Thursday, October 16, 2008

A Story Of Note

I try very hard to not tell someone else's story, but I heard a good one as of late, and I know that if I don't commit it to print it will never be told, regardless of the medium.

I have a friend named Claude. Claude told me this story the other day and it bears repeating, as it has elements that are too odd to pass over.

Claude, as a young man, and his wife at the time took a vacation and went to the beach with another couple. Claude and Dave were buddies and to really set the vacation on it's ear, they went in on a couple of marijuana cigarettes. This was an expense they both took the burden of and they assured each other that the rest of the trip was to be done on the cheap, but fairly, amongst the two of them, just like the cigarettes.

Claude's buddy purchased four marijuana cigarettes for the trip. At some point early in the trip, one was consumed that the two of them had in haste, leaving three.

Much later in the week, Claude asks Dave about the other three and Dave explains that it is hidden amongst his underwear, but Dave is going to hit the tourist traps with his wife and Claude's wife has a headache and is going to take a nap.

Claude sees his calender clear and heads to the beach after a short search in someone's underwear drawer. He spreads his blanket in a remote part of the beach and pitches his umbrella. He waits for a bit and fools with his sunscreen. The crowd abandons the beach in the heat of the afternoon sun and Claude decides to indulge himself. He smokes half of one cigarette and tucks the rest of it with the lighter into the sand under the blanket and heads out into the waves. He paddles around in the surf for a bit and enjoys the sun, sand, and waves.

He does this until he sees his wife beckon from the balcony of their seaside house. He heads to the house to see if she is feeling better and to see if she would like to romp in the surf.

It turns out her headache has healed and she is up for a romp, but not in the surf. Claude is distracted for quite some time.

As Claude finally relaxes his head against the pillow and contemplates a tobacco cigarette, he asks about the time. His wife snuggles up to him and sets the ash tray on his chest as she rests on one elbow and mentions that it's almost dinner time.

Claude rises quickly and makes some lame excuse that he left the blanket and umbrella on the beach and he needs to get them now. Right now. He excuses himself to her dumbsquizzled look, pulls on some pants, and beats feet for the beach two hundred yards away.

Claude finds his blanket and umbrella, and his worst fears are confirmed. The tide has come in and washed three layers of sand on to his blanket and the big ticket entertainment of the whole trip is awash in sea water like Burt Lancaster in "From Here To Eternity".

Claude and Dave tell several lies as to why the two of them keep staying up late after everyone else has gone to bed and run the microwave for hours on end. As Claude's wife pointed out, "How many hot dogs can you eat at 1 am?"

"As many as the tide washes in," thought Claude.

I'm certain there is a moral to be drawn from this tale, but I will leave that up to you.
Thank you Claude for this story and teaching me the majesty of baseball. For these, I am grateful. Let me conclude with this:


***Editor's Note*** In no way does the staff of Social Zymurgy endorse the use of illegal drugs, but much like two-headed goats, animal attacks, and doctored photos in Star magazine, we do understand that these things happen. We have seen a couple of Cheech & Chong movies. Take my advice and stick to the suds and stay out of the surf.


  1. huh. I thought this was why they always told yew to put that stuff in a plastic bag? And burying it in the sand?? My goodness...

    Well, like grandy-ma says, "learn from other people's mistakes 'cuz ya' ain't gonna have time to make 'em all yo'self...!!"

  2. When my son was about 22, he phoned me to gloat about finding my stash hidden behind some rafters in the basement. True, I had put it there several years ago and forgotten about it (1.3 blunts, hardly a fortune). I asked him what he was doing, poking around in the rafters, and he told me he had been looking for a place to hide his stash.

    I hate honest kids.

  3. A fine tale Doc. My favorite drug story was when I was in the Navy (as many of my drug stories are) and we went into port in Sri Lanka. Knowing that this land was known for it's hash, we proceeded to the nearest bar to have a brew and make a purchase. Being the savvy fellows we were, we told the young bar girl that we wanted to try some before we made our purchase. She reached into a bag and pulled out a "sampler" the size of your fist, and said "you try this, you likey, you come back buy more."

    This was far more than we ever expected to even buy, so needless to say we scampered away and spent the rest of the 3 days in port with a severe case of the giggles.

  4. Ahhhh memories of the 70's. we called them joints.....they were $1.00 each. With inflation, I wonder what one cost nowadays?

    I have not partook in many years but I will never forget the smell.....just loved it.

    and coors lite



Write your beer-fueled ravings here...