Melted Sunglasses (from John in Ohio)

What’s up guys? This one’s kind of lengthy but pretty goddamn entertaining if I can tell it right. Anyhow this is very much a drug story but it’s probably going to be long enough without constantly referring back to the fact that many of the people involved, myself included, were incredibly high on acid and blowing through large amounts of coke and ketamine (or as we say in Ohio, Calvin Klein lines) so I’ll leave most of those parts out to save space. Just know that we were high. Incredibly high.

Ok. So to frame this story, I need to mention that several friends and I had traveled 5+ hours to a neighboring city to see a show. We reserved a Motel 8 room where several other friends of our as well as many friends-of-friends I had yet to meet would also be staying.

Before the concert we had dropped acid at the motel. Quite a bit of acid if I remember correctly, as I remember trading my doses with 2 or 3 different peoples’ to get a good, psychedelic melting pot of LSD going on in my brain for the show. Maybe 4-5 hours later, after a superb double set concert from Sound Tribe Sector 9 we returned to the seedy outskirts of the Pittsburgh ghetto to our extremely shitty (but equally cheap) motel room – tripping balls – to do a bit of after partying. The motel and the entryway to each room faced the street and only some of them were partially obscured by a giant glass-enclosure that held the pool. It became instantly clear when we walked into our friends’ room down the row that there was no night-watchman on duty and we were quite likely the only people at the place because there were at least 40 or so people between 2 adjoining rooms and both doors were open – music blasting – and a bunch of fucked up people spilled out onto the sidewalk smoking cigarettes, chugging booze, and smashing bottles.

I’m fucking LOVING this debaucherous scene before even entering the rooms. As soon as we arrive I say my hellos and eat some more acid, passing a chunk of blotter around the room, for anyone interested, bust up some ketamine and buy a bit of coke to avoid the inevitable k-hole. I’m very impressed with how many people are actually packed into this shitty motel room and I look to the corner of the room to see some guy I’d never met (that would later become a good friend of mine) trying with shaky hands to hook up a tattoo gun but he kept nodding off and it took about 15 minutes. After getting everything ready he stands up and tries to take off his pants but face-plants into the bed. He somehow hangs onto the gun and stumbles back into his chair with his pants around his ankles and starts tattooing his upper thigh. He told me much later that he wanted the tattoo to say “K-lab” but the actually tattoo is fucking illegible.

I’m dying laughing watching this guy tattoo himself – he keeps nodding in and out, it was amazing – and the dude immediately next to me is laughing just as hard. Then I notice he’s microwaving something. I think it’s pretty funny that anyone is trying to eat something when we were all so fucking high and ask him what could he possibly be heating. He pauses the microwave and pulls out HALF a pair of melted sunglasses, juggling them between his hands and going “ooooo hot hot hot!!!!” He puts the oozing plastic glasses on and we both think this is the funniest shit ever so we kept microwaving them until the person who’s hotel room it was comes over and told us that we needed to just fucking stop, and something about how fucking retarded this scene has gotten. My man with the glasses looks at my buddy and just shakes his head and goes “shhhhh…..shhhhhh…” and pops the glasses back in the microwave. The whole time this is going on another guy from across the room has recruited two of my good friends to sign their names with a second tattoo gun on his ass. So he’s laying on one of the beds, ass in the air, as these two lovely girls try to stop shaking from laughing to actually sign their names. Unfortunately they got bored halfway through BOTH of their names and just fucking stopped, so instead of “Taylor & Nora” this guy’s ass says “Tag + No,” because taylor also really fucked up the “Y” on hers.

As the night starts winding down and people are drifting off to their respective rooms several of us decided to end the evening with a bang and go swimming. The pool was obviously locked up and after trying to jimmy open the deadbolt we ran next door to an also incredibly shitty, waffle house parking lot where we found a couple cinderblocks. I blame this next part solely on the colossal alcohol intake throughout the night – we throw the cinderblocks through the door and walls of the glass pool inclosure, sending glass fucking EVERYWHERE, especially into the pool. Then five or ten of us climb through the jagged hole we made and jump in the pool fully clothed and swim around for a bit. I should add that this obviously made a shit ton of noise, but again = no night watchman. So… if someone MUST be blamed for the shenanigans that evening including the broken glass surrounding (and filling) the pool, the glossy coat of cocaine and ketamine residue on every surface of the room, and the melted puddle of post-sunglasses sludge plastering the microwave, it’s probably the night-shift security guy that called in sick on a fucking Saturday night.

Somehow no police showed up, and that’s ideally how every good drug story should end. I’d say the evening was a momentous success, although I can’t say as much for the proprietor of that Motel 8, but hey, they’re not even part of this fucking story, after all.

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