Monday, October 26, 2009

Orange Juice? or....?

Doctor:
What kind of person throws a half full gallon of orange juice out on the highway? I saw this around 8:30 am today on 75 North and felt curious. I have some ideas....

A) The type of person that would take a bite out of a burrito and chuck it out a car window on the highway because "it is filling".

B) Someone on a serious acid binge.

C) Some kind of douchebag that is not satisfied with ordering a large orange juice with his McGriddle.

What do you think?
--Stupefied on 75


Dear Stupefied,

Those are all excellent possibilities. Finding items in strange places does set the mind to wandering. I once found half of a Taco Bell burrito in a dressing room at Macy's, for example, and thought "you could wait long enough to go from Taco Bell to the mall, and on into Macy's, before you started eating, but you couldn't wait until you were done trying on clothes?" My immediate hypothesis there was something along the order of some strange nigh-superhuman, whose metabolism runs well faster than anyone's ever should-- and thus must consume food in strange places and in strange amounts.

Regarding your orange juice conundrum, I could of course speculate, but instead will regale you with an instance from my own personal life that might shed another sort of light on the matter. As many of my readers know, I'm also a musician-- and during various times in my life, must travel for my art. In younger years, I've spent that time in a van, with a group of whatever gentlemen I'd enlisted to my cause in the context of a van. What many people may not realize, is that guys travelling and sleeping in a van may not always be the most mature or well-mannered, and that the rules and customs of the road are not always the rules and customs of civilized people.

My story, which I assure you will rapidly become relevant, begins with one of the many amusements with which we would wile away empty hours. It was a game with no name, and only one implement-- an egg. Just a plain, ordinary egg, which made its way into our van through a complicated series of dares and bets, but became the focus of several hundred miles of the American Midwest. The rules of the game were simple: if you had the egg, you had to pass it off to someone else, without them realizing it. Break the egg, and you lose-- be the one to place the egg last, and you win. *PROTIP: If you want to play this game at home, drawing faces, phalluses, the Batman logo, or the profanity of your choice on the shell of the egg is OPTIONAL.

During the course of this travel, the egg aged and passed many ordeals-- being hidden in pockets, hoodies, shoes, lunchbags, and hats. Unfortunately for me, it came to its final resting place in my pillow. I discovered it upon laying down to rest, somewhere east of Cleveland, it being my night to be too drunk to drive the van. Of course I felt the strange sensation of the well-placed object, under my pillowcase yet above the pillow, as my heavy and heavily-intoxicated head came to break it, but I was too tired to care. In fact, it was the complaints of my bandmates, who could not abide the stench, that awoke me and alerted me to the issue, an hour or so later... when we pulled over to throw the pillow out in a gas station trashcan. Unfortunately, I realized that my hair now smelled of the distinctive sulfur of rotten egg.

Instantly sober and stinking to the high heavens, I vowed my bitter revenge. And, in the custom of Young Men Travelling in Band Vans Across States, it was to be vulgar in its own right.

We went inside to gather supplies, including sodas for the trip and ice for the cooler. Only two of us were Mountain Dew drinkers (one being myself, and the other being the winner of the egg game). This, I would use to my advantage. Procuring two Mountain Dew BIG SLAMS (the one liter-size, a term no longer used on the packaging, but familiar to many), one for myself and one for my quarry, my trap was soon to be set.

Once back in the van, I neglected to go back to sleep, but rather to drink every drop of my soda right then and there. I concealed this fact from my quarry (who was fast asleep in the passenger seat, and due to take over driving in a few hours), keeping the empty close by me. Now, per the customs of the road, had I not finished mine, I was to write my name on it, before slipping it in the cooler. I did neither. In fact, I took my quarry's soda from the cooler and drank a couple gulps of it, wrote my name on it, and put it back in the cooler.

I didn't sleep for the next long while. I used the time, instead, to void my bladder into the empty Mountain Dew bottle-- first a couple of long, tiresome "beer pisses" and then the logical outcome of guzzling an entire liter of Mountain Dew in a matter of minutes. The bottle, unsurprisingly, was nearly full, and thanks to the green color of the bottle, wasn't that far off from what one might expect to see. I wrote my quarry's name on the bottle, placed it in the cooler, and went to sleep.

***Editorial note: For the record, urinating in a plastic bottle while on the road may SEEM vulgar, but if you think it is, you've never traveled long distances overland with males, where the rule of the road is, always, that the strongest bladder is the one calling the "piss stop."***

Some time later, we pulled over to change spots-- my quarry in the driver's seat, myself in the passenger, the rest of our part in the back. Of course, the quarry instantly wanted to crack open his Dew to get started, and thanks to the cooler, it was nice and cold for him. Ice cold, like the revenge I was to have.

It took exactly one deep, thirsty guzzle before he spat most of his "soda" all over himself before closing the bottle and throwing it out the window. "Fucking awful, I must have gotten a bad one," he would splutter later, never once knowing what he had willingly taken into his body. To this day, he doesn't know, and in the off-chance he's reading this, I've spared his name.

Did someone later, though, wonder why an almost completely full bottle of Mountain Dew was discarded? Did someone, perhaps, years later, pull a similar prank with a gallon of orange juice?

We may never know. I hope this has helped you.

Always listening,
Dr. Sunday


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