AM/PM Beer Cooler Takeover

A creative, if illegal solution to underaged alcohol access. Smooth sailing, until a cop appeared opposite me, staring right at me through the glass. Would my invisible statue pose work?

If you sneak in the beer cooler of your local AM/PM, it’s best to remember you aren’t invisible.  Also, Roscoes (cops) on duty need liquid refreshment too.  Our plans on that freezing February night didn’t include an up close and personal meeting with a Roscoe, through the glass of that convenience store walk-in beverage cooler.  Me, on the wrong side of that walk-in cooler.  Excellent motivation for one’s best invisible statue imitation. 

Without a healthy head start on the drinking, it’s unlikely we would have ever dreamed up such a ballsy scheme.  Like my Grandpa used to say: “There is no fixing stubborn and stupid.”  Two characteristics that proportionately outweighed all others combined when referring to me at that age.  The 14 year old versions of Augie and I couldn’t stomach beer. Since first grade, my best friend, Augie.  Redmond Augusto, one of the 3 percenters.  Non-Mormon kids I attended Elementary, Junior High, and High School with, comprised only 3% of the class.  It wasn’t easy for him. Being Episcopalian in the valley of the Saints.  He was either ridiculed, or told he was going to H-E double hockey sticks for not belonging to the one and only true Church.  This is when Mormon leadership openly declared the Book of Mormon’s oft referenced “Harlot of all the Earth, the Abominable Church” and root of all evil, was in fact the Catholic Church. Nowadays, they like act like they have no clue what you are talking about, when reminded.  Mormon leadership is much less comfortable wagging their finger and shouting down the competition these days. 

 At some point in the 90’s the practice of mutual hollow flattery was recognized as mutually beneficial.  There were plenty of enemies without creating more.  Augie went to school when Mormon kids openly included his faith in with the Abominable Harlot of all the Earth.  I was the best he could hope for. Which is a sad thought. “You’re Church is wrong, mine is the one and only true Church and the only path to Heaven.” I cringe now recalling it, especially considering what I’ve learned since.  I don’t know how Augie tolerated any of us.  I only said it once, drunkenly, but it wasn’t my finest hour. 

In 1985, California Coolers were what we sought.  Wine coolers.  Unlike beers, which you can crush one after another, and keep burping to keep going, wine coolers sat in your gut like 12 ounces of tungsten. 3 or 4 in quick succession was downright painful.  Whatever we were pouring into our talk-hole, the last thing you wanted to do was spew.  Wasting precious, often inconvenient to procure resources.  On this 15 degree Friday night, for some reason we got a very late launch.  We shouldn’t have wasted our party goods with such a short time to enjoy the results. 8:30 pm, Augie and I hunkered down in our woodsy hangout.  The Lair. Several hundred yards of forest in every direction, our lair contained a few cut log stumps as chairs, surrounding a campfire obscured by a dip in the landscape.  A hidden dugout compartment sheltered our nudie magazines and party supplies.  The fire couldn’t been seen from any of the approaches.  In a nosy, tattletale place, where the cops think a kid crushing brewskis or riding his motocross bike on pavement is both sin and borderline felonious.  One has to be quite cunning to avoid the s**t-list.  Once on that list, it’s impossible to escape it. 

Most wildlings who partake of alcohol or weed arrive on law enforcement’s radar early and never leave.  Quite often ruining young lives.  Once painted in a very ugly corner by every element of society that decides such matters in small town Mormon America. 

On this Friday night, we didn’t have time to get the fire going.  We started hammering wine coolers, rapid fire stylee.  After 5 or 6 in less than 30 minutes, I should have stopped.  The salty, pre-puke saliva flow was sounding the alarm.  “Dude, easy bro.  I’m saving two,” Augie cautioned. “7 each, what’s the point of saving 2?  Nah, I’ma get my shine on real good tonight.”   “Matty, even in the moonlight, I can tell you are green as the Grinch.  You are gonna spew.  How much you wanna bet.”   “Dude, quiet.”  With every taunting word, I was closer to letting it rip.  For some reason, we thought it a great game to induce the other dude to hurl.  It was a contest.  A macho competition.  “Oh f**k, my stomach is going to rip dude. It’s too much.”  “No question, 84 ounces.  In mere minutes, if you don’t yack, your stomach will explode like that fat dude with the cracker on Monty Python.  I’ma be cleaning guts off my face for an hour.”  Despite the pain, I couldn’t help but laugh.  Augie could spin a wicked visual with his words. 

