Dan Daiquiri

A foray into police trouble and birthday celebrations. Strap yourself in.

It was my eighteenth birthday, a milestone I never thought I’d live to. Over my years on the planet due to my self destructive capabilities I used to always think to myself that I’d never make it to certain ages. Here I sit, almost 31 and pretty well off considering. If you’d told me at 17 that I’d still be alive and kicking at this age, I’d have laughed in your face and called you a liar. To this day, I still don’t really know why I never believed I’d make it through, maybe it was a genuine disbelief or perhaps some sort of wishing into the ether. I still can’t quite place it, although I do feel that even way back then my depression was in fruition. It’s quite hard to pinpoint where the brain became skewed and that the reality around me became a tinted shade of grey.

This was back in the days of two pound bangers, before the ramp up in power of the pill. You’d easily be able to take six of them in an evening and have a decent trip without it being overkill. These days, more than six pills in an evening is a one way ticket to a pretty chaotic evening. 

We arrived at the Hogs Head, a high volume bar renowned for extremely cheap drinks and the occasional fight, the two were certainly linked. This place gave even Tim Martin a run for his money, the décor was quite quaint, a mix of modern and traditional. The bar even played music something which the local Wetherspoons would never do. This was supposedly in an attempt to promote conversation however all it did in reality was make the hollow feel of existence even deeper as you got to the last dregs of your sixth pint of heavy. The bar was pretty packed and had a wide demographic of punters. Nearly every subculture could be found here all clamouring round the bar for the same reason, to fill an empty void with 75p vodka cokes and continue the charade of having a good night.

I was with a few friends and family and we’d been on a bit of a crawl, it was an all day affair. I remembered getting ready and out with a bottle of tequila in hand by around 11am, my friends and I had gathered at a set of steps just out of the city centre. A place where we frequented a lot back then, especially when we were teetering on the edge of legal. As far as I was aware, a bottle of tequila and a crate of beer wasn’t a lot to have consumed early on, so many other drinks followed throughout the day. We were after all, celebrating my eighteenth year on the planet. To be this compos mentis by 8pm was quite the feat, I’ve always had a longevity with my drinking ability usually hitting a plateau and can continue indefinitely. Upon reaching plateau and being stuck in place for a couple hours I knew there was a feeling deep within me that screamed for a pick me up, I needed to push further.

I sent a text to my dealer, who’d I’d not heard from in a while and placed my order for the evening. I was feeling a bit frivolous and decided to get both pills and something more, mephedrone. The whole country was in amidst the mephedrone wave which gripped and affected everybody in some way or another. About an hour later I hopped in a car round the corner and was dropped off in the same place. The whole transaction was instantaneous and I was only gone from the pub for a grand total of maybe five minutes, my rule was always: within the time it takes to buy a pack of cigarettes to avoid suspicion. With drugs in hand, I felt ready to take the night on with a mixture of both excitement and anticipation.

After already being extremely drunk at this time, things were blurred and disorientating. Getting lost in conversations whilst also having the undying urge to move and be active to flee the sedation from nine hours of drinking. I remembered being in the bathroom a few times for a quick line, every second time I’d take another pill too. I had the routine down and was chatting my usual nonsense to the toilet attendant, who by now knew I wasn’t going to go for a spray of aftershave. The familiar feeling began to take hold and I felt the wave come over me, I was warm and had a tingling sensation throughout my body, it always took a minute for it to clear and become your current normal. With the euphoria and loving came the desire to share this feeling as a friend had asked for a pill, we went outside for a cigarette to take the edge off.

The air was warm yet crisp, and the old familiar buzz was running through my body, taking a second to take the air in before it reached for my cigarettes. I pulled one out of the pack, sparked it and embraced the amber glow as I inhaled. The toxic plume filled my lungs, and I felt my focus hone in on the light above me. Halfway through the cigarette, I handed my friend a pill from the bag in my pocket, trying my best to be incognito. Unfortunately for me though, this was a lot harder inebriated. The transaction failed and the pill plummeted to the floor, itwas a perfect circle shape and rolled, I chased it down the street and picked it up. Unbeknownst to me, the security had seen my every move however not a word was uttered and I entered the pub once again. I felt I’d got away with it, pulled the wool over their eyes and evaded persecution, oh how wrong I was and maybe that 11am bottle of tequila wasn’t the best idea.

