And So It Begins/Continues

My 10-year high school reunion got off to an early start last night when former classmate Zach Trexler and his wife Lisa rolled into town. Things started off great with Max, my wife Megan, and me joining Zach and Lisa for dinner at Omaha's best pizzeria, Zio's. We all had a chance to catch up while enjoying great food and beer. Topics of discussion ranged from Zach and Lisa's son Adam, to obscure programming languages, to the new house Megan and I just bought, to GM stock, to who may or may not be coming to the reunion, to the industrialization of China and India. You know, the usual. Max even brought along his newly-reprinted Goldenboy graphic novel and we all marveled about how much better it looks than the trial run. Max was in especially good spirits as he had begun celebrating (aka drinking bourbon) the moment he opened the new version of his book. And judging from his mood, I began to wonder if it hadn't arrived before noon. So, the reunion was off to a good start. It looked like this reunion thing might actually be...good. Then, like anything that involves my high school crew getting together, the wheels fell off.

Before I continue, I should probably fill you in on a little history. In high school we were a pretty closenit bunch. The group of friends I had were together nearly nonstop, day and night, for the school year. We were either riding to school together, pulling all-nighters for the newspaper, or in a rare bit of free time, hanging out. Things were usually kosher when it was just a couple of us together, but the more of us that got together, the more trouble seemed to find us. In other words, we were like the opposite of Voltron: separated we could hold our own, but together we were pretty much screwed. A few prime examples of this are:

1. Me falling through the ceiling when I was getting sleeping bags for Max, Tristan, and Cal out of my attic after we got together for a Harvey Keitel-athon (which actually turned into just watching one Keitel movie, because we made the mistake of staring with Bad Lieutenant). Falling through the ceiling sounds bad, and it was, but I didn't fall completely through. No, I was "lucky" enogh to be saved by a crossbeam. Between my legs. Right in the junk. Let's just say I sat there for a while, feet hanging through the ceiling, before I managed to get up.

2. Max and/or me almost being decapitated by a frontloader tractor. This was on a trip to Northwest Missouri State for a journalism camp. Tristan was driving Ben and myself in his family's van to the camp when, as he was passing the aforementioned tractor, it deciding to turn right into us. This by the way, is why 9 year olds shouldn't be driving on the highway! Anyhow, after getting out of the van to survey the damage, we saw the markings from where a 5-foot-long frontloader bale spear entered the window just behind my head, missing me by inches. Max skipped out on this particular trip, for reasons I can no longer remember, but if he had come along,he would have almost certainly been sitting behind me and in the path of the very same bale spear.

3. Max, Tristan, Zach, Cal, Chris, and me being surround by 8 squad cars and almost killed in a shootout with police. I know that it's hard to have a shootout when you're unarmed, but that's what almost happened. This time we were shooting, or rather "filming" a scene for our hitman movie epic Blue in a bank parking lot with a lot of fake guns. Now, this wasn't as dumb as it sounds, as we did have the bank's clearance, but it was still pretty freakin' stupid. Stupid, and apparently more than a little disconcerting, as a passerby thinking the whole thing was real called the police. When the first police car showed up we weren't all that concerned, but needless to say, things went from bad to worse as more police and adrenaline kept being added to the mix. The car that Zach, Cal, and I were in was ultimately surrounded by policemen with weapons drawn. I ended up face down on the concrete with a cop on my back and a gun to my head. Luckily, cooler heads eventually prevailed when it was discovered the guns were fake. Good times, good times. Hey, at least we made it on the news!

The list goes on and includes such hits as:
-one of us almost falling through railroad ties on a bridge down to the street below
-a designated driver dropping acid at a party
-some of us almost having to fight our way out of predominately gay party because one of us was so drunk he wouldn't shut up about some guy's vinyl pants or what he himself would do if he was an "ass-cowboy"

I think you can see a pattern developing here. So, I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that something would go wrong last night. Nothing major, mind you, just Zach and Lisa's car not starting. This initiated a comedy of errors that started with none of us having jumper cables. No problem. They've got to have some across the street at the service station, right? They sure do, but only if you want to pay $35 to have the jackball mechanic drive his 'wrecker' literally across the street to jump it. This elicited a well-warranted "Thanks a lot...asshole," as we walked out the door.

Back accross the street at the car, we debated the merits of installing a new battery ourselves, or just getting jumper cables. We decided on jumper cables, but since it was almost 9:00 and we were at 78th and Dodge, our options were slim. Zach and I left in search of cables and left the rest of our party to enjoy after-dinner drinks at the conveniently located Holiday Lounge. Zach and I decided to try Lowe's, where we were not only surprised to actually find jumper cables, but to find them right where right where you would expect them to be... down aisle 18 in between the ladders and child safety supplies. Okay, that's probably not where anyone would expect to find them, but we picked them up and were on our way. We went back and hooked up the cables from my car to Zach and Lisa's. I fired up the Golf and we waited a couple of minutes for the dead battery to soak up a little juice.

Anyone want to hazard a guess as to what happened when Zach turned his key in the ignition? That's right, par for the course...nothing. This led to swearing and tire kicking from Zach. He finally broke down and called AAA. They showed up an hour later and were able to get it started by removing some of the corrosion on the battery connectors. Zach and Lisa then had to take it to a garage and have the battery replaced. And guess where they went? That's right, right back across the street to the same guy Zach had called an asshole, although I don't think he heard him. But, I might be wrong, since the bill for the new battery and installation was about $80.

The whole thing was classic. It was annoying, tedious, and even a little expensive. But, you know what? I loved every minute of it. I loved it because it's such a perfect beginning to a reunion for us. If that whole ordeal isn't the greatest example of things changing but ultimately staying the same, I don't know what is.