We finally made our way out of The Attic at 2:20am. At this point we were pretty high on great song nostalgia, thanks to Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey. We weaved our way through the city, trying desperately to get back to the cars. Oh, and I didn't mention this, it cost $9.00 per car to park in the lot we were at. That's crazy.
We passed by a Starbucks and made the observation that a place like that should be open all night. Why? Because of the obscene amount of people coming out of these bars after last call. Think about it, these people are, for the most part, drunk-faced out of their minds. Wouldn't it be a good idea to stop somewhere and get a double shot of espresso to try and sober up a little? Not that I'm saying that these people should then drive, but you know there are some that do anyway. Even without the espresso.
And now for the long drive back to Andy's apartment. Well, not really long, but there is a story there. We were divided into two cars. In front was the Suburban (as mentioned previously), Brandon and I rode with Mark in his Taurus. We were cruising along the 485 doing a respectable 70 mph, and passing a truck on the right. I know that's not necessarily a smart idea, but he was in the left lane and we were going faster. Suddenly we see the truck's brake lights come on. I'm thinking, why is this guy slowing down so quickly? Then he locked it up. Tires squeal and smoke. The smell of burnt rubber invades our senses (well, one of them anyway) immediately. We notice the Suburban boys swerve to the shoulder ever so slightly. Then we see it...
Two headlights coming in our direction. On our side of the interstate. That's right ladies and gentlemen, this was easily a near death experience. This Mustang was driving west in the eastbound lane. Making a beeline for the 18-wheeler that was right next to us. Mark slams his brakes and pulls off the road. I mean, we hit dirt before it was all said and done. Meanwhile, the truck is pulling into the median. And it's a good thing too. The Mustang didn't even move. Didn't even slow down. Just kept on going.
What's going through that guy's mind? "I'm bettin' he's gonna swerve first!" "HA! I won!" Or maybe nothing was going through his head. Maybe he had killed a great number of brain cells by smoking crack that evening. That's the only way I can figure that someone would be that stupid behind the wheel of a car. He had to have been on that side of the interstate for at least a mile, because we were that far from the nearest ramp.
And let me take a moment to give a shout-out to the unnamed trucker. I know that most of the time I allow my own road rage to show and I take it out on truck drivers. Not to their faces, but you know, within the confines of my car with the radio blaring and windows up. But this guy, while he may have crapped his pants (as I surely would have done) maintained complete control over his enormous vehicle. When his wheels locked up, I was waiting for the trailer to jackknife and slam into us. As far as I know, there were no casualties that night.
I say "as far as I know" because I don't know what happened to Mustang Sally. He or she just kept going, with no hint that they were going to correct their situation. Like I said, they just kept on going straight. If that truck had not moved out of the way, you'd have been able to fit that Mustang into a coffee can.
We should get t-shirts made up that say we survived Andy's bachelor party.