As time went on, the pub became very lively with most folks ending up dancing. I was rudely interrupted by two police officers, I can still see the security pointing me out from over the crowd, hoping that it was somebody behind me, somehow a person that’d committed a heinous crime stuck between me and the white wall behind me, that would surely be the only reason they were pointing at me, right? They firmly grabbed my arm and walked me outside, with nowhere to go and nowhere to run I of course complied. The sinking feeling started and I tried to reason, but there was not a word uttered until we reached the door. We stood in the very same place I had dropped the pill. With the sinking came sadness, a deep dread where I truly began to come to grips that I had truly and royally fucked up.

Outside, I pleaded with the two officers, tried to make up stories and excuses, acted in full naivety and when it all failed and I could see the darkness in the distance, I broke down into tears, a final attempt to get out of this situation. It all failed and I was handcuffed against the van and ushered in. I waved goodbye to my family and friends as I was taken to my room for the evening, isolated from everyone with nothing but my own thoughts and deepest regrets.

Getting booked into the police station was something I’d done a few times before, usually drunk and disorderly shenanigans but nothing serious, the kind many teens get caught up in. Never had I been in for something which I felt was so severe, there was a flash as my picture was taken and the sheer scruffiness of my hair and how drunk I looked really encapsulated this period of my life, a portrait of all the stupid situations I found myself in. I was escorted and had my fingerprints taken as I tried to talk the police out of holding me overnight, I approached my cell and my heart sank. I shuffled in and looked around, knowing that I’d fucked it. I frequented the cells in Bell Street often, one time missing a day in college because I was up in court. However something felt off this time as I looked at the thin gym mat style mattress lying on the floor in the corner of the room, a faded steel toilet bowl in the corner and etched graffiti tags on the walls. It wasn’t a place I enjoyed being, especially drunk and a bit wired, the cell felt cold and empty, a bit like how I felt inside thinking I’d destroyed my life before it’d even started.

I drifted in and out of thoughts for what felt like seven hours, sweating and shaking. Feeling a deep self loathing for myself because I thought I was going to prison. All the good times, and the bad times melted away into the prison system, not how I thought I’d turn out. After crying some more and rolling over a few times, trying to find what little comfort you can from a gym mat. I shuddered, there was a loud knock on the door and the small letterbox hatch opened. “Daniel, we are going to be releasing you”.

A spark of relief entered my system, something I hadn’t felt in hours. I felt all could have in fact been well, and potentially my life wasn’t over. I could turn a new leaf, start a fresh and begin writing on a fresh slate. It was only 11:30pm so I returned to the pub, and met my friends again. I knew something was off within me though, I knew that things would never be the same.

I was right though, things were never the same and the result of my actions from that night became a catalyst in my life for change. I was kicked out of the family home, a loss I could never have fathomed. By now, I’d exhausted the relationship with my family to the point where something had to be done. I would never change without drastic action and in the months that followed I felt like an outsider looking in at my own family. I never really put up much of a fight as I knew I was in the wrong, the regret was deep but I also understood the reasoning behind the decision. I felt that there was potentially some hope there, hope that I would be okay and that I would find my way in life. This of course was a pipe dream and I was stuck to a very linear trajectory, I had limited options and was wearing them thinner day by day. I done what any unemployed lost soul would do in my situation, I got drunk daily and still lived the mephedrone and ecstasy life on no money, it was a very intense time. Hopping house to house absolutely full of booze, sure to overstay my welcome every time. Most of the time I’d often end up in some very strange and dangerous situations. With this new found survival instinct, I’d often scheme with similar friends on how we’d get ourselves sorted for the day, often turning to shoplifting.

