America rewind my life tape back ten years to senior year of High School. I’m 18 and the Activities Vice President of my school. I decided to run for student body VP while at dinner with my Dad. Being sent to boarding school it wasn’t uncommon for parents to be sympathetic and take you out to dinner to save you from the terrible food of dorm every now and then. We were having a very nice penne chicken Alfredo with salted garlic ham cubes. I still use the recipe try it. We were cowing of this dank pasta and I sit up and say I think I’m going to run for VP. Supportive as always Dad replies “Sure you can, when is the election.” A quick glimpse at my none existence watch and I say “O about sixteen hours.” Dad chuckles knowing the procrastinator in me all to well and says “Well I guess you can try, but don’t get your hopes up.”
The next day I break into the school office and print off four color copies of my election banner. “If you want parties like this vote Taylor Oceans for Activities VP” with a picture of a rave under it. I moved them around campus, had them pencil my name onto the voting cards, and I never even got to give a speech. Won it by three votes, losing in the first counting, fuck yeah! Which gets us closer to the plane.
Now as Activities VP you plan the prom and all other “mixers” (being a mostly guy boarding school they shipped in women from our all girls sister school once a week so we don’t turn gay) and as the drama tech guy I knew how to work all the lights and wire just about anything. Hey, at boarding school you have to do a winter sport. Wresting, the sport of ear pads, rashes and tights… Hell No. Basketball, yeah kiss my ass I’m short and blew my knee in soccer two years prior. And drama, the only sport the girls could do in the winter aside from girls basketball. Dear diary jackpot. If my lighting booth could talk. Any who, as VP, I wanted to have an illegal rave on campus, have 100 girls shipped in, no chaperons, and my high school, boarding school, blue balls in the middle of it. I did, even built me and friends a VIP section. First politician in history to keep his word. I would have been thrown out of school, but I bet they couldn’t because then it would be public that a student conned them into not only catering his illegal rave, but endangered the sister school. My school would have never been able to have a mixer again. It worked, with a few other extortions and creative language.
This brings us to the plane. During the preparation phase of the rave I got off campus to go pick up the six foot black lights for the rave. Go hard or go home America ever seen what 14 six foot black lights can do? While driving back to campus me and my partner in crime pass an air field and I blurt out I want to fly a plane. “He says want to I’m a pilot?” As always “Do pigs lie in shit?” is mine Using his pilots licence, the rest of the money I embezzled from the school, a huge insurance policy and the lax regulations of this back country airfield, yes we rented a P.O.S. Cessna (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cessna_172). While fueling the plane I notice the tricycle landing gear is so light it moves when kicked, my go cart had bigger tires, the doors are so thin I bet I could fuck a hole in it, the walls are made of the same material holding our beer that weekend, and the interior looks like something they thought was ugly in 1970. A flying, tacky, death trap to put nicely, but I figure who wants to die in bed. During take off the piece of crap sounded like it was going to fall apart and I really regretted getting my partner in crime, now my pilot high with me. Suddenly we are airborne like a fat metal turkey. The view was amazing and we decided to tour the county. We flew over campus, the highway, and when we got over the river my buddy says ok find something to put in your hand like a pen. I find a screw driver and say now what? He says “I’m going to dive the plane and when I say now spin the screwdriver in the air it will float.” Not sure how to spell the sound of a plane going down but that sound zooooooom. The plane is diving, I’m screaming profanities and he shouts spin it. Such mind shattering awesomeness! Weightlessness! The fear is gone, the sounds, the doubts, the emotions, my entire life has vanished from my mind. All I can focus on is a screwdriver floating in front of me. Suck it apple guy, gravity is my play thing today bitch. Transfixed by the daunting defiance of gravity our stoned asses fail to realize we are plummeting to the river from 5,000 feet at about 200 miles an hour. Simultaneously we both look past the screwdriver and see the river about to screw me and my driver. Profanities, as we both grab the sticks and pull back as we are eye level with sail boats. Twenty feet. That is what we got to. 20 god damn feet off the river as low as sail boat masts.
Our buzz fully gone, and pants properly soiled, we decide to return to the safety of the ground. He tried to teach me how to land but with no head wind he needed to take it in. Love those single runway airstrips. He had to crab the plane to slow us down for landing. This is basically Tokyo drift in a fucking beer can with a tricycle under it. 50 feet off the runway im looking at the runway through the side window, and just before touch down he turned the plane straight and nailed the landing. And that’s what happens when stoners fly.
Long Live the Writers