Misadventures of a Designated Driver

Being the default designated driver generally sucks, but it occasionally provides for some good entertainment value. I don’t drink at all… never have… so it is always up to me to drive these yahoos around when they decide they want to drink.

There is nothing I hate more than bars. That is not true - actually I generally overhate people that are really into bars and have evolved their conversation-making-abiility just beyond that of a trilobite. My friends tell me that these bars are actually more fun if I were to actually drink, but this is a suggestion that is totally lost on me. It’s like me giving Will a horrible video game to play or bad book to read and I say, well it is MUCH more fun if you are drunk.

So these guys decided to go to The Black Bear, a local bar in the Mountain Village that caters to a select class of people I have termed “drunken idiots”.

I am pretty sure the most recent census in Montana showed that there are 9 black people in the entire state, and they managed to dig them up to perform as a reggae band at the bar. I also hate reggae music, and I am suspicious of people that are really into it. The music is just really not good, by any objective interpretation, and it is even worse in the environs of a place like this. If you look at the picture below, you will probably not mistake it for the local Montana chapter MENSA meeting.

I was so completely bored in there, and the only thing that kept me around was the occasional humorous moment that occurred when two drunken people would collide. I felt a bit like a scientist watching a particle accelerator to see what happened when electrons collide. But this entertainment value was very low, and I pulled up my hood and generally scowled at everyone so they would stay away from me.

And then we finally decided to leave so I went to get the car and Will got in the front seat. I think he was pretty much as drained as I was, and we just wanted to go home. We swung around the front of the bar to pick up Gustaf, then all the sudden EIGHT people got in the back of the Explorer. All these people were staying at Moonlight Basin near us and they were all totally blasted. There were four girls and four guys, half in the back seat and the other half in the trunk area.

It was like a perfect storm of drunken idiots. Will and I were cracking up at the insane behavior and lunacy coming from the back seat. First of all, this guy in the very middle had a voice and delivery identical to Sam Kennison. He was completely wasted, spilling beer all over the car while screaming in a low-grovelly octave the following non-sequiturs:

“EL DIABLO!”
“I just spilled beer on my crotch OH MY GOD!”
“Those aren’t pillows!”
“Why is this car going backwards!”
“EL DIABLO!”

Whenever the dynamic back seat conversation would die down, this guy would scream out “EL DIABLO!” to get things going again. It was a bit like having a debate moderated by William F. Buckley, sort of.

And when we finally dropped off this crop of moronic youth, the guy was totally wasted and he said to Will, “Let me give you some money, dude!” Will just rolled up his window as this guy slid around on the ice in the parking lot fumbling with his wallet. He kept sliding around until he came into my side and jammed money into my hand. It was a hundred dollar bill - Slayer!