Buying Acid In Berkely
Robby, Phil, and beautiful Rachel were my traveling companions. The sky was blue, the air was cool and clean. We were driving 80 West with all the windows open and the music blasting, The Violent Femmes taking turns with The Accused as we made our way toward the ocean, toward Berkley, towards People’s Park where would hopefully score a sheet of acid for less than two hundred bucks.
I rode in the back with Phil. It was the rule that the girl gets the front seat, especially when Robby, the driver had an enormous crush on her and it seemed quite conceivable that the feelings were mutual. We sang along with the song, cracked jokes and celebrated the fact that we were heading towards a good trip. We were sixteen years old.
People Park was like visiting another planet. The lawlessness was inspiring. There was music playing, punks, hippies and a variety pack of hobos drank from brown paper bags, barbequed and sold drugs openly. We were offered ecstasy, crank and weed before we found someone moving what we’d come for. It was an especially interesting time to be in the park as the university, owners and overlords of the property it sat on had decided to put in volley ball courts, a surreal and violently protested idea. So there we were with society’s rejects and drop outs along side muscled, tan college students drinking wine coolers and competing passionately in the sand.
You had to be careful buying drugs even in a clearing house like People’s Park. The more out-there looking someone was we figured the less chance that they were a nark, but the greater the chance that they were selling you some printed sheets of paper free of hallucinogenic chemicals. The guy that ended up selling us the acid was a regular at the park, obvious by the fact that three different people had referred us to him by name and he was cooking up a storm at the most populated of the barbeques when we found him. Jay sold us a sheet and we kicked a hit back to him; a tip. Then Robby and Phil each put a dose on their tongue. What the fuck?
“Robbie, what are you doing? You and Pill are the two with driver’s licenses. You have to drive us home.”
“I’m not leaving Berkley until we know the shits good. Besides, I drive fine high, you know that.”
The truth was I preferred Robby be at least stoned when he drove other wise he was way too aggressive. But being a little high and trippin’ on acid where not comparable in the slightest. It was too late. The drugs were soaking into their tongue already. Rachel didn’t seem to mind and dropped a dose herself. Oh well. I had to accept that which I could not change I figured and I placed a tab in my own mouth. We walked around the park as our stomach muscles began to tighten and our skin became sensitive. The muscles on my neck tingled, tightened and enjoyed moving my head about. I began to really appreciate just what an odd scene this park was. The community here was as structured and real as any other if less stable. The acid was definitely good.
We piled back into the car and attempted to find the freeway. Instead we found ourselves in a very black neighborhood. The residents of this neighborhood may have all been staring at us in an unwelcoming manner or we may have been projecting, but it was an unusual feeling for us white kids to be so solidly in the minority and we were anxious to find our way to the freeway but too chickenshit to roll down the window and ask directions.
Somehow we did end up on the freeway. To get back to Sacramento from Berkley is not a complicated endeavor. Interstate 80 East bound takes you all the way. It is truly remarkable that we managed to get as lost as we did. We were tripping something awful and Robby was certain we were heading in the wrong direction. He pulled the car off the freeway at an offramp that seemed to lead to nowhere and we made our way down a dark road that grew ever narrower. The road then ended at a trailer. This single mobile home sat smack at the dead end of a road with it’s own freeway offramp. It was too big to be a hallucination and it was being shared by all four of us. My brain did the math and decided this was real. I got out of the car. We all had the most faith in my mouth when it came to dealing with adults and authority figures. I knocked on the door. Nothing. I knocked again.
“Hello. Is there anyone here.” I called out.
I was about to give up when the blinds in the little window to the left of the door parted. “Who are you? What the fuck do you want?”
“Sorry to disturb you. My friends and I are lost. We’re trying to get back to Sacramento.”
“Get the fuck out of here. I have a gun.” I heard noises that I imagined to be the loading of said shotgun and I ran back to the car.
“Get the fuck out of here, he has a gun. He’s loading his gun, drive!” Robbie slammed it into reverse and backed up a good mile before daring to turn the car around. We drove for some time but the freeway that had been there before failed to materialize. Phil was tripping hard and starting to act pretty nuts.
“What the fuck Keith. You got us fucking lost. You dumb asshole. That guy didn’t have a fucking gun.”
If I’d known how bad Phil could get I’d have been more diplomatic. “Fuck you Phil. How did I get us lost. I aint driving. If you’d talked that dude we’d all be dead right now you fuckin’ nut bag.”
“What you want to fight? I’ll kick your ass Jensen.”
