One more reason not to wear a ski mask.

Before I was in the candy bar scene I was in other scenes. Before the world of the world's first organic candy bar there were other worlds in which I orbited around. This is a story that happened in one of those other worlds I mentioned. It was at the tail end of 1994. Let this be a warning to all you kids who think it's cool to wear a ski mask in the middle of the night at a gas station with a bunch of hippies and 1 punk rocker!

I was going home to NY for Christmas break during my first year of college. I was a technically a student at Antioch college in Ohio. I say technically because my parents were paying tuition and I lived in the dorms but I think you have to actually attend classes to be a student. None the less I was an active member of campus life, active meaning I attended many student gatherings and by student gatherings I mean parties. Lets move on, this is a blog not a epic novel so I can't make this to long.

Long story short this guy named Gerry who was a major MAJOR hippie had this "van" and by van I mean it was boxy and had 4 wheels but that's where the similarities end. What the van lacked in seat belts, seats and passenger windows it made up for in colorfull sayings that were written all over the inside. Sayings like " See cops throw rocks" and " Here piggy, piggy want a donut" and other little gems that referenced illegal drug use and blatant hatred for the man.

Needless to say when Gerry said he could give me a ride home I was delighted. He lived in Jersey and was dropping off a bunch of people along the way. I can't remember all the people who went with us except for 2 girls and this kid everyone called punk rock Mike. So there we were in this "van" sitting on blankets just making our way home. There was no radio so we talked to pass the time. How old school right? Talking to people and having real conversation instead of being hooked up to an i-pod or having convos with strangers on the Internet? Totally crazy.

Some where in Pennsylvania or Ohio the "van" starts acting up and bad smells begin invading the vehicle, which is totally bad news because the van didn't smell to great to begin with. We get off at the next exit and pull into a gas station. We discover that the van is messed up but have no idea how to fix it. Now, this is before everyone had cell phones so we had to find a pay phone. The pay phone at the gas station was broken but there was a restaurant down below. The gas station was at the top of a hill and if you walked down a steep grassy death slope it would take you right to the restaurant. So we all trot down the death slope and go to the restaurant but they won't let us use the phone so while Gerry tried to get the hostess to let him use the phone punk rock mike and I decided to go back up the hill and wait in the van. Punk rock Mike was about 6 2" and long and lanky and he worked pretty hard to make himself look menacing. I guess at some point his head felt a little chilly so he pulled a ski mask out of the pocket of his cheesy leather jacket that was all the rage back then,and pulled it over his head and face.

We go back and sit in the van. About 15 min's later I hear the click of guns being cocked and the police are shouting for us to get out of the vehicle. By this time Gerry and the hippie girls were back.
We slide open the door to be greeted by guns in the face. The police told me to put my hands on top of the vehicle and I had a moment of panic because I was to short to reach. I shouted " DON"T SHOOT !! I'M TOO SHORT!!" last I checked it wasn't a crime to be petite, at least not in NY. But I wasn't in NY, no sir, I was in PA and apparently in PA petite is synonymous with "person who likes to rob gas stations".

The gas station attendants saw ole' punk rock and I coming up the hill and figured that the only reason a person would commit such a fashion don't like wearing a ski mask was if they were intending to rob something. So they called the cops hence the gun in my face. The cops took one look at Gerry with his crazy beard and Charles Manson eyes and proceeded to search the van. I watched as they read all the little tid bits of angst scribbled all over that some stupid anarchists or socialist or whoever thought was witty. I cursed those anarchists and socialist and whoever as I imaged myself doing 10-20 in the state pen, probably in solitary confinement, emerging after many long years to find myself a twisted, bitter old woman. Damn them! How dare they steal my youth!

The cops didn't find anything and after we explained we were just having car trouble and that punk rock Mike had a head that was prone to catching a chill, they ran our licences and let us go.

But we couldn't go because the van was still broken.

What happens next? I bet you wanna know , right.

Well, I can't tell you today because I have work to do here in candy bar land. This blogs not the only thing I do you know. The Fig and I are doing a Crispy Cat zine so keep your peepers open for that.

It's lunch time I gotta go.