Peer Pressure Isn't Pretty

In high school, I was never one of the popular kids. I had my friends, and I was cool with everyone, but I never got to go to the big parties at the big houses where the parents are never home and the alcohol supply is seemingly never ending. My Prom was kinda lame, I never had a boyfriend. It wasn't the high school experience that you see in all the teen movies. Molly Ringwald can suck it.

College rolled around and I made a new group of friends. Not necessarily kids from college, but the group changed just the same. I had a long-lost friend come to live with me during the 2nd semester of my freshman year. It was kinda like having the college experience... only in my own house. But little did I know, it created way more drama than I knew what to do with. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. But hindsight is 20/20.

He was dating my best friend, which complicated the relationship anyway. But somehow, this twosome, in which I was the third-wheel, worked out for a while.

My family took a trip to Puerto Rico that summer. The drinking age in Puerto Rico, for those who don't know, is 18. I had recently come of age, and my mother decided that due to the fact that my father would not put up with her drunken antics, I would be her drinking buddy. It was kind of like being in a bar and having a guy buy you drink after drink, after drink 'cause he thinks you're cute... Except it was my mom.

Mommie Dearest's favorite part of this trip was the venture to the Duty Free store in the San Juan Airport on the way home. It took some searching to find this haven of cheap alcohol. She approached the cashiers at the first conveinience store in the Airport and asked, "Where's your alcohol? Alcohol? ALCOHOL! Al-Co-Hol." It was then my mother decided that she would consult me, a proficient speaker of the Spanish language, in finding her one true love: Bacardi. "COREY! How do you say 'alcohol' in Spanish?"

"Mom," I said, "it's the same word, only it's pronounced differently..."

The pretty cashier looked at us with disgust in her eyes, pointed, and said, IN ENGLISH, that it was down the hall.

We came upon the store and I took advantage of this opportunity and stocked up on Puerto Rican Rum. Surely this 18-year old with a free pass to buy as much alcohol as he desired was hot shit, and the biggest partier the town of Framingham has ever known. The cashier didn't card me, which I was a bit upset about, but decided that my manly, one day's worth of stubble lead her to believe I was much older than I was.

With booze in my possession, it was time to find the appropriate friends with which to consume it. Obviously, my roommate and my best friend were the perfect choice, right?

I was so wrong.

I didn't know that they had been fighting. Nor did I know that when Maria consumed 5 shots, she started hallucinating and spouting gibberish. My roommate, not one to put up with his girlfriend's foolishness, stormed out of the house into the warm, summer night. Mind you, it was 8:30 pm on a Sunday night, and there were still traces of daylight in the crazy suburb I call home. The roommate made his way to the woods behind the nearby High School. This caused me a bit of a panic.

Maria then insisted we go hunt down her runaway boyfriend, due to the fact that he went to the woods in order to "fight the Dragon of Narnia" and that we needed to "go to Narnia to save him."

After chasing my intoxicated partner in crime, we encountered my little brothers and their friends at the nearby playground. "You guys are drunk," they laughed. Of course the children had to get involved. Which, I feared, would mean involving my father (who wouldn't care) and my mother (who I affectionately address as "Mommie Dearest..." for good reason).

But now was not the time to worry. Not only did I have an 18-year old acting like a 4-year old on my hands, but I was on my way to try to reign in an 18-year old who was so strong, he could lift me over his head... and I outweighed him. Luckily, I had the powers of intelligence and persuasion on my side.

"Anthony, if you come home, I'll buy you cigarettes!"

This was all the Incredible Hulk needed to hear. He more than willingly followed me back to the house. He walked behind me, as I dragged his girlfriend across the paved parking lot. But he hadn't wreaked his fair share of havoc. His quota still hadn't been met at this point, so he decided to start jumping on the cars in the neighborhood. Loud, metallic crunching noises were heard throughout the cul de sac.

"STOP THAT!" I screamed at him. I had visions of police lights surrounding the three of us. Being the only half-sober one in the group, I debated leaving their asses behind and hiding in the comfort of my own home.