“Fuck off Phil. Let’s get home okay. Then we can fight all we want.”
“No, I’ll fight you now fucker.”
“Hey you guys what’s that?” Robby asked, thankfully derailing Phil’s train of thought. Looming before us was a huge building, with large welcoming glass doors and a big empty parking lot. We pulled up the doors and found them unlocked.
We were in a lobby of some kind of fitness club, and a nice one at that with marble floors, and impossibly high ceilings? Who the hell belonged to such a club? The guy in the mobile home? There was nobody at the front counter so I helped myself to the small office where I found an intercom system. I hit the button on the base of the microphone and heard my voice echo around me.
“Can we get assistance at the front counter please?”
Phil heard this and came running. “Goddammit Keith, what are you doing? I’m gonna beat you like a red headed nigger?”
As Phil said this there appeared behind him the only real live red headed black man I’d ever witnessed in person.
“Uh, Phil, turn around.” He could here the panic in my voice and did as he was told.
“Holy fuck!”
Luckily the man who had answered my page was calm and rational. “Hey you guys need to go.” He said in a Caribbean accent.
“Oh, yeah mon, we’re leaving.” Phil answered in the lamest fakin’ Jamaican I’d ever heard. He ran to the car and hid.
I found Robby and Rachel and corralled them toward the car. I got directions from the security guard or sole member of the largest health club I’d ever seen and he advised me as I left. “Your friends are pretty messed up. I hope you are driving.”
“Uh, yeah. I’m driving. Thanks man.” And I headed back to the car. I put all my attention into making sure Robby followed the directions I’d been given to a t. This was especially difficult as Phil was back on track looking for a fight. What is it with insane people and their amazing ability to carry on a dozen obsessions at once?
We found the freeway onramp. It even said Sacramento on the sign. We stopped at a gas station that didn’t exist at the ramp we’d exited form. I wondered just how far we’d traveled and just how much time had passed. I wished I had never ingested that acid. Phil was driving me crazy and I was considering smashing his skull in with a frozen bottle of Gatorade we’d brought with us that had failed to defrost. Instead I went into the bathroom of the gas station and started in the mirror, always a bad idea when trippin’. I was disgusted and saddened with myself for being in this situation. I would not trust Robby to drive me again. I punched the mirror and went back to the car.
“Hey Robby, I’m gonna ride up front or I’m going kill Phil.”
“Alright, that’s fine.” I was the hero of the moment for having gotten us back to the freeway. Rachel climbed in the back with Phil. We got on the road and Phil started hitting on Rachel aggressively. Robbie was pathetic, not saying a word. I was aware of how volatile Phil was and I though about how to approach this. That’s when Robbie started puking out the window, while driving.
“PULL OVER ROBBY! PULL THE FUCK OVER!” Robby got the car onto the shoulder. Phil couldn’t drive, obviously and Rachel had never driven in her life. I was up.
We all stepped out of the car to catch a breath and work out a new seating arrangement. I approached Phil.
“Hey Phil how ya doin’ man.”
“Fuck man, I’m cool.”
“Cool. Listen let’s just drop the shit and be cool with each other okay. It’ll make this a hell of a lot more fun, and we know we’re friends, so fuck it right?”
“Yeah man, it’s cool. No problem.”
“Alright man, awesome. Hey another thing, you know Robby kinda likes Rachel yeah?”
“Yeah dude. She’s hot. We all like her.”
“Well yeah, but I think her and Robby might kind of be on the way to having a thing going you know? So I thought, for Robby’s sake, that you and I would hold back. Is that cool?”
“Oh I get you. Yeah man that’s alright.”
I was a fuckin’ genius. If I could diffuse Phil than I could certainly drive a car. I climbed behind the wheel and got on the road. I heard Phil talking to Rachel in the back seat but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I was mostly focusing on keeping the car on the road as it felt ridiculously light and ready to slide about like we were driving on a large bar of soap.
“What the fuck Jensen? Rachel aint with Robby. You’re full of shit.”
“You told him I was with Robby?” Rachel shouted. “What the fuck.”
“He said you wanted me to stay away from you.” Phil was digging deeper.
“I did not. I just told him that Robby liked you and to lay off. I was just trying to get him to stop hitting on you.”
“You’re such an asshole.” Rachel couldn’t fight back against Phil so she turned on me. And now Robby joined in.
“God damn Keith, why can’t your own business?”
I wasn’t about to fight everyone in the car while trying to keep from floating up off the road. I just gripped the wheel and kept my mouth shut. Then Phil threw his shoe out the window.
