Here are two related tales that I like to call, "Half Tie" and "Beer Leg" which both hold hands with our good friend, friction. Enjoy.
Handsome Joe and I used to wear ties out on the town at Ohio University. It seemed like a good way to pick up classy chicks. I had an awesome flowered tie that was obnoxious and suave. I wore it out one snowy night in Athens.
The ties didn't work and Handsome Joe and I headed home alone together. On the way, we ran into a number of students who were sliding down Jeff Hill on stolen cafeteria trays and cardboard boxes. Half drunk kids would slide down the frozen, brick street, screaming the whole way. At the bottom, they would generously hand off their makeshift sleds, giving guys in ties a chance to sled down.
We ran up the stairs that paralleled the street with drunken stamina. At the top of the brick street I took a running dive and flew down the hill. It was exhilarating.
At the bottom, I handed off the tray to another student. Handsome Joe almost took me out as he flew by. He handed off his sled and noticed that my tie was sticking half out of my jacket. Actually it was all sticking out of my jacket, just that half of it was missing.
My tie got caught under the tray. The brick street, though nicely iced, caused a bit of friction. The tie was frayed. It was destroyed. I still wonder why I didn't choke to death. God bless the Double Windsor.
One beautiful snowy Athens evening, Joe, Knitter and I were stealing beer out of a friend’s screened porch. It wasn’t really stealing because it was rightfully ours. Had we been inside the house at the party, we would have polished the entire case of beer. Since we didn’t like anyone at the party, we took our beer to go.
The porch was locked, but the window was not. I crawled through the narrow, screened window, flopped on the porch floor and passed the case of beer out to Knitter and Handsome Joe. Someone from the inside started to come outside so I dove out the window and we ran laughing through the back yards.
At Mill Street Hill, I took the case of beer from Knitter and did a running dive down the icy sidewalk on top the case of beer. It was just like a sled! I made it about half way down the hill before I ran out of ice. Knitter and Joe caught up and we continued home.
Once we got back to 19 Palmer Street, I made two observations and one conclusion: 1. My right pants leg was wet. 2. Eight beers had holes in the bottom of them. Conclusion: The cardboard was eaten through in half circles by the ice and sidewalk and the little smiling faces were drooling beer. The case somehow retained structural integrity so that the beer could leak out and on to my jeans. 16 beers is not as good as 24, but always better than zero.
Friction is a bitch.