Fast forward six months

Six months had now passed since the incident on my eighteenth birthday and I was still lost, scrambling to survive and feeling isolated. I was very well accustomed to shoplifting at this time, every day I was shoplifting to eat. I didn’t have a pot to piss in and because I had no solid address, job or any form of income this was the only way I could really fend for myself. Although in my learnings of how different shops security protocols worked and the positioning of cameras, I realised I could also feed my drinking habit too.

There was a selection of shops which were set up in such a way that this was pretty easy to achieve and there was a band of us who frequented the same shops on a cycle. I remember a friend telling me of his haul, in one day he’d scored eight bottles of vodka and a selection of wine. Back then with an unrefined palate I would have drank anything. I had my own secret spot where I went daily. The standard haul was a litre of vodka and a random liqueur, usually peach schnapps or coconut rum. I acquired these every day for six months before I was finally caught.

It was a sunny day out, the pavements glowed and the heat was just right. Perfect conditions for a gathering up at the steps, I sent some texts and got started. I entered the shopping centre which at this time was in a decline, full of bargain stores and frozen food supermarkets- the kind you see in shopping centres when they are breathing their last breath, before ultimately being totally overhauled or in the best case scenario demolished. I walked into the store through the entrance doorway and felt a wave of humidity which took a few seconds to acclimatise to. The store was dimly lit with that kind of dark yellow tone to it, similar to the stained fingers of a heavy smoker. It was relatively busier than usual and because of this I knew today was going to be a bit tougher than my usual heists. I walked around the store, browsing the chest freezers to simulate a shopping experience, chicken nuggets, curly fries, ready meals. I eventually reached my destination at the back of the shop which always looked untouched and unhabited. There the bottles sat, side by side my mouth began to water at the thought of this bottle relinquishing my hangover which had been compounded over months. Surely easy pickings, I grabbed them and done a loop around the aisles, slipping both down into my waistline and quickly adjusting my belt. After walking down the next aisle I realised how packed the queue was and I felt a tremble. On this day in particular, I decided to go back out the entrance rather than trying to scoot past the queue, the bottles felt heavy today.

I felt a firm hand on my arm as I exited the entrance doorway, flashbacks of six months ago ensued and I knew that the gig was up. It had been going on for way too long. My heart sunk through the floor and felt an air of fear around me. This was it, my fight or flight response was in full swing and in that split second I had visions of assaulting the guard and running. I also weighed up my chances of winning this fight against the burly middle aged man who had a naturally angry look against his crinkled white shirt. But what would that solve anyway? This would only worsen my case, at least in this instance I may evade the law again. I was always able to spin stories and talk my way out of these kinds of situations with the least life threatening outcome. I knew this well enough by now.

I was escorted into the back of the store, into a cramped and messy office space with paper everywhere. A corkboard covered one wall with company communications and health and safety posters. There was what looked like a very old television set in the corner, the box kind. Similar to the one I would play Super Mario Brothers on with my dad. Although this was no television it was the security feed for cameras in the store. I was sat down, and surrounded by three guards. I knew by now, that my decision to not fight was the better of the two. We all sat and watched the footage, like some sort of happy family watching Christmas movies round the fire.

Watching the video, the security guards gave me a mixed nod of shock and approval, almost in disbelief as to how stealthily I got the two bottles down my trousers between the two aisles where the cameras were. Seeing it on screen, I was even proud as to how instantaneous it all was, almost undetectable on camera. I felt like some sort of Robin Hood, stealing from the rich to feed my deep rooted drinking habit. If it had not been for the fact they’d literally searched me and found the bottles they’d have no evidence to hold up in court. The guards had said that the only reason I was caught was that I had left the shop through the same door I’d entered which seemed suspicious to them, a technique I had never done before and it showed. Is this all my chickens coming home to roost, things finally catching up with me. All the people I’d screwed over and the trouble I’d been in, catching up to me and dragging me down by the heels of my feet.

They escorted me out, and issued my punishment. A lifetime ban from the store and the shopping centre, the most minor of all outcomes. I’d once again avoided the harsh reality I’d one day need to face, some day it’d all catch up with me.