“Ha ha, bye bye shoe.”
“What are you doing man?” Robby yelled.
“Relax man, it’s just a fuckin’ shoe.”
I laughed and kept driving, for what felt like a good five minutes. Then Phil decided he needed his shoe back. I told him it was too late his shoe was gone, but Phil wasn’t hearing it. He started to go apeshit. I looked in the rearview mirror to see if the lane next to me was clear. By the time I hauled my heavy eyes over I was already in the lane, which was indeed clear, luckily. I shot my eyes back forward, making sure it was clear in both directions. I had no idea how fast or slow I was going. Looking at the speedometer was out of the question. I had one more lane to go before I could grab the shoulder. Again, my eyes made the amazing journey from straight ahead to looking at the mirror and again, I was already over a lane by the time my eyes reached their destination. It was time for me not to drive.
I parked on the shoulder. I stepped out of the car. I decided I was done. I would not speak to anyone. I would not drive. If I got home, great, if not, well, the acid would wear off eventually and I’d deal with the small matter of traveling a few miles then. Every effort I made backfired on me. I would make no effort and I would be completely divested in whatever happened. I took a seat back in the car. Robby climbed back behind the wheel and backed up a good four or five miles. I wondered how much time we’d waste searching for Phils shoe, which we’d certainly never find.
“There it is. There it is!” Phil hollered, opening his door and jumping out of the car before Robby’d had a chance to touch his brakes. I stepped out and looked, and sure as could be, there was that damn white sneaker. A diesel passed and the shoe seemed to dance around, up on it’s toe, as if worn by a ballerina. Phil ran out to it, and made it back to the car safely.
I wondered if I really was the source of all our problems. Once I dropped out all was peaceful. We road home, trippin’ our brains out in silence. I got to my house and made my way to bed, praying to any deity available at such a late hour on a weekend to spare me from having to deal with parents. My prayer granted, I slipped into bed and played the classic game of separating what really happened from what couldn’t have really happened. I could not for the life of me figure out where the hell we were when we got lost or why that trailer and that fitness center were sitting in isolation in the middle of nowhere. I fell asleep eventually.
I woke up early feeling great. I made a list of rules for future experiences with acid. No relying on Robby for transportation, no having to be home, no Phil. I felt great; alive, healthy, peppy even. I walked to Robby’s house and found him up as well, washing his car and also in high spirits. We drove to Rachel’s and spent the day swimming and watching concert films while eating her parent’s food.
I rode in the back with Phil. It was the rule that the girl gets the front seat, especially when Robby, the driver had an enormous crush on her and it seemed quite conceivable that the feelings were mutual. We sang along with the song, cracked jokes and celebrated the fact that we were heading towards a good trip. We were sixteen years old.
People Park was like visiting another planet. The lawlessness was inspiring. There was music playing, punks, hippies and a variety pack of hobos drank from brown paper bags, barbequed and sold drugs openly. We were offered ecstasy, crank and weed before we found someone moving what we’d come for. It was an especially interesting time to be in the park as the university, owners and overlords of the property it sat on had decided to put in volley ball courts, a surreal and violently protested idea. So there we were with society’s rejects and drop outs along side muscled, tan college students drinking wine coolers and competing passionately in the sand.
You had to be careful buying drugs even in a clearing house like People’s Park. The more out-there looking someone was we figured the less chance that they were a nark, but the greater the chance that they were selling you some printed sheets of paper free of hallucinogenic chemicals. The guy that ended up selling us the acid was a regular at the park, obvious by the fact that three different people had referred us to him by name and he was cooking up a storm at the most populated of the barbeques when we found him. Jay sold us a sheet and we kicked a hit back to him; a tip. Then Robby and Phil each put a dose on their tongue. What the fuck?
“Robbie, what are you doing? You and Pill are the two with driver’s licenses. You have to drive us home.”
“I’m not leaving Berkley until we know the shits good. Besides, I drive fine high, you know that.”
The truth was I preferred Robby be at least stoned when he drove other wise he was way too aggressive. But being a little high and trippin’ on acid where not comparable in the slightest. It was too late. The drugs were soaking into their tongue already. Rachel didn’t seem to mind and dropped a dose herself. Oh well. I had to accept that which I could not change I figured and I placed a tab in my own mouth. We walked around the park as our stomach muscles began to tighten and our skin became sensitive. The muscles on my neck tingled, tightened and enjoyed moving my head about. I began to really appreciate just what an odd scene this park was. The community here was as structured and real as any other if less stable. The acid was definitely good.
