The Royal Glendale Mounted Police
It was summer, the last summer before everyone went their separate ways to their separate colleges. We (my current roommate and 7 year friend Drew) decided to throw one final party, a last hurrah. It just so happened that Drew's folks owned a plot of land out in the middle of nowhere. It then followed logically that the party should be a field party. We went all out, doing things that guys generally don't do for parties such as have a theme (Luau), decorate (we bought sand at Lowe's and a plastic pool to make a beach) and spend money beyond the cost of alcohol (generator, tent, etc).
We were set. A keg of Killians and a 5-gallon Igloo water cooler filled with a 2:2:1 combination of Mountain Dew, orange juice, and vodka. He christened it a 'Southern Screw.'
The party got underway. People showed up, people enjoyed libations, despite perhaps being a little young for adult beverage consumption in the US (but not Germany!). We were safe, though. A keys box and a sober guardian of said box kept us from doing anything stupidly regretful with car (now, within cars, that's another story).
It was about one in the morning and the party was still jumping, but starting to take on a collective alcohol buzz and slow down. It had peaked, but was slowly coasting. It was about that time that a silhouette appeared on the rise that separated us from the road.
In the white glare of a neighbor's barn light, we saw one silhouette, and then two, three, and four. I remember standing to look at the silhouettes, and slowly they came into focus. They were horses. With riders. And they were coming towards us.
That first heart-stopping minute when you realize you've been caught. Your heart jumps into your throat as your chest tightens. "Oh my god!" I shouted to myself, "it's the Mounted Police!" Suddenly, reason came running into my consciousness, after taking a fermented barley-induced break. "Wait a minute. Glendale doesn't have Mounties!" It turns out they were just people who rode around on horses looking for field parties. They had even brought their own Budweiser in their saddlebags!
That was the best party ever.
We were set. A keg of Killians and a 5-gallon Igloo water cooler filled with a 2:2:1 combination of Mountain Dew, orange juice, and vodka. He christened it a 'Southern Screw.'
The party got underway. People showed up, people enjoyed libations, despite perhaps being a little young for adult beverage consumption in the US (but not Germany!). We were safe, though. A keys box and a sober guardian of said box kept us from doing anything stupidly regretful with car (now, within cars, that's another story).
It was about one in the morning and the party was still jumping, but starting to take on a collective alcohol buzz and slow down. It had peaked, but was slowly coasting. It was about that time that a silhouette appeared on the rise that separated us from the road.
In the white glare of a neighbor's barn light, we saw one silhouette, and then two, three, and four. I remember standing to look at the silhouettes, and slowly they came into focus. They were horses. With riders. And they were coming towards us.
That first heart-stopping minute when you realize you've been caught. Your heart jumps into your throat as your chest tightens. "Oh my god!" I shouted to myself, "it's the Mounted Police!" Suddenly, reason came running into my consciousness, after taking a fermented barley-induced break. "Wait a minute. Glendale doesn't have Mounties!" It turns out they were just people who rode around on horses looking for field parties. They had even brought their own Budweiser in their saddlebags!
That was the best party ever.