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Four Finger Daiquiris and the Midnight Run for Munchies – Part 2

Updated on March 17, 2011

(Continued from “Four Finger Daiquiris and the Midnight Run for Munchies – Part 1”)

As stated in the previous epistle, my partner in crime and I were having our conversation drowned out by the angry sounding voices of our hunger and we made the executive decision that those voices needed to be silenced. We had to find a place that would kill the frozen daiquiri-created munchies on contact so we made the decision to get our hands on some small square burgers fast. These little burgers were legendary within the confines of our hallowed halls for finding and filling every available nook and cranny in ones stomach and maybe even having some medicinal value in fighting hangovers.

Being that my fellow frat brother’s vehicle was back at the dorm, we took my hand-me-down sedan parked nearby, an Oldsmobile Delta 88 whose once proud silver patina had faded with time to an unremarkable grey. This car could easily fall into the “land yacht” category and given the size and grey color, was frequently compared by friends to an aircraft carrier. On occasion, wisecracking passengers would ask to see the reactor or if I had to recover fighters before I turned out of the wind. All I knew was that it was comfortable and it got me where I needed to go. Grabbing one of the remaining bottles of rum, we headed for my car.

I negotiated the near empty campus streets and found the way to our establishment of choice. Joining the already long line of similar minded collegians, we snaked our way forward thinking that time had slowed down relative to the power of our munchies. As we waited, we sipped from the rum bottle, further stoking our hunger. To this day, I do not get excited about room temperature rum but I do still eat the little square burgers with great gusto!

What started out as four burgers each quickly became a dozen of the greasy gut bombs as the wonderful smell worked its magic and we upped the ante. I almost bit the arm of the employee that handed over our steaming bag of deliverance, so delirious was I from my cravings. I immediately pulled a burger out and reluctantly handed the bag over, preparing to eat and drive.

As I negotiated my way back towards the frat house, I looked over to see my buddy pull one of the little burgers out of the bag and then from the paper container, hold it to his nose and inhale heartily of the wonderful smell and then stuff the entire intestinal torpedo into his mouth. I expected to see him swallow whole like Shaggy used to do and have the outline of a rectangle sticking out of his neck but he chewed mightily and managed to get it down. We knew we had to have all twelve burgers consumed before we hit the frat house or our brothers would descend upon us like carrion eaters leaving us with the skeleton of an empty bag.

As we were coming upon our turn into the section of campus known as “frat row”, my burger sucking companion remarked (after releasing a rather vociferous belch) upon one of the few things I was famous for within our frat: taking my great grey behemoth of a vehicle for a leisurely spin in the grassy area at the center of the frat houses. In this area of campus, seven fraternity houses were arranged on three sides of a square with a large grassy park with trees and a rock formation in the center. A road lined with parking spaces ran in-between the houses and the grassy area. It was used for a myriad of activities including my off-the-cuff attempt to recreate the thrill of dirt track racing.

Vainly fighting the coercive efforts of my cohort for less than a second, I steered our chariot towards the grassy square, clumsily hopping the curb (which resulted in a hair-raising scrape every time I did it) and entering the field of play. Gunning the engine, the tires spun and we headed towards a formation of rocks, a burger hanging halfway out of my mouth making me feel like a hunting dog retrieving a quail but I needed to marshal my focus so our achievement that night was only colossal and not titanic.

The Grassy Square
The Grassy Square
My Faithful Steed
My Faithful Steed

As we neared the immovable objects, I steered our conveyance towards the left and yanked hard on the wheel performing a sliding power turn that had my passenger screaming like a little girl. I gunned the engine again and continued the sliding turn all the way around until we were facing down a long straightaway and a gap between the trees and I corrected the car’s fishtailing by steering into it. My friend was still screaming, holding onto his seatbelt, the bag with the remaining burgers having fallen into the floor. Before us lay a portion of the grassy square enticing me to repeat the maneuver which I did to near perfection, easily coming short of the trees that seemed to stand in judgment of our act.

I don’t recall how many iterations of our vehicular ballet were completed but I pretty much knew not to overstay my welcome and thusly have to deal with campus police. That internal clock eventually signaled me and I recovered my fighters, turned down the reactor and slowly headed back for the same curb where I had entered. The car once again scraped as we dropped off the sidewalk to enter the road that ran between the houses and the grassy park. As we exited I paused for just a moment. There was a background noise that I had not heard before. Was it a siren? I couldn’t tell. I rolled down my window and had my counterpart unpry his hands from his seatbelt and do the same.

What was different about this run on the grassy square was that I had never before done it on a mixer night when all the fraternity houses were filled with raucous Greeks looking through their beer goggles for entertainment. As we neared the first of the seven houses, I realized what the sound was: cheering. Not only was it the sound of cheering but they were cheering for us! Somehow during our fun, word had spread within the houses and everyone had poured outside to catch the show. My initial reaction was one of embarrassment.

I gently moved the vehicle forward, mud flipping off the tires and thumping in the wheel wells, and we sheepishly waved to the crowd that had formed. They screamed and cheered and sang our praises. As the car moved on around the square, the next house had a similar crowd, and the next, all thinking our maneuver was the perfect end to an evening of partying, some even encouraging us to repeat it immediately, perhaps hoping that seeing us get caught would be even better.

I continued on until I found a parking space fairly near to our fraternity house and pulled in, killing the engine and turning out the lights. Just as quickly as it had started, the crowds disappeared like roaches in a fraternity house bathroom when the lights came on. I reached down and pulled the bag from the floor, divvied up the remaining burgers, amazingly still warm and slid my last one into my mouth. My passenger sat there, quiet, being only a freshman and I feared that I had upset him beyond repair. I continued to chew in the awkward silence when suddenly he remarked, “This is the proudest moment in my life.” I laughed at him as I rolled up my window and exited the automobile, munchies on the way to being dealt with thoroughly.


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