playing in a sexy black bra and another guy is playing with only his underwear on and Ray-Ban sunglasses.
Although avoiding the strip poker game, we did participate in drinking games like quarters, beer pong, Mexicali, and Drunk Jenga. I flirted unsuccessfully with two different college girls.
One tall, blonde responded, “Seriously, dude? You look like my pimpled-faced younger brother. I suggest you try the birthday party down the street. I hear they have a piñata.”
However, I caught a cute little freckled redhead staring at me and giggling in a corner with her friends as “Caught Up in You” by .38 Special played on the speakers.
She laughed at my corny, “My name is Bond. James Bond” line, and loved both my Rocky Balboa and Ronald Reagan impersonations.
We ended up hitting it off. I made out with Stacy and got her phone number, lying that I was a college freshman. Meanwhile, Tony had passed out in his brother’s bedroom, and Tyler got a ride home earlier from one of his brother’s fraternity friends.
One thing leads to another
Stacy had to leave with her friends, so one more goodbye kiss and I decided I also better go.
Although I drank too much — four beers and three shots, I think — I somehow managed to stagger to the station wagon and drive safely to W.C. Frank’s, the local hot-dog restaurant and teen arcade hangout.
“One Thing Leads to Another” by the Fixx played on the jukebox. I clinked a quarter on the Centipede game, then moved on to Ms. Pac-Man before running into lanky freshman Everett Austin.
“Dude! I got some great pot. You in?” asked Everett.
“Sure,” I say, although I don’t take any. I just respond that way sounded cool.
“Let’s get out of this joint,” said Everett. “And find someplace to smoke these joints.”
Missing my ex
We hop in the car.
“Where are we heading?” Everett asked.
“I miss Joni. I’m going to drive to her house and tap on her window. Maybe she can sneak out.”
Joni was my girlfriend for eight months. I broke up with her a few weeks ago but missed her. And wasn’t even sure why I had broken up in the first place.
“That sounds way cool. Let’s do it, bro. She’s totally fun. I’m, I’m a big Joni Stokes fan,” stammered Everett, who stuttered when he got excited.
A dangerous guitar rift
Turning left down Clark Street, a curvy street that veers left. Everett starts singing “Separate Ways” by Journey. I peer over and laugh as he pretends to imitate Neal Schon doing a wicked guitar riff.
I take my eyes off the road for a second when…
Crash!
The family station wagon smacked into the back fender of an old white Ford pickup truck.
Fleeing the scene
“Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap!” Everett yells, jumping out of the car and bolting back up the street.
“Everett, where are you going? Don’t leave me.”
“No way, dude. Not with this pot on me. I gotta get the hell out of here, and fast. Sorry, bro.”
His figure gets smaller and smaller in the distant horizon as he continues to run like he needed to find a bathroom pronto, then he becomes an ant-sized blur. And just like that, he is out of sight.
Neighbors, who hear the loud, booming collision, come out and ask if I’m okay. The owners of the pickup turned out to be the parents of one of my football teammates.
Arrested
The local sheriffs show up. I fail every alcohol test given — walking in a straight line, finger-nose touching, standing on one leg, and reciting the alphabet. My blood level is .24.
I was legally drunk and under arrest.
Dragged into the police station, all I can think about is how angry, disappointed, and sad my parents will be. I thought they were going to kill me. I’d be grounded for life.
Waiting for what seems like an eternity in a barely-lit, barren room, my palms are sweaty and I’m nervous to see my parents. It’s not a jail cell, but it’s nothing close to cozy with just metal chairs and a plain table.
My parents arrive
Finally, twenty-five minutes later, my parents arrive.
My dad is boiling mad, seething with anger. My mom looks heartbroken with tears in her eyes. They appear exactly like the image I envisioned. Maybe worse.
“What the hell were you thinking? You are in a lot of trouble,” my dad starts off.
“We’re just glad you’re okay,” my mom says, tears coming out of her eyes.
It’s the longest night of my life as I’m lectured, yelled at, scolded, ask to repeat the evening’s events numerous times, and finally grounded for the immediate future. It was March, so I wouldn’t be going to prom or anywhere else for that matter for several months.
Going to court
Since I was a minor and was charged with a crime of reckless driving and driving under the influence, I was issued a court date.
My dad hired a lawyer, who emphasized in court my good grades and numerous activities like being on the school and town newspaper, playing on several sports teams, having two jobs, and being selected to attend Boys’ State later that year.
Whether it was a sympathetic judge, an amazing attorney, or the power of prayer, my charges were reduced to just reckless driving. I was put on probation and couldn’t drive for six months, and also had to do community service.
I was relieved.
Valuable lessons learned
Three things my dad and said to me before my night of debauchery were: drive safe, no drinking and be home at curfew.
I shattered and broke all three, and witnessed my dad’s anger at a higher level than I’d ever experienced before. It was the worst feeling letting my parents down and wrecking our family car.
I had lots of time to think about the poor decision being cooped up in my bedroom for what seemed like forever with my only friends being albums of Rush, Journey, Foreigner, Def Leppard, and Chicago.
In fact, it was while listening to “Hard to Say I’m Sorry” that I penned a heartfelt three-page apology letter to my parents, telling them how horrible I felt, how sorry I was, and how bad I felt for letting them down.
I stressed how I appreciated all they did for me, and hoped they would forgive me. I prayed I could earn their trust back. I ended it by stating how I would learn from this life-changing mistake and never drink and drive again. And never put my own and others’ lives in danger like I did that cold March evening.
Thanks for reading my story.
Tagging a few followers: Scot Butwell, Scott Younkin, Ruby Lee, Sreese, Ning Choi, Gerald Sturgill, Klara Jane Holloway, Jan Sebastian, Victoria Valentine, Susan Wheelock, Evon, Lu Skerdoo, J.R. Spiers, Diana Meresc, Adelina Vasile, Pam Winter, Alicia Domínguez, Deborah Camp, Bridie Dillon, Janet Meisel, Jane Kelley, Laurie Livingston Nave, Sarah Jean
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