7:00pm or so
Emissaries who have braved liquor store cashiers arrive and are roundly cheered. Trunk full of alcohol is unloaded and orders are checked and passed out. Money changes hands.
Drinks are poured into young adolescent bodies at rapid clip, sometimes aided by fanciful apparatuses known as “bongs”, the most fanciful being one that some enterprising young buck had rigged up from a stolen pink plastic lawn flamingo. This particular bong is brought to all Tolmie parties and has been lovingly baptized “Bird the Bong.”
Someone always brings camera, so painfully self-conscious adolescent photos can be taken, although of course we tell parents plastic cups were just filled with apple juice.
Sadly, must admit that I was still sober when I put on that acid-washed denim jacket I am wearing in the above photo and found it to be simply smashing. Perhaps because it highlighted my perm?
We entertain ourselves with the materials at hand. Us immigrant offspring have inherited those resourceful genes of our ancestors who found 1000 different uses for moose sinew.
Freed from inhibitions thanks to the folks at the Molsons and / or Bacardi brewing companies some party goers would slink behind scrub for impromptu make-out sessions, which would be thoroughly dissected come Monday.
Paddy wagon arrives on scene. Coppers make big show of threatening to charge us with underage drinking, and we all try to act sober and say “yes, sir“, “no sir” like we have been taught to at school. They take away all remaining alcohol before leaving. We shout many bold insults, the favorite being “have fun at the policeman’s ball!”, but only after we can no longer see paddy wagon’s tail lights in distance.
Hop into car of designated drivers, wind our way back down the hill, and get dropped off at home. Eat about ten mint lifesavers before opening up the door so parents don’t smell alcohol on breath.
Get up late, act grumpy around house all morning which makes parents think we are in adolescent snit, when in fact hungover. Try to start homework, but chew on pencil instead and begin to consider what to do next Saturday night…
And next time, adolescence in the Old World…