Freak Magnet Dave

Thanks to my blog & e-mail buddy Kathleen, I have been inspired to write a story about something that happened to me back in the late 80's. It was probably '87 or '88 to be semi-precise.

There was a dance club in a nearby city that had some amazing music on Thursday nights. It was hosted by DJ Chris Sheppard who, at the time, worked for CFNY in Toronto and was a god on the radio and in the clubs. At the time, in addition to my regular full-time retail gig, I did some writing for a now defunct arts & entertainment magazine. One of my missions was to interview Chris Sheppard for this magazine, and in the process, hang out with someone whom I pretty much idolized (God, I was young!).

After a couple of nights of small-talk at the club, Chris agreed to be interviewed for the magazine. We set it up for the following week an hour or so before he was to start spinning. I arrived with tape recorder in hand, we did the interview, it went to print and was published.

A couple of weeks later, I went to see Chris at the club and brought him a copy of the magazine. I brought my friend Jen, and Corey, a young guy who worked in the auto service centre of the store I worked at, along with me. Jen was the ex girlfriend of a good friend of mine who I wasn't really seeing too much of at the time. Corey was a young guy I worked with and he was a bit of a party animal. He had connections, if you know what I mean. So we hopped in my little Chevy Sprint and headed to the club. That car was a blast. Little 3 cylinder sewing machine of a car. It was great on gas though...even with 7 people crammed into it. But that's another story.

We arrived at the club, chatted with Chris, hung out with some of his friends and danced the night away. The bar closed at 1:00 am, and as Jen, Corey and I were about to leave, Chris asked "Hey, what are you guys up to now?"
"Well, I was thinking of heading home."
"Why don't you guys join us across the border at The Continental?"
"Umm....ok."

For those who don't know, and I didn't, The Continental is a goth/industrial nightclub in Buffalo that attracts a rather colourful crowd. I doubt that Corey was even of legal drinking age at the time, but he was walking around with double shots in both hands for most of the night. Did I mention he's probably about 95 pounds soaking wet? Being the responsible driver, I didn't drink much if anything that night. OK, maybe a couple. I'm not a saint.

At one point in the night, I decided it was time to visit the men's room. OH MY GOD! That had to be the most frightening bathroom on the face of the planet. All I can remember is that there was a toilet without a seat, full of cigarette butts, urine and liquified feces, and it was overflowing onto the floor. Needless to say, I decided to hold it until later. How a place gets to that condition is beyond me. GAK!!

When Jen, Corey and I were preparing to leave the club, Chris asked if we would mind dropping his cousin Andy off on our way home. It wasn't too far out of our way, so we agreed. We arrived at the car after Jen, in her rush to get to there way ahead of us, got propositioned by some guy in a Cadillac. She should have listened when I told her to stay with us. It wasn't the most upscale of neighbourhoods. Andy and Corey squeezed into the back seat and Jen rode shotgun. About five minutes into our drive home, I hear Corey gagging behind Jen.

"Oh my god. Jen open the window!"
"What?"
"Open the window!"
"Why?"
"Just open the fucking window!!!!"

But it was too late. Corey had thrown up all over the back of the passenger seat and the floor mats. Jen slowly turned her head toward me and said "That better not be in my hair." I could have killed her. Had she opened the window when I asked the first time, Corey could have puked outside and not all over my car.

Needless to say, it stunk like hell. It was at that time of the year when it was hot in the day but very cold at night. So we drove with the windows down to get rid of the smell, and froze our asses off. If we turned on the heat, it just seemed to intensify the smell, so that wasn't an option.

We dropped Andy off, and I drove on to Corey's apartment. Jen and I carried him in, layed him down on his bed, face down with his head over the edge of the bed. Now that I think about it, we probably should have stayed with him, but hey, it was around 5 am, we were young, stupid, tired, and I had a car full of vomit.

The next stop was Jen's place. Jen still lived with her parents, and as we approached the house she saw her father standing inside the front door with the lights on.
"Oh my god, keep driving" she said.
"What?"
"My dad's gonna kill me."
"Ya, that's a shame." Hey, I was tired and wanted to get to bed.

I let her off at the end of her driveway, and apparently her parents gave her nine kinds of hell for being out so late and not calling. Her father used to jokingly (I think) give me a hard time for quite a while after that, but deep down I think he knew I wouldn't let anything happen to Jen.

I made it home and got to bed around 5:30 and slept for about and hour and a half before getting up for work. I drove the barfmobile to work and locked it up with the windows down a crack and allowed the hot sun to do its work. When Corey arrived at work after his day at school, he tracked me down and told me he was buying me new seat covers and mats, and he was going to steam clean the car for me that night. What a guy. I'm sure he felt sick as hell all day long, and to have to come to work and then clean your vomit out of someone's car...well, that's just admirable.

Later that week, I realized I could still smell the faint stench of vomit in the car, and traded it in. It was either that or torch it for the insurance money.