Thursday, August 23, 2012

Tales of Yesteryear, Part II

So, there was this one night in college around 11:00 my boyfriend and I decided to go down to the Point and smoke dope.  Two explanations:

1.  The Point is the place in Pittsburgh where the three rivers converge.  Today it is all built up (I presume, I haven't been to Pittsburgh in many a year), but back when I was in college (1835), it was just a bunch of big, black rocks where no one ever went and, therefore, perfect for illicit activities.

B.  "Dope" is what we old-timers used to call weed.

For some reason, which I am sure made sense at the time, rather than just walk through the city streets to get there, we decided to walk along the river.  It was nearing flood stage, so I guess we thought there wouldn't be anyone else around.  And there wasn't.  Except for the police.  Who stopped us and wanted to know what we were doing.  Like they do. 

Now, my boyfriend, (for lack of a better name, I'll refer to him as "Martin") had spent his last two years of high school in a reformatory, for burning down a movie theater.  On purpose.  It seems he lied about his age on his job application, saying he was 16 when he was only 15.  He began to get paranoid about being caught in this atrocious lie, therefore, he snuck into the theater after it was closed, stripped down to his whitey tighties and smeared himself with Vaseline so when he set the records room on fire, the flames would slide off his body and he wouldn't get burned. 

Yeah, I know.

Anyroad, this history made Martin (understandably) a little skittish around law enforcement officers and when the cop asked us what we were doing, he started to stammer and shake and just generally look as suspicious as fuck.  Thanks, Martin.  So, I started a monologue on how we were curious about the flooding and wondered what the river looked like and we went to Point Park, which was just up the street, and my father ran a stationery store on Wood Street and my grandfather had been caught in the Great Flood of '37 and escaped the store from a second story window by boat, blah, blah, blah.

At this point the cop, sick to death of a ditsy college kid rambling on, stopped me and told us to go back to school.  Which we did.  Scared shitless.

I think this was the first time I ever did improv.  Of course, I didn't realize I was doing it at the time, because I didn't know what improv was.  And actually, all that shit I spouted was true.  I just conveniently forgot to mention the on-our-way-to-the-Point-to-smoke-dope part. 

Moral of the Story:  improv is an important skill to have.  It can keep your ass out of jail, even if you're dating a Certified Dumbfuck.

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