*Please note that even though in the title it says “Hangover Sunday” that does not really mean that I had gotten drunk the night before. “Hangover Sunday” is just a title. It is a title I use so I could tell you all a story. Sometimes, it will be about me and my past, or a story I heard about. The point being, is it’s Sunday, so just relax and enjoy.
This was a tale told me to me by this far out stoner guy whom I had the honor of riding from Reno to San Francisco on Greyhound in the winter of 2002. He told me to pass the story along and when i did he told me use the first person point of view. I think it is bullshit, but I remember his story word for word. It was one of the most surreal tales I have ever heard and by the end of the it I felt like I was high.
The following took place after 230am on Sunday October 31st, 2001.
"I was so happy to finally feel the effects of the blue dolphin, that I was able to get for a mere 20 dollars from the cute little candy kid dressed like a psychedelic Betty Boop. What I love about E is that no matter what you think about it can intensify it by about a million fold. The best thing to do is to drop E when you’re having a good day. I once dropped E and had a bad trip, and this was caused because I had watched that movie Cape Fear and was disturbed by it. Tonight was different though. I had finally made it to the party.
The party, which was called, hell I don’t remember took place in what looked like an abandoned movie theater. There was a stage and that’s where the sub par DJ was spinning his trance and house music. I remember I was dancing for a while and liked getting lost in the lights as the effects of the E went through my body. It makes your eyes move about crazy so all the lights look like you’re traveling at warp speed. I think this only happens at the raves. The people who throw the raves know a lot of their customers are going to drop so they have black lights, strobes, glow sticks and all that crazy crap that people in order to intensify the effects. I have often wondered what it would be like to drop and go to Vegas, probably make my heart explode.
The party was so, so. Even though I was high I knew this. It was typical for a rave. It had extra loud music, sweaty dirty people, the usual lights, but I was there for the E. The thing that made this party kind of special to me was it was the first time I went to a rave outside the city of San Francisco and I went alone. I didn’t make many rave friends and since I don’t have a car, I had always told myself, that I would never go to a rave alone outside of SF alone, but this time I did. That particular weekend there weren’t any parties in SF, so I had to go alone.
There is not much to say about the party. Nothing uniquely sexy or funny happened there, except for the fact that around 330am the cops decided to break up the party. I am not sure how they found out there was a party there. I remember I was sitting on the floor next to some chick who telling me about how she wanted to start a business selling humming bird feeders. See when I look back at those crazy drug filled days it pisses me off. I wasted money and time going to those parties and taking drugs and it’s this retarded bullshit that always came with. People think that they get a profound view of life when they are high. Fuck you, that’s wrong. I have smoked weed and tried to write, can’t do it. I have tried writing when drunk, I can, but since I am impaired I end making all kinds of mistakes. Unless your name is Ken Kesey or Hunter S. Thompson, no one should do drugs and write.
The girl with the humming bird feeder idea laughed loudly at something behind me and so I looked and saw that the cops were there and then the music stopped. I was still high, but not as high as I was earlier. I got up and walked towards the exit. When I see cops at a party I know the best thing to do when the cops are about to break up a party, I walked out of the party and into the cool Oakland night.
I had a lot of energy when I left the party so I was a bit happy to be walking. It was 330am and so I figured that I could walk from the party to whatever BART station was closest and hoped the BART station would open around 430am and take the train back to San Francisco and call it a night. What I didn’t realize was that the BART station was about 2 miles away. I didn’t know this at the time, but as I was walking I saw a sign that said this.
As I walked along the empty street I was approached by a rogue of the night. It was a black guy who was walking towards me. He told me he needed help, and some money. I told him I didn’t have any and cursed at me. I told him to relax and said there are more people just up the road behind me. He said something else and walked off. If I had been straight, and not on drugs, I think I would have been mugged but since I did have a wild eye in my look, I might have called that guy’s bluff and saved myself.
I kept walking and it seemed like I was walking forever I came upon an all night diner. I walked inside to see where the nearest BART station was. An older, heavy set black woman told me I was a mere 2 blocks away. I asked her for a cup of water and she gave it too me. I told her thank you. She offered if I wanted to just stay until sun up, but I told her no thank you.
I made it to the BART station at around a quarter to five and saw in horror that since it was Sunday the Bart would not open until 8am. I was stuck in Oakland at Lake Merrit station, and was surround by some homeless people. I was not scared, just annoyed. I found a bunch and sat down and just waited until the station opened and when it did, I took the BART back to San Francisco and I was back in my home by 9am."
That’s it with the story. I know it is not a scary story like “The School Theater” or a sweet story like “Green Shaved Ice”(my personal favorite), but it’s one of the crazier stories I have heard over the years. I am sorry if it is not as narratively as the other stories, but like a lot of drug fueled stories, it was told in jumbles.