"No, Officer, I don't know anything about those dented cars," I'd say, not slurring a single word. "You might try the middle-aged, married couple across the street. That fat Asian guy and the wrinkly lady who obviously dyes her hair are always causing trouble." And with that, I'd be off the hook!

No such luck. I stuck with my friends. In retrospect, it seems that I had become their babysitter. I should have negotiated a better hourly rate than $0.00/hr.

One of the neighbors, who was our age, peeked out her window and screamed at Anthony, "STOP DOING THAT!"

"You stop doing THAT," he snapped back.

Our neighbor's retort was my favorite part of the evening, however: "YOU'RE STUPID."

I decided that I had had enough of these shenanigans. I brought Maria back home, only to have her insist that she slept inside of the trunk of her car. Not the reaction I was looking for, but I managed to get her back to my bedroom, into safety. Until Anthony decided he was going to run away once more.

Being sober at this point, I needed to fix the situation. I jumped into my gold, Mustang convertible, affectionately nicknamed, "The Fagmobile," and Maria and I were on the hunt for her beloved Neanderthal. We found him down the road, headed toward the Stop and Shop. To this day, we're not sure why. Maybe he was hungry? But it was 2am. The place would be closed. I never thought it would be a good idea to feed him after midnight, anyway. God forbid "Gremlins 4" ever took place in my household. Mommie Dearest would flip her shit.

The best friend decided at this point, she needed help trying to make her behavior up to her boyfriend. The next thing I know, she pulls her phone out, and I have Brittany calling my phone, and Barbara calling Maria's phone. Both girls at the same party. But Maria couldn't be bothered to talk to her friends, so I wound up listening to both girls telling me how to talk Anthony off of a proverbial ledge at once.

"GET HIM IN THE CAR, COREY!"
"Tell him you have something for him!"
"Just get him in the car and drop him off at home!"
"Wait, why are you at Stop and Shop? Is he hungry?"

Eventually, we got him into the backseat of the Mustang and drove him to his hometown, one town over from mine. But before we could make it to his street, the Bickersons decided that they would fight over each other's behavior and how annoying they each are one more time. Anthony stormed out of the car, and so did Maria. I wanted no part in this argument, so I parked in a nearby parking lot between two cars that were left there overnight and watched the spectacle from afar.

This goes on for a while, when I see Police lights.

Shit.

He pulled in perpendicular to the back of my car, so I couldn't pull out. I produced my license and registration. I knew the standard operating procedure, having been pulled over many times before: Speeding, blowing a stop sign, forgetting to turn my headlights on at 10:30 p.m....

I rolled down the window before the Cop could knock on it. "Are you with these two?" he asked.

"Unfortunately," I joked, hoping that he'd understand that I had no involvement in this matter, nor did I WANT to be involved. I was merely the chauffeur.

He approached the two nut jobs that I call "my friends," broke up the fight, and escorted them back to my car. "Get in," he commanded.

"JEEZ, why you gotta be an asshole?" Anthony snapped at the Officer.

"Because you're disturbing the peace," he responded. "And if you don't stop, I'll take you into custody."

The Cop waited to make sure they had both entered the car safely, then drove away. Obviously, there was a higher power watching over me that night which prevented any legal action/being arrested.

Tired of the night's drama, we dropped Anthony at his father's house, and Maria and I drove back to my house so she could retrieve her car. We sat there in silence, driving through downtown with the top of the convertible down, relieved that it was all over.

"I'm really sorry about how I acted, Corey," Maria said.

I was about to answer, when we entered the not-so-nice part of town where a well-known gang was said to hang out. A gunshot rang out and all we could hear was, "BITCH, I KNOW YOU WAS NOT SEEIN' MAH MAN BEHIND MAH BACK. HELLLL NAW."

Sometimes, I really wonder if there are hidden cameras all over the place, and if I'm on a reality show. I imagine that it plays on the channels that my parents won't get a cable subscription to because they cost too much money. And that the real reason they won't spend the money is so I don't find out about it. Because a normal teenager should not have to deal with this stuff.