We piled back into the car and attempted to find the freeway. Instead we found ourselves in a very black neighborhood. The residents of this neighborhood may have all been staring at us in an unwelcoming manner or we may have been projecting, but it was an unusual feeling for us white kids to be so solidly in the minority and we were anxious to find our way to the freeway but too chickenshit to roll down the window and ask directions.
Somehow we did end up on the freeway. To get back to Sacramento from Berkley is not a complicated endeavor. Interstate 80 East bound takes you all the way. It is truly remarkable that we managed to get as lost as we did. We were tripping something awful and Robby was certain we were heading in the wrong direction. He pulled the car off the freeway at an offramp that seemed to lead to nowhere and we made our way down a dark road that grew ever narrower. The road then ended at a trailer. This single mobile home sat smack at the dead end of a road with it’s own freeway offramp. It was too big to be a hallucination and it was being shared by all four of us. My brain did the math and decided this was real. I got out of the car. We all had the most faith in my mouth when it came to dealing with adults and authority figures. I knocked on the door. Nothing. I knocked again.
“Hello. Is there anyone here.” I called out.
I was about to give up when the blinds in the little window to the left of the door parted. “Who are you? What the fuck do you want?”
“Sorry to disturb you. My friends and I are lost. We’re trying to get back to Sacramento.”
“Get the fuck out of here. I have a gun.” I heard noises that I imagined to be the loading of said shotgun and I ran back to the car.
“Get the fuck out of here, he has a gun. He’s loading his gun, drive!” Robbie slammed it into reverse and backed up a good mile before daring to turn the car around. We drove for some time but the freeway that had been there before failed to materialize. Phil was tripping hard and starting to act pretty nuts.
“What the fuck Keith. You got us fucking lost. You dumb asshole. That guy didn’t have a fucking gun.”
If I’d known how bad Phil could get I’d have been more diplomatic. “Fuck you Phil. How did I get us lost. I aint driving. If you’d talked that dude we’d all be dead right now you fuckin’ nut bag.”
“What you want to fight? I’ll kick your ass Jensen.”
“Fuck off Phil. Let’s get home okay. Then we can fight all we want.”
“No, I’ll fight you now fucker.”
“Hey you guys what’s that?” Robby asked, thankfully derailing Phil’s train of thought. Looming before us was a huge building, with large welcoming glass doors and a big empty parking lot. We pulled up the doors and found them unlocked.
We were in a lobby of some kind of fitness club, and a nice one at that with marble floors, and impossibly high ceilings? Who the hell belonged to such a club? The guy in the mobile home? There was nobody at the front counter so I helped myself to the small office where I found an intercom system. I hit the button on the base of the microphone and heard my voice echo around me.
“Can we get assistance at the front counter please?”
Phil heard this and came running. “Goddammit Keith, what are you doing? I’m gonna beat you like a red headed nigger?”
As Phil said this there appeared behind him the only real live red headed black man I’d ever witnessed in person.
“Uh, Phil, turn around.” He could here the panic in my voice and did as he was told.
“Holy fuck!”
Luckily the man who had answered my page was calm and rational. “Hey you guys need to go.” He said in a Caribbean accent.
“Oh, yeah mon, we’re leaving.” Phil answered in the lamest fakin’ Jamaican I’d ever heard. He ran to the car and hid.
I found Robby and Rachel and corralled them toward the car. I got directions from the security guard or sole member of the largest health club I’d ever seen and he advised me as I left. “Your friends are pretty messed up. I hope you are driving.”
“Uh, yeah. I’m driving. Thanks man.” And I headed back to the car. I put all my attention into making sure Robby followed the directions I’d been given to a t. This was especially difficult as Phil was back on track looking for a fight. What is it with insane people and their amazing ability to carry on a dozen obsessions at once?
We found the freeway onramp. It even said Sacramento on the sign. We stopped at a gas station that didn’t exist at the ramp we’d exited form. I wondered just how far we’d traveled and just how much time had passed. I wished I had never ingested that acid. Phil was driving me crazy and I was considering smashing his skull in with a frozen bottle of Gatorade we’d brought with us that had failed to defrost. Instead I went into the bathroom of the gas station and started in the mirror, always a bad idea when trippin’. I was disgusted and saddened with myself for being in this situation. I would not trust Robby to drive me again. I punched the mirror and went back to the car.
“Hey Robby, I’m gonna ride up front or I’m going kill Phil.”
