I didn't really have a good reason for
moving to Muncie.
I'd left my first wife in the spring of
'88 and returned to Ohio. I rented a bungalow at a vintage motor
court on the Dixie Highway and got a pizza job. By August, I still
hadn't found an apartment and was getting discouraged. A girl I
worked with told me it was shame I wasn't looking in Muncie,
Indiana. She was returning to school in the fall and one of her
roommates had backed out of their lease. She said there were plenty
of pizza joints in town, and I should check it out.
On a whim, I traveled to Indiana and did
a walk through. My room had double pocket doors, a marble fireplace
with a mirror and columns all the way up to the twelve foot ceiling,
and a private entrance. My portion of the rent would be $150.00 per
month. On the way out of town, I got a job managing a pizzeria on
campus. By September, I was living with three sophomore girls; two
topless dancers and and the sweetest little architect student.
When I called my dad to tell him about
the move, he said I was dumber than owl shit.
Friends from Dayton threw me a going
away party and we dropped acid. At about 2:00 am they headed back to
their wives and girlfriends and I got on the road west. I
took the interstate and there was one lane from construction all the
way from Dayton to Richmond. Large barrels crowded in on me,
festooned with flashing lights that sent my LSD high into overload.
My forearms were sore from clenching the wheel so hard and I kept
forgetting to breathe. Even though I had the cruise control set at
40, I alternately thought I was creeping or racing. I should have
stayed at John's place, or at least taken the farm roads.
Somehow,
I found my way to Muncie and located my new home. The girls weren't
due for another week. I wasn't really supposed to be there myself,
but I knew the house was empty and I had a key and couldn't see
paying another week at the motor court when there was adventure and
exploration ahead of me. I stashed my grass, unloaded the hot rod,
hung a hammock, and slept until four the next afternoon.
I
posted a few posters and considered myself unpacked. I grabbed a
manageable amount of buds from my quarter pound and jumped in the
Buick, eager to see where the hell I landed. My first stop was the
pizzeria, where I let them know I was in town and would report for
work the following week as planned. Then I just drove around getting
high and familiarizing myself with my new environment.
I
found a street on the south side that was about thirty or so blocks
long and bumper to bumper hot rods. The parking lots were full of
pretty girls milling about in frilly little skirts and teased bangs.
On one end of the cruising strip was a genuine old fashioned burger
joint. It was like going back in time. On my third pass down Madison
Street, I found a race. A '69 Nova lined up with me at the Memorial
Drive stop light and by time we reached the railroad bridge about
twelve blocks north, I had him by two lengths.
Suddenly,
he turned off and just as I was thinking he was a sore loser for not
pulling into McDonalds to meet me and talk cars, I saw the cop
falling in behind me. First day in town, out of state tags, reefer...
no thanks. I went the wrong way down a one way and punched it,
turning off before the officer showed up in the mirror. I did that a
couple of more times, and then headed back to campus where they had
different cops.
I
checked out the village, and was impressed by the counter culture
scene. There were some good bars, and great music. I walked down
University Avenue smoking fat joints and meeting groovy people. I
fell in love with that town
I
thought I'd end the night by stopping by the pizzeria for a take home
pie and meet some of my new co-workers while it cooked. The
pizzamaker was a pale, skinny, brooding fella who reminded me of
Edward Scissorhands. The closing driver that night was an Irish guy
with an afro who looked like a Hanna Barberra character. The shop was
built in an old house and business was slow since classes hadn't
started yet. The Hair Bear dude had a guitar out and played some old
Cat Stevens and Don McLean on the porch while we watched the pretty
girls go by.
Scissorhands
offered me the pizza for free if I'd stay and help close. We locked
up and the three of us smoked the last of my night's walking around
stash in the walk in. Hair Bear invited me back to his place to
sample his doobage when we left. I remember heading up the street I
lived on and turning just before the fairgrounds and winding through
a neighborhood to a huge yellow house. I tried to go to his house the
next day and see if he wanted to hit the bars, but had a wild
adventure trying to find it.
I
turned just where I thought we had the day before, but it looked a
little different. This street curved to the left and came to a tee at
a dirt road. If I turned right on the dirt, I figured I might come
out somewhere near where I was heading. I did so and a little while
later the road curved to the left, then again. Then AGAIN! I had
almost gone in a complete circle. Then, looking up, I noticed the
grand stand. I had unwittingly driven onto the horse track at the
fairgrounds.
I
thought I was probably already busted, and anyway, when would I get
another opportunity like this? I dropped it into first, floored it,
did two laps and got the hell out of there. I headed to the village
(where they had different cops).
Once
again, I gravitated to the pizza joint where I thought I might get
better directions to Hair Bear's place. I was told he was at another
driver's place helping him move and they showed me a note on the
bulletin board from Lucky Tailor, requesting assistance and
accompanied by a map and the promise of free beer.
I now
had plans for the evening.
OUTSTANDING!
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