For those not on the g-dub listserv

Sorry for not having posted in a while. Things are busy but not interesting, and nothing has particularly struck me as blog-worthy until the ride back from Terminus this past Sunday. This is literally a cut-and-paste from the message I sent to the listserv, so it's really nothing new.

Our story begins at the NC-SC border. The observant among us will know that here lies Shelton Fireworks, the self-proclaimed world's largest fireworks store. We stopped, and Lyle purchased a roman candle and EL TORRO!!!. The plan was to be on our way, and engage in aforementioned mischieviousness under cover of darkness.

Just after passing through Raleigh-Durham, we settle on Butner, NC. We hit up a gas station so that Reed would take a dump and stop pooting in my car. At the gas station, we asked the attendant where to go if we wanted to... say, light off some fireworks. He says (as you might guess) "Just go where there aren't any cops." As we exit, a police car rolls into the Wendy's across the street. Sitting in the car, I remarked to Kilo that knowing my luck, we'll get owned by the po-lice.

We stopped in a small clearing with a free-standing ATM in the middle of it (odd), just off the main road but far away from any retail establishments. Immediately following car turn-off, a cop drove by from the opposite direction. Time for a new location. With Saddam-like speed, we packed away our armaments and shipped off for more suitable launching territiory.

After driving through some residential areas, Lyle spotted a darkened little league field away from any houses. Jackpot. I stopped the car, we carried out the roman candle and EL TORRO!!, and prepared for delinquency.

Lyle set up the roman candle against a fence and lit it. As he's running away, I notice car lights on the trees across from the intersection. I say "Given my luck, that'll be a cop. Someone says "It's a cop," the first of the roman candle charges ignites, and bedlam commences. Kilo started running around in circles in the outfield, knowing that he wanted to get away, but that we were penned in and certifiably owned. I frantically took off my g-dub sweatshirt, remembering all of our party safety emails. I ambled around for a second, and then realized that underneath my sweatshirt was my shiny bright new white jersey. FUCK.

With impeccable timing, the second roman candle charge goes off, but into the ground, since the firework fell over. The cop's lights go on. The third goes off. The police car stops and the spotlight goes on. Several more charges ignite. "Gentlemen, please come over here..." says the officer, from the street across the baseball diamond. We walk over, wheels turning in our heads as to what to do next.

Kilo would later remark that this is when he realized what he needed to do... shut up and not say a word. The cop, a 50-year-old guy probably of Lyle height, informed us sternly that it is a criminal misdemeanor in the state of North Carolina to ignite any sort of firework other than sparklers. Reed gave him the one-two punch of a) we're not from here and b) we are totally ignorant of your silly laws. The cop informed us that if he brings us in, we'd have to be brought before a magistrate, who would set bond for each of us -- basically we'd be elbow-deep in shit. The officer asks where we're from, and inquires how the hell we decided to come all the way into this neighborhood to light off fireworks. I jumped in with an uppercut of considerateness, saying "Well, we wanted to make sure we were away from anyone's houses... we don't want to bother anyone... and since it's all dirt, we could be sure we wouldn't start any forest fires..."

He asked us if we had any illegal drugs or weapons, which we truthfully denied, and then asked us other standard cop questions. Then, after looking at our IDs, he told us that he had 3 kids and 2 grandchildren. Citing the age-old precedent of "youthful exuberance," it became clear to us that we were off the hook unless we mucked the whole thing up big-time. He asked if we had more fireworks, Lyle pulled a big-time power move and said "Yeah, they're in the middle of the field, I'll go get them" He went off to get them, and we shot the shit with the cop for a little while. This is actually the most interesting part, I think.

He used to be a cop in Fairfax, VA, he said. Instead of standing there awkwardly while Lyle retrieved EL TORRO!!, I asked him if he liked the D.C. area. He responded that two of his partners got shot and that he killed three people while on duty. After various genuine expressions of utter surprise, Reed chimed in with "So things must be a lot quieter down here, then?" The cop replied that he had already lost one partner and killed an additional guy while in this town. After more expressions of surprise, he told us how one night some dude pulled an AK-47 on him. He concluded by saying "That guy went to the morgue that night. I went home."

The officer told us to stuff the remaining fireworks in the trunk, wished us a safe drive back to D.C., and told us to make sure we switched drivers if anyone got tired.

Things I am glad were not discovered: 1) the giant stolen road sign in my trunk 2) the half-finished bottle of gin from the night before in my trunk and 3) the bag of fireworks/smoke bomb I bought the last time I went down to GA.

Fuck the Magistrate, fuck Butner, NC, but all praise to the FuzzGods for letting that guy be the one to catch us lighting illegal fireworks in a middle school softball field.