Well, it’s my boy Rip’s birthday, and we all sure as shit know he ain’t gonna write this, so I’m going to…what’s it called Nantan?…oh yeah, step up. It all started when I woke up this morning. Dry-ish January means more dreaming, and this morning was action packed. While I typically would prefer a more GroupMe-esque dream (happy Friday, you hooligans), this morning my brain was worked up over RipTide’s birthday Apex “High” homecoming Q at none other than Dazed and Confused, otherwise known as the condition one can be known to find themselves in time to time when hanging with YHC and perhaps others in attendance this morning. In this dream, I had awoken late, and for some reason was not at my house, and thus was hustling to find a ride towards the AO. I hitched a ride, which took me the wrong way, leaving me with 10 minutes to run two miles while wearing my Chucks. Things weren’t looking good. I was going to miss my boy’s birthday Q. I was in a panic. And it was exactly that panic that woke me up one minute before my alarm went off. Phew.
Checking the weather, I realized that there would be no need for my standard winter non-Turkish get up: spandex, long johns, ladies Nike running pants, clinging rayon shirt, second shirt, Carolina Law sweatshirt, Green Bay worthy gloves and a frosted toboggan. This of course opened the door for one of my favorite shirts of all time, the overly schmedium Oak Island shirt whose sleeves I’d removed to be like Ma Bell, and whose front bore that infamous Dave Chappelle as Rick James line: It’s a Celebration Bitches!
With no Meow Mile on the calendar, I hopped in the low rider and cruised up to the high school. What entrance should I make? School’s out for summer? Tweezer 12/31/19? Alright alright alright? But before YHC could make that decision, he saw what all of us should expect to see going to a Riptide birthday Q at Dazed and Confused: the cops. Three cops to be exact, who had surrounded some of our younger brethren, clearly up to no good at this early hour on high school property. Legs spread, faces on the car, the flashing blue lights blinding everyone in a quarter of a mile. Clearly, Riptide’s Q was off to a caliber start.
Let me stop here, humble readers, and say something about constitutional law. Unconstitutionality is like pregnancy. There is no sort of unconstitutional. It either is or it isn’t. Perhaps some people in DC could use a refresher in con law. But seeing how we are all going to die from coronavirus in a few weeks, who cares about that. Back to our high school PAXers who decided to park their highly suspicious looking truck basically by itself on the top level of Apex High’s parking deck for an EC run with Sub and Jiggly. While the time of day, location, and condition of said vehicle together raise suspicion, suspicion is not the test for searching a car. To be sure, articulable suspicion IS the test for pulling someone over, but a search requires probable cause. And this, my dear readers, our good friends at the Apex Police Department did not have. Nevertheless, given the owner of this vehicle left it unlocked on his run (because we live in an incredibly safe part of the world and perhaps because he doesn’t know any better…c’mon man), and because of the aforementioned conditions, Johnny Law opened the door, looked in every nook and cranny, and wouldn’t you know, he happened to find a “weapon.”
The ends, however, do not justify the means under our Constitution. Finding something without clearing the hurdle of probable cause renders a policeman’s Gotcha! moment fruit of the poisonous tree. As such, this search, in YHC’s opinion, was unconstitutional, despite the fact our dear young friend had forgotten about the airsoft gun behind his seat in his unlocked beater truck that he parked basically by itself at 0500 in the morning on high school property. Oh you crazy homeschoolers. Nevretheless, to be absolutely clear, the decision to search and resultant search of our PAXer’s vehicle was not just kind of unconstitutional, or sort of unconstitutional, it was just flat, plain, 100% UNCONSTITUTIONAL.
Luckily for all of us, about the time our good friends were getting cuffed, the incredibly short short wearing, head lamp shining, million dollar smile man Sub came running up, explained to the cops exactly how the Constitution works, and perhaps that these boys were with the most dynamic, amazing, volunteer led, planting growing serving all men’s free workout group the likes of Apex had ever seen, and catastrophe was averted. At least so we thought.
With arrest citations in the rear view mirror, and a MERLOT!, the PAX finally gathered around our noble Q, adorned in his favorite Grateful Dead hat, smelling a little like Otto’s jacket, and we were off. And by off, I mean right back to the scene of the crime. With one of three cop cars still in the lot, we commenced to warming up. As YHC looked up after a set of warmup merkins, he saw that sly grin ole Jim is known to have from time to time, and new things were about to get out of control. How about a little homer to marge? How about a little monkey humpers? How about a bunch of giggling men watching our last uniformed friend pull out? How about we see if Dazed and Confused is open next week.
With things settling down, the Q turned it up. Speaker in hand, Riptide explained how he graduated from the hallowed ole Apex High in 1994, which happened to be the year his favorite band, The Phish, played one of their most amazing Tweezers ever. 35 meandering minutes long, forever remembered in Wook lore as “the ‘94 Tweezer.” Oddly enough, at one of YHC Q’s early this week, Burt welcomed YHC with some fine tunes from the ‘94 Bangor ME show, as YHC also happens to be a phan of The Phish. It also just so happens that summer tour dates were released yesterday, and YHC strongly encourages all members of the PAX to hop on tour and eat some headie grill cheeses and other various sundries of your choosing (I recommend the chocolates). Perhaps YHC and the Q may see you at such places as the Gorge, Lake Tahoe, Ascend in Nashville, or Dick’s in the warmer months of 2020.
After that we worked out and then went to Bojangles.
Postscript: 1. Go get it today Flenderson! 2. Friday Bojangles is quickly becoming one of my favorite things, because a) their food, b) the sweet tea, c) the rock facade, and d) the three old timers in the corner who are there, religiously, holding it down. 3. YHC is fairly jaded when it comes to the state of affairs in our country (see prior posts). But this morning, he saw something that helped him realize that prism is not always accurate. Two Bubbas, in their Carhartts and beards, about to get to blue collar work, who some of us admittedly from time to time judge and peg in an unfair way (surely they voted for Trump, etc.), waited after their meal to sing Happy Birthday to one of the long time waiters of that Bojangles, who just so happened to be an elderly African American woman. Stop and think about that for a second. When do you ever see that? It was as heartfelt as anything YHC had seen in a long time. And it made me realize that for as much as I believe I am a fair and non-judgmental person, that is simply not true, and that YHC has some work to do. 4. There may have been slight embellishment in my recantation of the facts, but I’ll leave it to you to decide for yourself which ones. 5. While I think our men in uniform overstepped their constitutional bounds this morning, Sub reports they were very understanding and because of that, everything ended as it should. While in my younger days I admittedly harbored some ill will towards the law, I don’t now. Our men and women in uniform do a hard job, and nobody’s perfect, and one rotten apple in Ferguson or other places doesn’t spoil the bunch. I have taught my daughters to tell every policeman, firefighter, and other person in uniform they see ’thank you for your service,’ because they absolutely deserve it, even when they don’t get things right.
Last and certainly not least, YHC says happy birthday to my man Jim Riptide McMillan. A man of few typed words yet strong feelings. A man who works hard, who plays hard, who makes time for his two beautiful girls, and is always there when you need him. I’m proud to call you my friend, Jim. Happy Birthday.
YHC out.