Historical April–May 2019 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
“Too many forty year-old adolescents, felons, power drinkers, and trustees of modern chemistry.”- John Dalton I always learn something after watching Patrick Swayze’s turn as Dalton, the philosophical cooler (bar bouncer) in Road House, a movie of simple truths, masquerading in cliche’s of cartoon violence. (co-starring Sam Elliot as his mentor, Wade Garrett) Fat Tuesday? Fat chance. I’ve never been to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, because St. Louis boasts the second largest Fat Tuesday celebration outside of the Crescent City. It’s been quite a while, though, since I’ve traded beads for debauchery.
In my recollections, I recall a more docile party than today’s aggressive Zombie Apocalypse.
When our carnival succumbed to excess, we threw up rainbows and starbursts, instead of blood and guts.
This past Saturday night, I returned for the first time in twenty four years, this time as a sentinel for Good, and a bulwark against Evil.
It was another typical Saturday night at this stage of our lives.
The wife and I headed out to the parish church for trivia, hummus, sweet/salty snacks, and reasonable consumption. Just as our table was set to use a super mulligan on the Patron Saints category, an unknown number rang my phone.
It may have been unknown, but it was expected. Our precious daughter, sweet Mary Purebread was in town, and mine eyes witnessed her getting her party on pretty damn early that day.
A cork screw sensation went up my spine when I answered, correctly sensing I was going to miss a shot at the 50/50 raffle. (everyone always donates the winnings back to the parish?) “Dad, I’ve lost my friends, my phone is dead, I’m using some random, and I’m cold. Could you get me an Uber?” “Saint Jude” crackled over the loudspeaker as I shouted above the din, “Are you crazy! There’s no way you’re going to get an Uber in there! Maybe a Lyft, but forget about an Uber!” I turned to my wife and said, “Honey, this is a job for Mom and Dad.” “Stay put sweetheart, we’re on our way.” Wiping our hands of hummus and sun dried basil wheat thins, we dashed to the Red Dragon, our 2016 Toyota RAV4, shifted into sport mode and raced to the scene.
We arrived to chaos. Crowds of people, barricaded streets, sirens, and lack of convenient bathroom facilities. Everything Mom and Dad hate.
My wife looked at me and said, “You can’t go in there with your knee and ankle.
I guess it’s up to me.” I told her, “I got your back.” I watched her disappear into the darkness, like a Navy Seal on a mission, to extricate our delicate from the war zone.
I waited at the Dragon listening to my 80’s playlist, when her voice came over the Bluetooth, “I’ve got her! Meet me at the gas station, and let’s get out of here.” As we drove toward home, Mary, secured in the back seat, her head against the headrest, she said, “Mom and Dad, you guys are superheroes.” We looked at each other and smiled, “We know dear. Honey, do you think we can still make trivia?” Sleep well America. Mom and Dad are on the job.
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, April–May 2019.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times2019_04.pdf, printed page(s) 4; PDF page(s) 4.
