West Palm Beach Spring Break '95
"Stay at my aunt's place in West Palm Beach," Weasel said. "She has plenty of booze. It's free!"
Brent Seelmeyer is a fraternity brother and his wealthy aunt lived on the PGA National Resort in West Palm Beach, Florida. The mere mention of a free place to stay and free booze was enough to get at least eight of us down there for a week of R&R. When you are in college, your prepetually broke, so this was a cost-efficient alternative to Panama City Beach or Daytona.
I chose to drive my Miata down with Jeff Hickey, another fraternity brother while the rest took off in two other vehicles. This was a big mistake. While driving through Chattanooga I rear-ended a turkey truck and destroyed the front of my vehicle. We had an external CD player and Jeff was messing with it and wouldn't stop. When I looked down to fix it, I hit the back-end of a large truck carrying a couple live turkeys. The truck was uninjured. My Miata was fucked. I had to duct tape the head lights up so they would work. We then managed to turn an 8-hour trip into 12 hours. We couldn't wait to get out of the car!
Once we arrived we immediately went inside the house and started drinking from the booze. Weasel’s tune had changed, though. He had gone from, “drink! drink! drink!” to “Are you gonna replace that?!” The house was gorgeous and immaculate and not as place where our sorry asses needed to stay. It was so nice that the homeowners association called to inform Brent that the truck Alex had driven could not be parked in front of the house. We had to place it in the garage! Brent had gone from inviting brother to crazy house keeper. In hindsight, he was doing the right thing or else we would have trashed his aunt's place, but we reneted the change.
We were drunk hoodlums unloosed on a place unbefitting our unruly kind and we spent most of the week at the beach, or in Miami or dodging Seelmeyer’s demands that we restock the booze. We were horrible house guests. One night I got so drunk I was drinking (free) rum straight from the handle. I even borrowed Brent's Vitalogy CD without asking and lost it, all the the span of one evening.
Some of the guys event went to the Florida keys for a day or two while the rest of us stayed local. The problem was the PGA NAtional Course and Resort was mostly for retirees and rich folk. One night we out to a West Palm Beach Irish bar and a n adjacent club and Alex managed to purchase acid and lose it in a fifteen minute span. It was probably for the best, but I remember being totally pissed! Plus, I was a broke college kid so we were counting every dollar we had.
In the middle of the week I had gotten piss drunk one afternoon and had found a pink girl’s bicycle. I have no idea where I proliferated the bicycle. It just appeared before my drunk ass. Now I have never been known for my riding prowess, but on this particular day I was trying to channel my inner Evil Kinevil. However, everyone knows that alcohol and riding pink bicycles do not mix. I had a pure redneck moment with my “Hey ya’ll watch this” moves.
Adam was on a regular bike and he says he had no idea what I had planned. I had told them to watch then proceeded to get up some speed and did a front launch on a manhole cover on my face, with the bike landing on top of me. I literally ripped an inch of flesh under my eye and had cut marks all over my arms and chest.
I staggered back to the house, leaving a trail of blood as it dripped down my elbows. My blood was really thing from all of the booze I had been drinking so it was pouring out of me. I walked in, not saying a word to anyone in the house. Everyone had a look of shock on their face. I walked straight into the shower where I washed blood off for fifteen minutes.
There was no hiding that I was physically fucked up. Once I had sobered up, I bought the largest pair of sunglasses I could find to hide my facial gash and I started wearing long-sleeve shirts. But I never stopped partying, even with Brent being completely anal about his aunt’s place.
When we left we did pitch in a little. I think we replaced top-shelf liquor with Natural Light and Old Granddad. We stopped on the way back in Daytona Beach and took photos with the busted Miata on the beach. It was pathetic.
Insurance covered the car, but I had to drive it to Nashville from Daytona and catch a ride from Nashville to Knoxville with another fraternity brother. We were never asked back to Weasel’s aunt’s home. I know why. And somewhere a little girl grew up without her pink bicycle. I know that why as well.