Augie gave me the final nudge.  “I bet your mouth tastes like a homeless dudes butthole right now.”  Just like the cracker did in Monty Python, that did it.  I walked to the edge of our forested lair and turned my back to Augie.  “Raaaaaahhlaaaaaalaaarrraaahaaaaahraaaaa,” 84 ounces of wine cooler was propelled out of my lanky frame with maximum velocity.  The noise echoed off the foothills in the crisp night air.  Splatting all over the hard snow packed ground.  Simultaneous with the  splatting sound effect, Augie let out a cackle that caught me off guard.  “Bwaahaahaaa.  Holy s**t dude, that was f*****g awesome!  You just kicked that Exorcist chick’s a*s! In the moonlight, it looked a firehose on full blast.  Your back was arched like one of those cobras.  It was f*****g glorious bro.”   I was feeling better, but not by much.  I was irritated in the extreme.  “Dude, shut-up, I just wasted my buzz.  Total f*****g waste.  I had my shine on real good.  Now we have to go get more.  C’mon.”  Augie just stared at me. 

“What?  We gotta be home in less than two hours.  We can’t find more booze this late.”   “C’mon, I have an idea.”  He just stared in disbelief as we started making our way to the road.  I’m a single minded b*****d at all the wrong times and places in life.  “Idea?”  He asked. 

“Yeah.  Okay, okay.  I got it.  AM/PM only has one HS girl working this time of night.  We can’t do the back-alley stash at the grocery store, they’re closed.  AM/PM is it.  You distract whoever is working, hopefully Kristin.  I creep back in the beer cooler, and crush as many as I can, then load up with product after I’m done.  Then, it’s your turn.  I distract that chickadee, you hammer brewskis.  All-you-can-drink, and we procure enough supplies for tomorrow night.  Or whenever.  Put them in our stash-box in the Lair, for later.”   Augie wasn’t totally convinced.  “Dude, my buzz is already crashing and burning, let’s get moving,” I began jogging. 

Augie knew there was no stopping me.  The walk was over a mile.  It was only getting colder.  15 F is tolerable, but there was a brisk wind coming from the east.  Down the face of the mountains and into the valley.  Though fading, I was still numbed to the cold.  Augie and I game-planned for our arrival.  “It’s always the lack of a plan.  Small details, that get people busted,” Augie said.  We were interchangeable when it came to spouting such ideas.  We saw guys from school get busted over and over for stupid reasons, and Augie and I would dissect where s**t went wrong. What was avoidable.  All too often, the weakest link was dumb enough to believe confession was the smart play. 

Weak mentally and emotionally as far as we were concerned.  We had both experienced plenty of unpleasantness with local Roscoes.  In our still developing brains, it was a chess match.  An athletic competition. Something we would not, and could not lose.  The anti-authoritarian chip on our shoulder was more a boulder.  We were already tired of hypocrisy. We had fallen for the “confession and remorse” trick once before.  We were promptly bludgeoned with it.  None of the promised benefits regarding punishment were honored.  “Never gain,” we vowed. 

The AM/PM sign appeared in the distance.  We felt a bit warmer as we approached for what passed as downtown in our town.  The door jingled as we entered.  Taking a moment to unthaw, we flattered and complimented the lone employee on duty.  A 16 year old girl we knew quite well.  Beautiful girl.  She looked like a brunette Brooke Shields. Nearly six feet tall, she was already appearing in local magazines and TV commercials, her modeling career was kind of a big deal in our little town. 

“So what are you guys doing?”  “Matty’s big brother is coming to pick him up, and I’m just gonna wait here until they get back.”   I wasn’t quite ready to enter the cold again, but my cue arrived.  “Kris, hey, can you help with this, it’s broken or something,” Augie, fiddling with the Hot Chocolate machine.  I slipped through the door, to the back of the store.  Slowly, carefully, opening the walk-in cooler door.  Watching for any reaction from Kristin through the glass as I slowly pulled it shut.  I quickly created a small hollow spot in the boxes and crates for hiding empties.  Evidence of my activities.  “Phssst” the bottle hissed as I began my first wine cooler.  Then another.  “Haha, now my shine is coming back,” I said aloud, to myself. 

Watching customers come and go, I began narrating comedic interactions I imagined were occurring.  Maybe it was pure mockery, either way, it kept me entertained.  Every so often Augie would do a little jig or give me double barrel middle fingers.  After 4 or 5 drinks, he began signaling “hurry up.”  I stuffed 6 bottles for the road.  Two in each parka jacket, two in my waistband.  I exited and peeked through the door to the store.  Sliding on in as sweet Kristin helped a customer at the drive-through window. Bending over to hand drinks through the window.  “Go, go, “ I said seeing Augie’s window of opportunity.  He began his turn. 

