Okay, this one isn’t really a road trip, but then again I am driving and although this trip was not intended for pleasure, it ended up being pretty fun.

All little background first: one of my roommates, Nathan, operates a limo business and on the side does private pick-ups for clients, namely Mr. Roger. Mr. Roger is the father of a Maryville college professor and lives in one of those assisted living homes and doesn’t have a license, thus the private pick-up. Anyhow, three or so times a week Nathan picks Mr. Roger up and takes him to the hospital for an exercise program, which Mr. Roger hates to attend and just so you know he hates living in the assisted living home and all of the “old farts,” as he calls them, that live there as well.

So with that briefing aside let’s get on with my side of this ordeal: to earn a few extra bucks and to give my friend Nathan out, I decided to take Mr. Roger out for the ride. Another thing that one should know about Mr. Roger is that he loves some margaritas, and by loves I mean he can drink a margarita like a fish drinks water! After the run-of-the-mill drive to the hospital, Mr. Roger, in his own words was, “woooo, ready for some margaritas!” So we headed down the el Jimador to join in that ever so popular Mexican adult beverage and I tell you now, I have never seen a person swallow alcohol so fast, for a man in his late sixties or early seventies he can handle any amount of booze like it is nothing.

After spilling his first margarita, while squeezing his lime, our kind waitress brought another for Mr. Roger and off we were, like Derby Day horses. Once Mr. Roger finished his drink, and I was still working on my first, he began to mock my slow drinking (mind you this is after being at the table for less than ten minutes), so I downed my what I had left and we were on to our second drink. Within the blink of an eye the second was gone, thankfully I actually finished within reason so I was subject to less heckling from this man who is nearly three times my age, and so without a second thought Mr. Roger waved down our waitress and asked for a third. At this point, about 25 or 30 minutes since we arrived, I, regretfully admit, was a bit tipsy but Mr. Roger was well on his way to Margaritaville (I hate fucking Buffet by the way) when the third round arrived. In less time than it took for the drinks to arrive, Mr. Roger and I drowned the drink, and off we were, back to the projects (once again, as Mr. Roger calls it) and thus ended some of the heaviest drinking I had experienced in my young life, and certainly the most drinking that I had taken part of with a senior citizen.

So as I draw this post to a conclusion, I just want to raise my glass and say, Mr. Roger, when you are welcome to 232 Clarion anytime, the drinks are on me!!!

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