Truemors
"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me." - Hunter S. Thompson.
Seeing pictures splashed across the front page of a Victoria, British Columbia teen shackled to a wall in a drunk tank and strong armed by a crew of police officers brought back some not too fond memories.
It wasn’t my proudest moment. About a month ago, I had my own run in with the drunk tank. Following a night of heavy drinking at a hockey game with my brother, my dad and my friend, where beers run you $7.50 and come fitted with some infernal sippy-cup style lid, we decided to celebrate the win with yet more drinking.
We dropped my dad, the ex-cop, off at his car (he was sober, thank Christ) and went to a club where a close friend tended bar. Already red-eyed and hazy, I walked in like Norm Peterson and sat down after a much needed stop in the bathroom. My friend handed me a beer, and I knew that there’d be another waiting for me as soon as I was about half done my first. A bartender that on the ball is as convenient as he is dangerous.
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