As teenagers with too much freedom and too much time and not yet shackled by screen-society we found ourselves once again in the back of our local BestBuy. The loading dock area always proved to be a wonderful source of entertainment for many reasons. We could jump off the dock on our skateboards, people would unfortunately (fortunate for us) dump all sorts of "trash" that would serve as toys for us, or after heavy rains the loading dock would flood and we would make boats out of dumpsters and try to tip each other over with two by fours. Flood wars, we called it.
One day something magical appeared behind that BestBuy, a large couch. What an exciting day! We lounged about and smoked pot and skated and spent a good few hours back there with our new toy. We all had lighters and were all a bit of degenerate pyros and someone discovered that when you light any spot on this particularly fuzzy couch it would create a small ring of fire that expanded outwards indefinitely until you put it out yourself. Well there were four of us and were each a bit lost in making these rings of fire all over the couch we were sitting on until a realization dawned on us all simultaneously.
A lot of this couch was on fire, we should probably do a bit of damage control. But it was too late. We went from giggling fun to frantic effort in a blink, and we were trying every method possible our young panicked minds could muster. I remember grabbing a two by four to try and beat some flames out but I hit something hard inside the couch and sent painful vibrations through my arms and all the way to my shoulders. I abandoned that idea quickly. We tried everything before we made our final mistake--a collective decision to roll the couch over in attempt to smother the flames. Nope. The flames rose and the entire couch was now completely covered in fire and the surrounding area was getting hot. The next collective decision was plan B: Run.
We knew our city well and we would use the storm drain system for quick travel under instead of over the streets, evading police or angry civilians, or just hanging out--so that's where we went. It was a 100 yard sprint to the nearest fence that when hopped would get you in the storm drain. The first two to arrive at the fence had the best place for jumping where the pole-supports would offer great hand and feet placements and I was third to arrive seconds later. But I didn't want to wait my turn in my frantic state of mind. I decided to jump the fence in the less-ideal spot where I had to put my hands right on top of the twisted metal ties at the top and on my right hand I still have the scar, 25 years later, where on tie punctured the meaty part of my palm. We escaped as I bled into the sewers (we called it but it's a stormdrain) to safety and watched from our neighborhood as flames rose higher than the building and black smoke filled the surrounding air. Fire truck sirens got louder and louder as responders came to clean up our idiot-mess.
This story sums up quite nicely what a lot of my teenage years were like. We were punks with too much time and too much freedom. But I must say that I cherish those years deeply. We as a group were very close from ages 5 to 20 before we slowly started separating geographically. As everyone approaches 40 we still get together for big events and keep up with each other and we spend hours and hours reminiscing about stories just like this. Although some of the things we did were a bit horrendous, in some weird way they are what made us the successful humans we are today. Some of us went to prison, some to rehab, but every one of us is now a well functionating adult and we have each others backs, forever.
As teenagers with too much freedom and too much time and not yet shackled by screen-society we found ourselves once again in the back of our local BestBuy. The loading dock area always proved to be a wonderful source of entertainment for many reasons. We could jump off the dock on our skateboards, people would unfortunately (fortunate for us) dump all sorts of "trash" that would serve as toys for us, or after heavy rains the loading dock would flood and we would make boats out of dumpsters and try to tip each other over with two by fours. Flood wars, we called it.
One day something magical appeared behind that BestBuy, a large couch. What an exciting day! We lounged about and smoked pot and skated and spent a good few hours back there with our new toy. We all had lighters and were all a bit of degenerate pyros and someone discovered that when you light any spot on this particularly fuzzy couch it would create a small ring of fire that expanded outwards indefinitely until you put it out yourself. Well there were four of us and were each a bit lost in making these rings of fire all over the couch we were sitting on until a realization dawned on us all simultaneously.
A lot of this couch was on fire, we should probably do a bit of damage control. But it was too late. We went from giggling fun to frantic effort in a blink, and we were trying every method possible our young panicked minds could muster. I remember grabbing a two by four to try and beat some flames out but I hit something hard inside the couch and sent painful vibrations through my arms and all the way to my shoulders. I abandoned that idea quickly. We tried everything before we made our final mistake--a collective decision to roll the couch over in attempt to smother the flames. Nope. The flames rose and the entire couch was now completely covered in fire and the surrounding area was getting hot. The next collective decision was plan B: Run.
We knew our city well and we would use the storm drain system for quick travel under instead of over the streets, evading police or angry civilians, or just hanging out--so that's where we went. It was a 100 yard sprint to the nearest fence that when hopped would get you in the storm drain. The first two to arrive at the fence had the best place for jumping where the pole-supports would offer great hand and feet placements and I was third to arrive seconds later. But I didn't want to wait my turn in my frantic state of mind. I decided to jump the fence in the less-ideal spot where I had to put my hands right on top of the twisted metal ties at the top and on my right hand I still have the scar, 25 years later, where on tie punctured the meaty part of my palm. We escaped as I bled into the sewers (we called it but it's a stormdrain) to safety and watched from our neighborhood as flames rose higher than the building and black smoke filled the surrounding air. Fire truck sirens got louder and louder as responders came to clean up our idiot-mess.
This story sums up quite nicely what a lot of my teenage years were like. We were punks with too much time and too much freedom. But I must say that I cherish those years deeply. We as a group were very close from ages 5 to 20 before we slowly started separating geographically. As everyone approaches 40 we still get together for big events and keep up with each other and we spend hours and hours reminiscing about stories just like this. Although some of the things we did were a bit horrendous, in some weird way they are what made us the successful humans we are today. Some of us went to prison, some to rehab, but every one of us is now a well functionating adult and we have each others backs, forever.