So senior year at Alan B. Shepard high school, we had the pretty amazing opportunity to go to Hawaii for our senior trip. In a surprising move, I opted to go. With the cool kids, even though I wasn’t one of them. To their credit though, they were not only the cool kids via popularity but they were pretty cool in general, to me anyway and it made for a nice trip. Remarkably, all the assholes stayed at home! We had the prerequisite parental chaperones, who were also very cool and laid back. The trip cost $1,000 and I’m not sure if I paid for it or my mom did but I got the green light.
Full disclosure, I went on the trip because I had a crush on a girl who was way over my pay grade. She may or may not have known but was always exceedingly nice to me either way. It was on the trip that I found out that a different girl was interested in me. But for whatever bizarre, frustratingly awkward reason, I suck at making a move. Terrified at rejection? Abandonment issues? Just plain old, socially awkward incompetence? The list of women in my life that I’ve had relationships with before settling down and getting married would be easily twice as long if I ever actually would initiate. Not that the list was that long to begin with. But I digress! There was no great romance on this trip. I did end up kissing several hundred women but we’ll get to that in a subsequent post.
The *other* full disclosure is that even though drinking age in Illinois was 21, it was 18 in Hawaii. And even though I was only 17, I was able to manufacture a very presentable fake I.D.. I can give details as I’m sure the statute of limitations has run out after 40 years. I’m also fairly sure that my method would probably not work today, with heightened security around the world. I hope not anyway. 1) I went to a K-mart and picked up several registration forms for a Firearm Owners Identification card. On the form was a blank mock up of what the card would look like, the empty square for your ID pic, the official FOI markings and symbols, line for DOB and a signature line. 2) I found the most respectable, professional picture I could find of myself that would look like an acceptable ID photo for an 18 year old and trimmed it down to fit the photo square exactly. Ran the sheet through a typewriter (look it up, kids) to add pertinent info like the date of birth, then signed it. I had grabbed several forms just in case I screwed up. 3) Cut out the filled in card section from the sheet, carefully glued my photo in place. 4) Then took it to be double laminated, making for a sturdier looking and feeling ID card. Then carefully trimmed the sharp edges, rounding them off in a professional manner. I’ve got to say that I’ve always sucked at these arts and crafts things but I performed quite well in this instance.
Thus, the day came and we were off in a jumbo 747, the biggest plane I’d ever seen up until then. Something like three seats, then another six in the middle then another three on the side. Two interesting bits here. One, it was going to be a 12 hour trip, but we’d be gaining 5 hours due to the time change, so all of our internal clocks were basically going to be screwed soon. Two, as soon as we got up in the air, evidently, Hawaiian drinking age rules applied. Interesting.
In the coming installments, I’ll cover the Kissing Line, the Moped Incident, the Island Hopping Incident, the Jeep Incident and the Blue Hawaiian. A helluva drink.
It’s really a good thing I’m getting everything out there in the blog this year. There will come a point, I’m sure, where the details will fade.
Until next time!










