Toilet Tank Lines and Melting Signs
A gift from a friend leads to an unusual afternoon.
Story written and narrated by: Glenn Vanderkloet
Tunes in this episode:
“Hazlehurst” - Pale Cricket
“Mellow Psychedelic Journey” - Silas Durocher
“Bainmarie” - Mike Polizze
Toilet Tank Lines and Melting Signs
I wouldn’t describe myself as a risk taker. I’m not the type to voluntarily hurl myself headlong into situations that could become perilous. Because of this, there are a ton of activities typically associated with risk, or at least outcome uncertainty with potential for embarrassment, that I do my best to stay away from. For example, I’ve never learned how to drive a standard transmission, I generally avoid power tools, I’m not a big fan of cliff diving or ziplining or other adventure sports and I do everything I can to avoid unnecessary social interaction.That last one is a bit hyperbolic but I’m definitely not a social butterfly. I understand that there are people who might say that driving a stick shift, operating a drill, or mingling at a party are not exactly risky activities but if you’ll allow me to clarify, I’m including things that have a learning curve and require a certain amount of confidence to master. If I were to hypothesize as to why this is, I would say it’s threefold. One, I don’t like to put myself in situations where my life could needlessly end or be drastically altered. Two, I have an issue with performance anxiety, and three, I lack confidence when it comes to learning new things that are foreign to me. I tend to go into learning new skills with the attitude of, “Lets see how badly I can fuck this up”. To be clear, I don’t think that I’m flagrantly stupid. I’d say I come in somewhere close to average intelligence however, I do seem to have a mental block when it comes to self belief. Ok, with that admission of way more than you needed to know out of the way, we as flawed humans are also walking contradictions. I can say that I’m not a risk taker or that I’m resistant to learning new things and that’s mostly true, but once in awhile, I’ll surprise myself by being completely comfortable doing something incredibly dumb and dangerous.
There are things that I have no problem doing that other people, even self-proclaimed risk takers, would never think of doing. This is perhaps where I should make the distinction between activities or decisions involving calculated risk versus activities or decisions that are just plain idiotic. Most of the “risky” things that I’m comfortable doing fall into the latter category. For instance, if someone tells me to avoid a particular neighbourhood in a city, my curiosity will always get the better of me and I will almost invariably go exploring in that section of town. Another example is my propensity to just up and quit something I don’t like. I’ve vacated a number of decent paying jobs which at times has left me scrambling to find the money to make rent or buy groceries. I suppose some people might say that those two examples are representative of risky behaviour but I’m not too proud to say that they’re just dumb. Which leads me to the story I’d like to share with you now.
Unsurprisingly, this story takes place in 1999 when I was just 17 years old. Not all 17 year olds do ill-conceived things but a lot do, including yours truly. It was the month of June and the grade 12 academic year was winding down. The weather was turning from temperate to hot and the summer vibes were kicking into high gear. One afternoon at the end of the school day, My friend Blake asked rather cryptically if I’d accompany him to pick something up. His hesitancy and edginess implied that we weren’t going to pick up his volunteer schedule at the local soup kitchen but having nothing else going on, I said why not.
As we drove along on familiar roads, I finally asked him where we were going and what he was picking up. Blake smiled slyly and replied, “you’ll see.” I started to experience some regret about saying yes to this secretive little endeavour of his. I just wanted something to do after school but this was starting to feel like the beginning of a criminal plot.
After a bit, we turned off the main highway onto a gravel side road that I had been down a few times before. There were two reasons that I knew of why folks used this pothole strewn, suspension damaging excuse for a road. One was to access a small lake used for boating and fishing and the other was to buy drugs off paranoid, vicious dog owning dealers who thought they were far enough off the beaten path to avoid the attention of law enforcement.
We very slowly made our way down the twisting and turning road to lessen the chance of a costly repair. After passing neglected property after neglected property with broken down appliances and vehicles rotting in yards, Blake finally came to a stop and threw it into park outside of one of the few decently maintained homes. “Wait here,” he said and before I had a chance to ask another question, he was making his way to the front door.
While I waited in the car, I was imagining all sorts of potential items that Blake could be “picking up.” My first thought was that he was going to come out of that house with an abductee, hands tied behind their back and sock in mouth. Other possibilities that came to mind were a hockey bag full of dirty money or perhaps some assortment of stolen goods to be sold on the black market. About 15 minutes after going inside, Blake exited the house with a confident stride suggesting he had gotten what he had come for. As he sat back down behind the wheel, he handed me a small, folded up piece of tinfoil. “What is it?” I asked.
“Open it and see,” Blake replied mischievously. I peeled apart the tinfoil and found a tiny pill inside. I still didn’t know what it was but my first thought was that it would probably mess me up if I ingested it. As I looked at it with a puzzled expression, Blake piped up. “It’s a microdot. Acid in pill form. I bought a few for myself and one for you as a thank you for coming with me.” I wasn’t sure what to think. I had smoked plenty of pot and hash before this and I had even tried small quantities of psilocybin but the word “acid” seemed to carry a particularly damning connotation. At 17 though, I was more than willing to experiment. “Do I take the whole thing?” I inquired.
“I would cut it in two and then dissolve one half on your tongue. If you’re not feeling much after an hour or so, take the second half,” Blake replied, sounding like he’d done this a few times before. Because it was a school night, we had no intention of tripping that evening. I tucked the pill away in my jeans until a more suitable time and Blake drove me home.
