DRUGS & FRUIT JUICE

“DO YOU HEAR ME SON, I want one of every single fucking drug you sell, double-strength, and I want them in a brown paper bag which I’ll pick up in 25 minutes, otherwise I’ll administer fruit juice to you in ways you never dreamed were possible…you hear me son?“

“(muffled sound, wind) Fru…fruit joooooce…OK. Yes.”

“You like the sound of that son, really? REALLY?”

“Your drugs are…they’re here Mr….drugs…”

At this point, I assume you’re wondering what this has to do with parenting, and if you’re not then consider yourself a filthy deviant who needs more help than most. Regardless, allow me to explain.

The teenager has friends. Those friends have phones. Those phones are potential prank call weapons. It is the sort of awareness you need when the parent of one of these tribal miscreants, because you never know when they’re going to jump on your back and take you down with a bit of cheese-wire…a slight dramatic license I’ll grant you, but what I’m driving at is the youth’s ability to get you when you least expect it, to exploit your vulnerability. And being that we’re in the age (and culture) where everyone has a cellphone, it is the easiest and most accessible medium.

So there I was, toodling along from a playgroup with the pre-schooler in the back, rush-hour traffic not touching my world too badly when my phone rings. I pop my ear-piece in and press the ‘talk’ button. I do not recognize the number, though it is local. My guard is already up.

“Hello,” I say gruffly.

“H…he…helloMrShitarsey, MrShitarsey you drugs…drugs in parking lot for your son…I have drugs for him you collect…”

“Stop mumbling and speak up goddamit!!!!”

“YesisthisMrShitarsy?”

“MR SHITARSY?”

“YesMrShitarsy is, uh, you because we have son’s drugs in parking lot of Safeway, 16th St…”

“(trying to figure out which one of his various mob it is, settle on name, decide to ride this dog & pony show to the bitter end) SHITARSY EH? Drugs…yeah I want the drugs. I want them all. I’m a Shitarsy who wants the goddam drugs. You got them all?”

“(voice brightens a touch) Yes! In parking lot, you can collect from Safeway, in parking lot, pharmacy drugs…”

“OK son, listen here and listen good (my ‘tough guy Americanism that, ‘listen good’). I want all the drugs you have, at double-strength, in a brown paper bag and I’m coming over to get them in 25 minutes you hear me?”

“Wh…wh..wha…drugs in parking lot, your son’s…”

At this point I decide, off the cuff, to scream as loudly as I can.

“AIIIIIIIIEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEE!”

There is no reaction, just ambient noise and wind.

(Pre-schooler from backseat: Dad, what are you doing?

Me to pre-schooler: Dealing with miscreant friends of your brothers.’)

“So anyway, did you hear me? Every fucking drug you have AT DOUBLE STRENGTH IN A BROWN BAG IN 25 MINUTES?”

“Y…yes, you collect from Safeway at 16th Street.” 

“DO YOU HEAR ME SON, I want one of every single fucking drug you sell, double-strength, and I want them in a brown paper bag which I’ll pick up in 25 minutes, otherwise I’ll administer fruit juice to you in ways you never dreamed were possible…you hear me son?”

“(muffled sound, wind) Fru…fruit joooooce…OK. Yes.”

“You like the sound of that son, really? REALLY?”

“Your drugs are…they’re here Mr….drugs…”

I was closing in on home and the traffic was getting a bit thicker, thus I let out one more manic laugh and hung up.

5 minutes later, my phone rang again with a number I recognized. It actually was the Safeway Pharmacy.

“Good evening sir, are you a Mr …?”

“I am indeed how can I help you?”

“Well your son’s medication was found in the parking lot and has been returned to us so whenever you’d like to come in and pick it up, we have it here…”

“Funny, I just got a call doubtless from one of his miscreant friends trying to pull my chain…but how would they have been able to sign for it? How could someone sign his prescription out without ID?”

“I don’t know anything about that Sir, but the medication disc was found in the parking lot by one of our employees. They said they contacted you but…”

“Hang on, would they have tried me from a cellphone?”

“It’s very possible Sir, I cannot tell you for sure, but…”

“Did this employe have a thick accent, almost teenage sounding but from another country, maybe Latino, a little hard to understand?”

“Well Sir, to be honest he is kinda retarded.”

‘Kinda retarded’…it took me all of 3 seconds to burt out laughing. I had just been yelling at some poor retarded chap, culminating with a threat to administer fruit juice to him in highly despicable and nefarious ways. I was mildly embarrassed but far more amused, especially as I remembered that he’d a replied a straight, crisp ‘yes’ to the threat of the fruit juice administration.

I explained all this to the pharmacy fellow, and he allowed himself a hearty laugh.

“Could you please convey to this gentleman that I am so sorry but I thought he was one of my son’s friends prank-calling me?” Thanks you.

“Absolutely Sir, I will, and thank YOU for making me laugh.”

I sat in silence for a moment before breaking into first a giggle fit and then a panic about the fact that maybe he was part of a larger, more elaborate prank. So I gave the pharmacy one more quick ring. They confirmed that I did, indeed, have a disc waiting for my son. That it had been found by a Safeway employee and handed in. The same Safeway employee to whom I had said I would administer fruit juice in deviant ways unless he got me every single drug they stocked at twice the strength. The retarded Safeway employee. I called the teenager’s mother.

“Yes, I have his meds in the back of the car in a grocery bag!”

“No you don’t, they’re siting at Safeway’s Pharmacy and I’ve just finished 10 minutes of abusing a retarded employee.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pick it up and explain later…”

When I told the teenager what had happened a few hours later, he laughed loudly before asking a very reasonable question.

“Dad. Who do you know that I know who’d do this?”

“I don’t know, maybe someone from where you work, maybe Frankie, I have no idea…”

“Well next time you should think about it because none of my friends could be bothered to do that.”

He’s right. 1-0 to the teenager. Except now, because he has the fuel of this story in him, I suspect he will put one of his buddies up to it. But I’m prepared. And I’ll take the risks…it’s what you have to do when you’re the parent of one of these tribal miscreants…