Let's rewind all the way back to the middle of October, 2005. A Wednesday, to be exact. So the battle plan was to go to Halloween Horror Nights (HHN) at Universal Studios in Orlando. Now, being a HHN veteran, the urge to drink is near impossible to resist due to the all too extreme convenience of alcoholic bars and vendors in the park that are all too eager to take a dollar tip and shove a plastic bottle of Bud Light down your throat with every twist and turn.
Needless to say, I went the smarter and far more cost-efficient route of at least pre-gaming it in the form of one intoxicatingly uneven mix of Maker's Mark into a 24 fluid ounce bottle of Dr. Pepper. I arrived at David and Thom's house (two former Ringling Bros. Circus clowns and two current best friends) and as we awaited David's arrival from church, I twisted off the plastic white cap which was the only thing that stood between me, the delightfully dark substance, and my lips, as I finally poured the liquid to quench my thirst for theme park drunken fury as I took a few slow, evenly paced sips in preparation at their house. David arrives and then the three of us proceed to Universal itself as I sit in the back, taking a few hearty, chest warming swigs every now and then as we finally park. Now, the bottle is down to approximately a promising 14 fluid ounces as we step out of the car and begin to walk to the conveyor belted people movers when all of a sudden an older gentleman comes easing by on a bicycle. Enter: The Cop.
So the Cop extends his arm, palm upturned in the universal "talk to the hand" symbol, though I took it to mean "stop," which I did.
"Excuse me, may I see that bottle?" He said routinely.
"Sure thing, Officer." I said politely.
"Is there alcohol in this bottle?" He asked suspiciously as he cocked one inquistive brown brow.
"Absolutely!" I enthusiastically gushed, as honest and direct as possible.
It was then that he proceeded to twist off the cap and began to take it to his nose before his face instantly cringed and his head instantly craned as far away from the top of the bottle as possible, as if a single sniff of the substance within would cause him instant death.
"You ain't kiddin'!" He confirmed with the slightest shake of his head from the permeating strength. "What's in this thing?"
"Maker's Mark." I pronounced proudly, never being able to resist or declare a fine whiskey, my ultimately preferred poison. Meanwhile, David and Thom are just kinda smiling and finding the small situation largely amusing. I couldn't blame them. At this point I had to show him a form of ID, two in fact, to prove I was of age and wasn't simply a bold idiot with brazen balls of steel.
"I'm going to have to ask of you to dispose of that bottle immediately in that trashcan right over there." He instructed as he indicated the open bin located near the escalators.
"Aww, man..." I thought to myself, disappointingly defeated as I sealed the distance to the trash can, and with a silent, unspoken tear in my eye, I bid it adieu and dropped it inside.
The buzz was still in my favor all through City Walk and the park itself, and I succumbed to refueling myself in the form of a couple of Coors along the way, Thom and I trading off buying drinks as we'd chug and pound and pound and chug before each haunted house. Several hours later, and eventually the night drew to a close as we trekked the never short distance from the theme park to the parking garage, saying farewell to our other tag-along Travis (certified illusionist and magician). The power of the alcohol was certainly beginning to ebb and flow and wane in my veins and while the night was drawing to a close, I wasn't fully prepared for my buzz to suffer a similar fate.
It was then, as if a late night neon bar sign suddenly flickered on above my head that I soon asked David and Thom as we were almost near the car, "Exactly which trash can did I throw away my bottle in...?"
"Umm... That one. I think. Why?" Thom asked as my face lit up like a kid in the candy store.
So, without further ado, I dashed to the trash can and peered inside, and low and behold, totally uncovered, totally sealed, and totally at the top of all the older trash was my beloved plastic Dr. Pepper bottle! Not hesitating nor flinching for even the slightest of seconds, I reached my hand down there and scooped it up, finding it pleasantly unscathed and still seeking a home inside my stomach, I beamed proudly, not being above snatching what was rightfully mine and finishing the rest of the drink off during the entire ride home!
So, the big and real question is... What's the moral of this story? Simple!
"One man's trash... can still be the same man's treasure!"