“Matty, you’re back?”  “Kristin, you know all these old dudes stare right at your butt when you lean out that window.”   “Haha, you think I’m a complete idiot?  John only hires girls that meet very specific physical, umm, measurements.  The one staring at my butt and b***s more than anybody, my boss.”   Her admission surprised me. I thought she was a bit more on the oblivious Molly-Mormon side.  “Ha ha, well, as long as you know.”  “It creeps me out.  But, if I avoided people and places that stare inappropriately, I wouldn’t leave the house.  No school, no church, no work, nothing Matty.”  

She laughed, but I sensed it did bother her.  Before I knew it, Augie was done with his shift.  “Dude, being in there gives me a booze boner,” he whispered.  Back then we referred to everything in such terms.  “Matty, your brother, Willie, he needs to talk to you again.”  He leaned in, “Hey, yer pretty s**t-faced, don’t let anyone see you in there.  Keep looking out the glass.  Hide in that little corner when drinking. Okay!”  I pretty much ignored his warning.  I was feeling no pain, adding invisibility to my superpowers.  The type of sloppiness that gets one busted.  

I was only two drinks in, and a pretty noticeable stagger.  A Roscoe appeared at the counter.  My narrative reflected how inebriated I was. “Hey, Kristin, do you have any vaseline?  My partner is all ready in the backseat for me, but he says it really hurts, ya know.  Do you have some type of lube?  If the squad car is rocking, don’t come knocking.”  Giggling to myself, then it happened.  I was ignoring the approaches to my sanctuary.  Right f*****g there, two feet from me, staring through the glass right at me.  Roscoe’s partner wasn’t in the backseat waiting for him, he was scanning the beverages to make a selection. I froze. 

I swear, he was looking right at me.  About chest level.  I was completely incapable of standing still without staggering.  I knew it was over.  Last second,  a slight reprieve.  Temporary.  Roscoe 1 yelled, “Hey, get me a Mountain Dew.”  Roscoe 2 looked back, I slid one large step out of his field of vision, and froze again.  He grabbed his drinks and disappeared.  I began stuffing pockets for the road.  Drunker, and greedier, I overdid it.  “I gotta keep watch,” I drunkenly mumbled over and over.  Augie’s jovial, joking demeanor changed to straight fear.  Loud voices.  “What the f**k?” I wondered. 

“No. No. What?  We just walked down here.  We were bored,” a panicked Augie speaking to some unseen person.  “Cops?”  I wondered, the answer came  from Augie.  “No Dad, I didn’t lie.  I am gonna be home on time. Why are you so pissed, curfew is in an hour!  No, we just walked to the store.”  His father became visible and audible.  “Where is he then, huh? Matty is not here with you.  Stop lying son.  Oh, you’re not?   Ok, get Matty out here, now, we are leaving.”  Holy s**t.  I’ve never seen Augie’s Dad behave anything like this.  I would never discover what the f**k set him off that night.  A fight with this wife?  I don’t know, but seeing him like that filled me with dread.  Augie’s Old Man was by far the coolest parent we knew.  It really rattled both Augie and I.  Now he’s insisting on driving us home in his little Honda Civic. 20+ drinks  onboard and reeking of alcohol.  We cannot get into that car with him, or it’s all over.  Some might read this and think “It’s only alcohol.”  That fails to understand just what a huge deal alcohol was to Mormons.  Pharmaceutical narcotics, have at it, but alcohol or tobacco, was end of the world s**t if your kid was busted or developed a “reputation.”  

I should’ve removed some or all of my payload.  Every clumsy step I took, clink, clink, clink.  As I entered the door to the front of the store, I realized, dragging my leg in a massive limp, the clinking stopped.  The moment I appeared in the doorway, Augie’s old man was all over me.  “Oh, so it wasn’t a lie,” he said quite belligerently.  There was a dark cloud hanging over that place.  Kristin wanted nothing to do with it, and went about wiping the counter.  The Old Man’s white hair now seemed angry and menacing.  It always seemed benign and kind in the past.  His aggravation quickly turned towards me.  As if the very sight of me just pissed him off. “What the hell is wrong with you?”  Besides the 15 beers, nothing, I thought to myself.  I realized what his question meant.  Augie was more together than I was, he had helped himself to 2 drinks total in the cooler.  I had overcooked it.  He intervened on my behalf. 

