Recently I organized a 35-year reunion party for my high school class. We were meeting at the outdoor pavilion of a local restaurant and I was very nervous before the event. Not because it was a class reunion and we had not gotten together in 15 years. No, I was nervous because our class had a bunch of wild party animals that were known for their outrageous behavior. Our unofficial class slogan was “Party Hard! – Then Party Some More”. The teachers and principals all had big smiles as they waved goodbye to us at graduation. They were not happy for us for attaining a diploma. They were smiling because the school was still standing and that they all still had jobs. They were thinking: Get the hell out of here!
I was very concerned that during the festivities a group of guys would gather at the edge of the grounds and light up some joints. I thought about how I would handle that situation and what I might tell the officer who came to arrest us all. I imagined what my mug shot would look like in the morning paper with the caption: “Organizer of the biggest pot party in Akron in years”.
But my fears were totally unfounded. The class had changed much in the last 15 years. We were mellow. Naturally mellow. No need for any pot smoking to mellow out now. I think if anyone would have lit a doobie, they would have been ready for a nap.
But nobody toked, few people even smoked. No one even came close to even drinking too much. In a strange way it was disappointing. Time had done what the “authorities” had tried so hard to do, but failed. It had turned us into, gulp, responsible citizens.
I did find out that my friend Mark was currently using some heavy drugs. Yes, he had recently had a heart attack and he was taking daily hits of Lipitor and Plavix. How ironic. Mark used to buy his stash behind the Walgreens, now he just casually strolls through the front door and places his order at the counter.
The discussions among classmates were different also. Instead of comparing our sexual exploits, we compared our colonoscopy experiences (it was a probing conversation). Instead of boasting about how many beers we could drink, bragging rights went to the people with the most grandkids. My classmate Rob was bummed out about this one. “Did you know that Karen has eight grandkids? I don’t have any!” He was really upset about this so I told him that for guys this was probably overrated. Do you really want to be changing that many diapers again? I asked him. No, so go have a beer.
I thought the evening might liven up when the deejay starting playing tunes and some hot chicks (from a 10-year reunion that was taking place inside the restaurant) that were dressed to kill, strutted to the outside dance floor. You see the other activity that our class was known for was mooning. If there had been moon rankings back then, our class would have been nationally ranked in 1976. We had some of the best mooners in the land. Remember, this was before camera phones and You Tube so you could shoot the moon without any evidence. The hot, young, women presented a tempting target.
So I waited awhile but there was no moon. I went over to Alex who was the top mooner in the class and pointed out the opportunity that presented itself. “I don’t know Don”, he said. “I’ve been having some serious gastric-intestinal issues lately. I don’t really think that dropping my pants and squatting out here would be a wise thing to do.” I told him that I agreed and quickly moved on to talk to somebody else.
But the music and young chicks did get things hopping. When those ladies started gyrating I quickly sought out Mark and asked him for a hit of his Plavix because I felt a possible heart attack coming on. Just then my friend Tony decided to try to dance up one of the 10-year reunion babes on the dance floor. He tried to move like Travolta (I told him he should have moved like Jagger). This scared the chick so bad that she bolted for the door. I have never seen a non-hooker run that fast in 5-inch heels!
The highpoint of the evening came when we slipped the deejay a twenty to start playing 70’s tunes. (Stick it class of 2001, we got more money than you! We got 401-Ks! And they even had money in them until a few years ago). So the class of ‘76 started discoing down with abandon. I realized then that we should have had a chiropractor on site.
Things were going well until he played “Shake Your Booty” by K.C. and the Sunshine Band. The ladies started to shake their respective booties like it was 1976 again. News Flash: It isn’t 1976 no more and some booties should never be shaken. While that scene would have given the guys a “rise in the Levi’s” during high school days, I swear it caused a slight rise in the seismograph reading that night. I was glad we were outside so that there was no structural damage to the building. And at this point all the younger chicks left the dance floor in a hurry, which was a good thing. One inadvertent hip shot could have caused them serious injury.
So we did survive this reunion. Final tally: No hits, No moons, No earthquakes. Not a bad night.A lady that I know just came from Columbia,
She smiled because I did not understand.
Then she held out some marijuana, ha ha!
She said it was the best in all the land.
And I said,
"No, no, no, no, I don't smoke it no more,
I'm tired of waking up on the floor.
No, thank you, please, it only makes me sneeze,
And then it makes it hard to find the door."