Saturday, June 13, 2009

Acid Trip

George was determined to buy some acid (and I don't mean HCl or H2SO4). George wanted to score a psychadelic drug buy. Of course, I (as the kid who attended the Bible church and had parents who firmly believed, If the Great Depression was good enough for us, it's plenty good enough for our kids) was no help when it came to sharing places to procure illicit drugs. And truth be told, I doubt there were but a handful of kids in my high school way back in 1968 who had a clue about such things. El Paso may have been a major transit route for Mexican drug smugglers, but it was no Haight-Ashbury. I couldn't imagine anyone I knew using illegal drugs -- well, except for George, and he didn't seem to be having much luck.

But lack of success didn't deter George. He just kept asking everyone he knew where he could buy some LSD. And eventually someone gave him an answer. I was there at the lunch table when Scott leaned in close and said, "Okay George, since you've just gotta know, the place to go is 505 South Ochoa Street. Ten bucks." I was appalled. Here I thought Scott was a stand-up guy. How would he know where to score acid?

The following Monday during lunch George wandered by our table and said, "Scott, you are so full of it -- 505 S Ochoa, my ass!"

Scott answered, "Oh, hi George. So what happened?"

"Well ... last Saturday I drove to Ochoa Street. It's down near Jefferson High close to the border. I walked up to the door of this little shack and knocked. A little Mexican lady answered. She didn't speak any English, so I just handed her the ten dollar bill. She smiled and said 'Gracias'. And then she closed the door."

I had to know, "So what happened then?"

George grumbled, "That's it. Nuthin happened after that. I stood there about ten minutes, and then it occurred to me, That Scott's such a damned liar."


joyce said...

Wow---I bet that lady had been praying for money, and God used your dorky friend to answer her prayer.

Bob said...

The sad part of the story is: I ran into George over a decade later -- he'd apparently managed to find plenty of mind-altering drugs. He was still living with his mother and seemed more than a little paranoid to me. He was taking classes at the college because his therapist thought it might help him.

Buck said...

LOL! Now that's a funny story!

I had a friend in the way-back (early '70s) who ate more acid than any 12 druggies had ever SEEN. The last I heard... about 20 years ago... he was technician at a nuclear power plant in the northwest. The fact we haven't had a serious accident up that way is semi-reassuring, but I still wouldn't live anywhere NEAR that place. As a matter of fact, I'm still somewhat concerned, given the prevailing wind patterns.

Mrs. JP said...

funny stuff.
I know that lady closed the door and thanked God for His provision. He can use "acid money too."
That's to bad about George.
I'm thankful for God's protection during my self destructive phase. He protected me from me!
So when's the road trip???

Bob said...

Mrs JP--
No question the Lord's hand was in that -- but I do have my private doubts it was those prayers to "Our Lady of Guadalupe" that brought George to her door. We all have lots to thank the Lord for when it comes to saving us from our own stupidity.

Not to worry about nuclear fall-out. I'm guessing your acid-head friend went on to piloting oil tankers.

Bob said...

Mrs JP--
Oops, I forgot to mention. We fly to Ohio the day after James and Amber's wedding, July 26th and then the Alaskan road trip begins July 27th.