“Alright, that’s fine.” I was the hero of the moment for having gotten us back to the freeway. Rachel climbed in the back with Phil. We got on the road and Phil started hitting on Rachel aggressively. Robbie was pathetic, not saying a word. I was aware of how volatile Phil was and I though about how to approach this. That’s when Robbie started puking out the window, while driving.
“PULL OVER ROBBY! PULL THE FUCK OVER!” Robby got the car onto the shoulder. Phil couldn’t drive, obviously and Rachel had never driven in her life. I was up.
We all stepped out of the car to catch a breath and work out a new seating arrangement. I approached Phil.
“Hey Phil how ya doin’ man.”
“Fuck man, I’m cool.”
“Cool. Listen let’s just drop the shit and be cool with each other okay. It’ll make this a hell of a lot more fun, and we know we’re friends, so fuck it right?”
“Yeah man, it’s cool. No problem.”
“Alright man, awesome. Hey another thing, you know Robby kinda likes Rachel yeah?”
“Yeah dude. She’s hot. We all like her.”
“Well yeah, but I think her and Robby might kind of be on the way to having a thing going you know? So I thought, for Robby’s sake, that you and I would hold back. Is that cool?”
“Oh I get you. Yeah man that’s alright.”
I was a fuckin’ genius. If I could diffuse Phil than I could certainly drive a car. I climbed behind the wheel and got on the road. I heard Phil talking to Rachel in the back seat but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I was mostly focusing on keeping the car on the road as it felt ridiculously light and ready to slide about like we were driving on a large bar of soap.
“What the fuck Jensen? Rachel aint with Robby. You’re full of shit.”
“You told him I was with Robby?” Rachel shouted. “What the fuck.”
“He said you wanted me to stay away from you.” Phil was digging deeper.
“I did not. I just told him that Robby liked you and to lay off. I was just trying to get him to stop hitting on you.”
“You’re such an asshole.” Rachel couldn’t fight back against Phil so she turned on me. And now Robby joined in.
“God damn Keith, why can’t your own business?”
I wasn’t about to fight everyone in the car while trying to keep from floating up off the road. I just gripped the wheel and kept my mouth shut. Then Phil threw his shoe out the window.
“Ha ha, bye bye shoe.”
“What are you doing man?” Robby yelled.
“Relax man, it’s just a fuckin’ shoe.”
I laughed and kept driving, for what felt like a good five minutes. Then Phil decided he needed his shoe back. I told him it was too late his shoe was gone, but Phil wasn’t hearing it. He started to go apeshit. I looked in the rearview mirror to see if the lane next to me was clear. By the time I hauled my heavy eyes over I was already in the lane, which was indeed clear, luckily. I shot my eyes back forward, making sure it was clear in both directions. I had no idea how fast or slow I was going. Looking at the speedometer was out of the question. I had one more lane to go before I could grab the shoulder. Again, my eyes made the amazing journey from straight ahead to looking at the mirror and again, I was already over a lane by the time my eyes reached their destination. It was time for me not to drive.
I parked on the shoulder. I stepped out of the car. I decided I was done. I would not speak to anyone. I would not drive. If I got home, great, if not, well, the acid would wear off eventually and I’d deal with the small matter of traveling a few miles then. Every effort I made backfired on me. I would make no effort and I would be completely divested in whatever happened. I took a seat back in the car. Robby climbed back behind the wheel and backed up a good four or five miles. I wondered how much time we’d waste searching for Phils shoe, which we’d certainly never find.
“There it is. There it is!” Phil hollered, opening his door and jumping out of the car before Robby’d had a chance to touch his brakes. I stepped out and looked, and sure as could be, there was that damn white sneaker. A diesel passed and the shoe seemed to dance around, up on it’s toe, as if worn by a ballerina. Phil ran out to it, and made it back to the car safely.
I wondered if I really was the source of all our problems. Once I dropped out all was peaceful. We road home, trippin’ our brains out in silence. I got to my house and made my way to bed, praying to any deity available at such a late hour on a weekend to spare me from having to deal with parents. My prayer granted, I slipped into bed and played the classic game of separating what really happened from what couldn’t have really happened. I could not for the life of me figure out where the hell we were when we got lost or why that trailer and that fitness center were sitting in isolation in the middle of nowhere. I fell asleep eventually.
I woke up early feeling great. I made a list of rules for future experiences with acid. No relying on Robby for transportation, no having to be home, no Phil. I felt great; alive, healthy, peppy even. I walked to Robby’s house and found him up as well, washing his car and also in high spirits. We drove to Rachel’s and spent the day swimming and watching concert films while eating her parent’s food.
