I'll jump right into the story. We can figure out who I am, why I'm writing this, and what I do through later posts.
I spent the summer working at a Boyscout camp South of Atlanta in the boondocks of Georgia. While the camp was a great place to work at, the job had one large disadvantage: no drugs or alcohol were allowed on the camp property. As any of you who've spent long periods of time working with children know, alcohol becomes a vital part of your daily routine within the first week of teaching. When camp ended last Wednesday, the first thing on my fellow councilor's minds was getting home and destroying as many brain cells as possible. I made some calls, and ended up driving to the North Georgia mountains that Friday with my brother, a mutual friend from camp, and 2 liters of delightful booze.
We poor deluded fools mistakenly believed that 2 liters (a bottle of rum and a bottle of whiskey) would be enough booze to spread between the three of us over a two night trip. By Saturday afternoon, we were sitting in our campsite on top of Blood Mountain, staring at an empty bottle of Wild Turkey, slowly starting to realize that we might have to spend the night sober.
Fortunately, my friend J had a brilliant idea. Two of us would walk down Blood Mountain, get in his car, drive to the nearest package store, buy booze, and climb back up the mountain with it. At the time, J's plan seemed flawless.
Since my brother had been hiking with no shoes on for the past two days, J and I ended up drunkenly stumbling down the mountain. Blood Mountain is a popular location for dayhikers, being just an hour away from Atlanta, so you can appreciate the looks we got from happy families as we ran/fell down the trail past them. The alcohol in our systems worked its time distorting magic, and we seemed to reach the bottom just five minutes after starting. Then J, who was probably too drunk to drive, started his car and we drove 15 minutes to a town North of Blood Mountain.
We spent another 15 minutes searching the town for a liquor store, before learning what we should have realized as we passed a church on every street corner. This was a dry county. After bartering with a meth adicted chimney repairman for a few minutes, we were able to procure a dozen beers for ten dollars and the last of J's weed.
At the base of Blood Mountain, we drank a beer each before beginning the climb. This time, the booze played a cruel trick on our minds, making us think that a thirty minute hike up the mountain took at least an hour. Long after the sun had set, we arrived at the campsite and shared the fruits of our labor with my brother, who's complete lack of appreciation for our heroic feat forced me to steal 2 of his beers.
