I Was a Toddler Without a Toy.
On our way home from Daytona, I was distressed. We had barely enough money for gas, and no one would buy me any beer.
Danny was driving as I whined all the way through Georgia. “I gotta get back to fuckin’ work,” he growled. “We’re not stoppin’.”
“Let’s just pick up a 12-pack,” I moaned, my hangover screaming for redemption.
Larry said, “We’ll get a fuckin’ case when we get home.”
“I can’t fuckin’ wait until we get home,” I moaned.
I spent hours contriving new ways we could get some beer without taking any time:
“There’s a liquor store at the next exit!”
“Let’s get a pizza!” (No one ate pizza without drinking beer.)
“We could say we got a flat tire and spend the night in that hotel!”
I was a toddler without a toy. I couldn’t think about anything else.
Danny finally snapped. “There’s a fuckin’ beer right there! Just drink that!”
Coincidentally, there was one can of Miller Lite in the car.
No one knew how long it had been there or from whence it came. It had definitely been there for more than 24 hours, in the closed car, in the blazing Florida sunshine. No doubt that one beer was rancid.
But like any good alcoholic, I considered Danny’s suggestion.
The beer had been rolling on the floor of the car for days, flitting under the seats, then rolling back into view. Even if the beer hadn’t been the single most puke-worthy beer ever, the rolling meant that the carbonation would cause the can to explode if I opened it.
And if I survived the beer explosion, what was left would be half a can of rancid foam – meaning, not just awful but virtually impossible to drink.
Still, I seriously considered this option.
The Crux: there was only one beer. And I knew that one beer would never, ever be enough.
At that point, the rancid, rolling beer was the only beer on the planet. It was certainly the only beer I was going to get during the full-day-long drive to Pittsburgh.
So I didn’t open it.
And I stopped asking for beer.
Instead, I thought back to my childhood. How did I survive long car rides in my youth?
I remembered singing with my family, reading books, playing a variety of games, having a great time riding in the car.
I desperately loved family games.
“Let’s play the alphabet game!” I suggested.
Danny and Larry – to shut me up – begrudgingly agreed. I taught them how to play.
“I packed my suitcase and in it I put …” Danny needed something with the letter A. “An apple.”
Larry went next: “I packed my suitcase and it in I put an apple and … a banana.” Letter B.
It wasn’t a great start, but by the eighth letter, we were making the game into a little song. Things rhymed. There was a real rhythm to the “suitcase” we were building. I’d never played the game this way before – and it was awesome! An extra challenge!
By the end, when someone sadly broke the game, we had a fabulous suitcase packed.
An apple, a banana, a carrot, and a dog
An egg, some french fries, a goat, and a hog
Icicles, some jewelry, a kazoo, and a lute
Marshino cherry, nitrous oxide, and orange poop
The queen of the world, racquetball, and a sack
Twist-ties, Underalls, a vulture and wax
X-rated films, Yugoslavian yams and a zombie named Bill.
After the success of the game, beer was no longer necessary. We had a fun drive home without it.