In the early part of 2003, my primary objective in life was buying drugs, selling drugs, using drugs, and trying to attain a perpetual altered state of conscious. A couple of my friends had previous run-ins with the police and were extremely paranoid as a result. Late one freezing January night, we convinced each other that our best bet to remain relatively safe was to relocate the living room to the basement. This will give the illusion to passerby’s that the house was empty. We opened the garage door and started lugging all the furniture down to the basement. Then we moved my stereo equipment, television—the works.

After we relocated the living room, we took cardboard box pieces and duct tape them to all of the windows to block light. Then we cleared a path in the garage so that we could pull the car in. On top of the car we put a blanket to eliminate the light from reflecting off of it. With that, we felt safe.

Over the following few weeks we had a great time. Every night we were drinking, smoking, popping pills, and living like kings. The phone would ring and it would be someone looking to buy. We’d send my buddy’s little brother (he hanged himself years later) up the steps to meet them out back—it seemed a lot safer to have people sneak in through the backyard rather than use the front entrance. Occasionally someone would come to the garage door and we’d let them if we knew who it was. Most importantly, we were able to avoid Chuck, the biggest mooch ever known in this part of the world. He was the kind of guy that never had money, yet always wanted to get in on the party. Gary was the same way, but at least he would be our sober driver when needed. Chuck would also try to trade his wife’s medication (usually Dexedrine and Seroquel) for cash, cigarettes, or pot. He had no driver’s license, as it had been permanently suspended due to too many DUI’s.

I remember one night that we all got particularly wasted—drinking cheap Scotch and smoking high-quality bud—and got pretty hungry. Lacking sound judgment, we decided to jump in the car and drive up to the truck stop to get something to eat. We got to the truck stop safely and piled in to the store to get snacks. From there, we checked out, got back in the car, and headed home. The trip from the truck to the house was no more than 3-5 minutes, tops. But when you are under the influence and slightly paranoid, that short trip can seem a bit longer—at least for me it did and I was the one driving.

We pulled out from the truck stop and started heading home taking a secondary route. We came to an intersection and watched the local cop drive by to our left. The road he was taking would eventually go in a circle and eventually bring up behind us. The sight of the cop startled us all and after he went past, I floored it and turned right then left to hit the last road before the house. After 50 yards or so I had a sharp right turn and then I was essentially out in front of my house at a stop sign. When we were approaching the stop sign, I saw the cop car shooting up the road from the right—it didn’t make any sense. Why would he turn around and then go flying up around town taking him about a mile out of our path? He zipped by, presumably before he ever noticed us creeping up the side road. When I got to the stop sign I made a hard right followed by a hard left to turn into the driveway. I could see brake lights up the road—he must have seen us!

Before the car came to a rest, three of the guys jumped out of the car and ran to the garage door to open it up. I quickly pulled in and then they shut the door behind me. As I was getting out the car, the guys had already started pulling the blanket over the back. We went inside the door to the basement proper and shut it. Then we sat there in candle light looking at each other, waiting for the door to get kicked in.

After some time passed, one of the guys left the basement and went upstairs to do some recon in the dark. When he got upstairs he looked out the front window, being careful not to disturb the blind too much, and across the street he saw the cop car sitting. He turned around and ran back down the steps as fast as he could to tell us the news. Nobody was sure if he actually saw the car or not, but we convinced each other that he must have some sort of high-powered sonic listening device pointed at the house. We blew out the candle and waited for the night to be end.

The next morning provided no sight of the cop. I showered, got high, and then went to work like usual. While the cop never actually showed up at the house or caught us actively doing anything illegal, it would leave all shaken up for a few days.


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