“Oh, TJ, that TJ is such a bully. Matty smoked him in a game of basketball, and TJ lost it.  Kneed Matty right in the thigh.  You wanna see it?  He has a dark, black bruise halfway down his leg.”  Masterful.  Inviting the old man to see it.  Buying some sympathy also.  Though not much.  “Well. Matthias, I’m sorry you’re hurting.  Now, let’s get in the car.  I’m taking you guys home.”  Even if we were dragged kicking and screaming, we could not get in that car.  No d****e opportunity.  Douching.  You eat a bag of chips and crush a big ol’ chocolate milk, that will you give you several minutes of suppressed alcohol breath.  Countermeasures like gum, air fresheners, if desperate with Roscoes, cigarette smoke even.  We had no chance.  “I won’t take no for answer.  Look, you can’t walk.  Don’t say that again, that you want to walk home, Matty.”  He had me there.  There was no shot at retrieving the first 6 beers I stashed by the dumpster. 

“Mr. Augusto, I’ll just wait for my Mom to pick me up.”  No dice.  “I’ve spoken with your Mother.  She said retrieve you guys wherever I find you and bring you home.  That’s what I’m gonna do.  No matter what kind of s**t you pull, or say, or whatever.  Get in the DAMN car.”  Augie was silent, he knew resistance was futile.  I had more wiggle room than he did.  “Okay.  But, I’m getting the Fritos and Choco Milk I walked all this way for,” I said defiantly.  Giving Augie the eye, like “Dude, you too.  D****e up.”  He did.  Limping toward the car, I began chomping mouthfuls of Fritos.  Reaching the car, the Old Man was already on us.  I  didn’t see how it was physically possible not to clank as I contorted to fit in the back of this tiny late 70’s Civic Hatchback.  Giving Augie the eye, he took action. 

“Hey Dad,” he said as I piled in one with one single clank.  The distraction worked perfectly, just the thought Augie might object or whine infuriated the Old Dude, his attention was not directed my way.  “I need to use the bathroom,” Augie said.  The Old Man began to push back, but Augie ignored him.  He wisely unloaded the stash of wine coolers he had on his person.  Hiding them behind the garbage can, with the hope they might even still be there for retrieval tomorrow.  He also added more D****e Protocols.  “Anti-Odor Defense Protocols” Augie Called them.  Sounds like an ill-conceived lady stuff commercial I don’t need to see.  He was quickly back to the car, and we were on our way.  Our d****e session didn’t work as well as we had hoped.  Two minutes in, the Old Man asked an odd question.  “What is that?  Is that cologne or something?”  Oh s**t.  Augie and I were past our cologne phase.  Maybe we shouldn’t have been. 

A trick that worked twice before for us. On the way home from Church dances. In Mom’s car. I knew it was coming. I could almost countdown, 3, 2, 1, Bam.”   I was correct.  “Ohhh, dude, Matty that is disgusting,” Augie objected to the imaginary fart, violently cranking down the window.  I cranked mine down too.  “I know, I know.  I’m sorry.  My stomach just hasn’t been right.”  Seemingly suspicious, “yet you can eat and drink that crap?”  We ignored the Old Man.  It was so bitterly cold, the Old Man didn’t care about the heinous fart he could not smell.  Augie kept buying more time.  “Dude, oh man, something is dead in there.”  I kept apologizing.  “Yeah, it’s really bad.”  The open windows lift and carry our booze breath up and out of the vessel.  Augie played deaf and dumb as long as he could.  “If you don’t close it, I’m pulling over.  You don’t want that son, trust me.”  Geez. Augie complied.  I hadn’t been threatened with that line since I was 5 years old. 

I ignored every command to roll up.  It only brought more apology and biological explanation from me.  Finally, we rolled to a stop in front of my house.  “Thanks for the ride,” I said.  “See you Matty,” Augie began to say as his Dad revved the engine and sped off.  Without saying a word. Without question, something about that night triggered both anger and suspicion from Augie’s Old Man.  As usual, zero proof, but he seemed to watch Augie much closer going forward.  We couldn’t believe we had managed to pull that night off.  Why that Roscoe didn’t see me, I’ll never know.  His partners Mountain Dew habit likely saved my arse.  We even successfully retrieved a twelve packs worth of coolers the following day. Mine from behind the dumpster, Augie form the skanky outdoor entrance bathroom.  More than enough produce a moderate shine on the Saturday Night that was now just hours away.  Enough for 3 people when combined with the 8 bottles I had managed to smuggle on the car ride home. Thieving hooligans.  Until next time, Stay Frosty, Stay Aerodynamic.