Volume: 1
Effortless heroism.
This laid the ground work for a potential article on how to become a hero. First, flunk out in the second quarter but stick around anyway for the third. Then, violate the university's policy on alcohol, quit a race because of the horrible conditions, throw a pretty good party all the way across the channel, "rescue" people who were drunker than we were, continue partying on the way back and then drop them off at their mansion. About all we didn't do was tuck the ladies in. Max thought about it though.
The tide, as tides do, turned against me. Max called for the usual weekend booze cruise on his dad's boat. There was a good band playing up at the Red Onion so we powered up there and tied to the guest dock, climbed the stairs, found a table and settled in for some music. Within ten minutes, Mikey, all 6'2", 290 pounds of him, got into a tussle in the front parking lot. We asked the waitress to guard our drinks and went to investigate. Sandy, Max and I stood near the front door next to a cop who was watching, nothing else. Two other cop cars had already arrived. Someone told me later that this was the third Saturday in a row for this type of trouble. I asked the nearby cop what the problem was.
"Step away from me right now."
I said, "But" and that was it. He grabbed me and hauled me down the stairs. Feet apart, hands on the car. He cuffed me and dragged me over to the paddy wagon where I became the sole occupant. I expected Sandy and Max to arrive shortly, or at least the guys fighting, but they never showed.