The following Saturday, I received a phone call from another friend of mine. It was my buddy Adam and he asked me if I’d care to drive to the mall with him so he could purchase the new album by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. “Really?” I exclaimed. “You’re gonna waste gas and hard earned money on those hacks?” Our taste in music didn’t always align but that’s neither here nor there. After picking me up, Adam pulled his barely operational Chevy Cavalier into a service station. While he was fueling up, I suddenly remembered the microdot, which was still in the back pocket of my Levis. Considering that I wasn’t driving and that I would be mostly loafing around for the remainder of the day, I decided that the time was right to see what this pill was all about. I pulled it from my pocket and it looked even smaller than I had remembered. How is something this tiny supposed to have an effect on me, I thought. And Blake wanted me to cut it in half? That wasn’t happening. I didn’t want to risk taking only half and not feeling anything. I felt I would be better served by taking the entire pill in order to maximize the experience. I also knew from past indiscretions that crushing it into powder form and snorting it up my nose would deliver it into my bloodstream faster than dissolving it on my tongue. If I was going to do it, I wanted to do it properly.
I got out of the car and told Adam that I was going to use the bathroom before we carried on. Inside the filthy gas station men’s room, I set the pill on the back of the toilet tank and pressed down on it with the bottom of my lighter, crushing it into a fine powder. I then took a straw that I nabbed from the coffee counter inside the gas station’s convenience store and proceeded to snort the powder into my right nostril. The deed had been done and now I waited for the fallout. I purchased a Country Time Lemonade and made my way back to Adam’s jalopy.
As we pulled back onto the highway and headed for the mall, I was already starting to feel a bit strange. I didn’t think the effects were supposed to kick in this fast but there was no turning back now. I began to feel lightheaded and flushed. To make matters worse, the lemonade I was drinking did not seem to be moving through my body. It felt as if my stomach had an extremely limited capacity and that I had filled it up. The fluid was just sitting in one area and causing considerable pain and bloating. “You ok man?” Adam asked.
“I’m not sure,” I replied with some concern in my voice. “I took some acid back at the gas station and I’m feeling pretty weird.”
“You fucking idiot,” Adam shot back irritably. “I wouldn’t have invited you if I knew you were gonna do something stupid.” Adam was no saint. He enjoyed smoking weed and getting drunk from time to time but he didn’t have much tolerance for my misguided and reckless behaviour. “I’m not taking you to the hospital if you start flipping out on me,” he said.
“I’ll be ok,” I replied, with very little faith in that statement.
I tried to hold it together the rest of the way to the mall but I was feeling pretty rough. I still hadn’t digested the lemonade and was still dizzy and sweating profusely. Adam being pissed off made me feel even worse. As we circled the mall parking lot looking for a spot, I couldn’t pretend to be ok any longer. “Hurry up man, I think I’m gonna puke.” Adam finally found a parking space and as soon as he stopped the car, I threw open my door and the Country Time Lemonade shot out of me like water from a fire hose. I felt immediate relief. It was the most uncomfortable indigestion I had ever experienced. Without uttering a word and looking exceedingly annoyed, Adam got out of the car and started toward the mall and I quickly followed.
As the physical discomfort faded, the mental confusion and anguish was just ramping up. Upon entering the mall, I began to feel intensely paranoid. My main concern was that I would run into someone I knew and I was in no shape to have a conversation. I would’ve stayed in the car and waited but I was a ball of energy and nerves and there was no way I could sit still. My solution to the conundrum was to walk closely behind Adam through the mall with my hands on his shoulders, using his six foot, two inch frame as cover. Adam wasn’t thrilled about this either but at that point, I think he knew that he needed to help me get through this. This strange technique probably had the opposite effect of what I was trying to achieve as I’m sure we were getting some curious stares but lucid thought is not generally synonymous with tripping on acid.
Fortunately, we made it to the music store unrecognized and Adam made his purchase. We were successful in getting out unnoticed as well and once we were back at the car, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I wasn’t out of the woods yet though. In fact, the trip was just beginning. We spent the next several hours driving around town while I prayed to a god I didn’t believe in to please guide me back to sobriety. Adam couldn’t take me home because I didn’t want to face my parents in the condition I was in. At one point, on what was probably our fifteenth lap around town, the sign at the local Petro-Canada liquified and began to run down its support frame. I’d never hallucinated before and it was equal parts captivating and terrifying. At another juncture, I yelled at Adam to take me to the emergency room because I thought I was foaming at the mouth. He calmly pulled over and explained to me that the foamy spit in the corners of my mouth was due to dehydration. His calmness and poise brought me back to reality and we continued driving.
It went on like this for what seemed like forever but what was likely closer to about four hours. I would go through a wave of panic and irrationality at which point Adam would talk me down and I’d be calm for a bit. Gradually, my calm moments began to outweigh my panicked ones and my heartbeat finally returned to normal. What started as an ordinary and forgettable journey to the music store turned into a bad trip that I’ll likely never forget.
Notwithstanding my terrifying trip, I have nothing against the use of acid or other psychedelics despite the fact that I haven’t tripped again since that day, except for mushrooms. When the proper dose is taken in the right setting, I believe from my limited experience that hallucinogens can produce an enlightening and meaningful result. However, I would advise against snorting an unknown quantity of acid off the back of a toilet and then wandering around in public. It’s not a great feeling. I also want to say that for all of Adam’s initial anger and frustration at the situation, he really came to my aid when I was losing my mind for those few hours in the car and when I sobered up, I realized how grateful I was to him. A true friend helps you out of a jam and he certainly did that for me. As far as his Red Hot Chili Peppers fandom is concerned though, there’s no making amends for bad taste in music. Just kidding Adam, and thanks again.