Pot Pie Artillery
Part of the problem of creating a history of all of this madness is that it all runs together, especially because a not small percentage of it took place in one location over many, many, many beer-hazed weekends. But, of course, this is why we're creating the history: to cut through the haze.
There are moments that you remember with photographic clarity even though they probably didn't actually happen exactly that way. I have this perfect image preserved in my head of Scott suspended about three feet above the ice-covered surface of the deck, perfectly horozontal, holding a frozen chicken pot pie in his hand, a look of glee-turning-to-utter-terror on his face.
As I recall, the train tracks that ran behind the apartment were not terribly close to the deck, so it required a significant amount of effort to actually connect with the train. Scott, being the throwing-type person that he is (baseballs, golfballs found in soccer fields, hats) was the best at hitting the train. I think he might have enjoyed it the most too. In any event, we're inside drinking or laying around suffering from the effects of drinking, and hark, there blew the train whistle. We all sprang to life and ran out to the ice-coated deck to find that there were no more empty beer bottles to hurl at the train. While most of us reacted with simple disappointment, Scott frantically dashed to the freezer for ammo. Seconds later he came flying out of the deck door with a chicken pot pie in hand, slipped on the ice, and landed squa on his ass. In my blurred memory, he was shouting something as he ran out the door, possibly "Chicken pot pie!" I can't recall if there were injuries.
I would pay probably $200 for a photograph of that moment. As it stands, the one in my head is pretty funny, so I'll survive.
Questions for subsequent posters:
1. Did anything else memorable happen on this particular night? Again, they all run together.
2. Why did you guys hate the train so much? Or was it just fun to throw shit at it?
- Tyler
We hated the train because it would park at the crossing right outside our place from about 1:00 am to about 3:00 am nightly and rev its engines. This kind of low rumble would fill the apartment and would wake everybody up. Then it would roll out so slowly over the crossing that the sensor would stick so that the bells and lights on the gates would keep going off for a half-hour after the train was gone. If that wasn't enough, it would come back the other direction at about 4:30 am, honking its horns even after it had passed the crossing just so it was sure to be honking at the closest point between our building and the tracks. For these sins, we pelted that m.f.'ing train with whatever we could get our hands on. Which, to answer your question, was also a ton of fun--as pretty much everyone who ever visited the 3210-K already knows.
-dma
The only thing I remember from that night is being parallel to the deck thinking...oh sh!t I'm going to fly off this thing..
-srl
There are moments that you remember with photographic clarity even though they probably didn't actually happen exactly that way. I have this perfect image preserved in my head of Scott suspended about three feet above the ice-covered surface of the deck, perfectly horozontal, holding a frozen chicken pot pie in his hand, a look of glee-turning-to-utter-terror on his face.
As I recall, the train tracks that ran behind the apartment were not terribly close to the deck, so it required a significant amount of effort to actually connect with the train. Scott, being the throwing-type person that he is (baseballs, golfballs found in soccer fields, hats) was the best at hitting the train. I think he might have enjoyed it the most too. In any event, we're inside drinking or laying around suffering from the effects of drinking, and hark, there blew the train whistle. We all sprang to life and ran out to the ice-coated deck to find that there were no more empty beer bottles to hurl at the train. While most of us reacted with simple disappointment, Scott frantically dashed to the freezer for ammo. Seconds later he came flying out of the deck door with a chicken pot pie in hand, slipped on the ice, and landed squa on his ass. In my blurred memory, he was shouting something as he ran out the door, possibly "Chicken pot pie!" I can't recall if there were injuries.
I would pay probably $200 for a photograph of that moment. As it stands, the one in my head is pretty funny, so I'll survive.
Questions for subsequent posters:
1. Did anything else memorable happen on this particular night? Again, they all run together.
2. Why did you guys hate the train so much? Or was it just fun to throw shit at it?
- Tyler
We hated the train because it would park at the crossing right outside our place from about 1:00 am to about 3:00 am nightly and rev its engines. This kind of low rumble would fill the apartment and would wake everybody up. Then it would roll out so slowly over the crossing that the sensor would stick so that the bells and lights on the gates would keep going off for a half-hour after the train was gone. If that wasn't enough, it would come back the other direction at about 4:30 am, honking its horns even after it had passed the crossing just so it was sure to be honking at the closest point between our building and the tracks. For these sins, we pelted that m.f.'ing train with whatever we could get our hands on. Which, to answer your question, was also a ton of fun--as pretty much everyone who ever visited the 3210-K already knows.
-dma
The only thing I remember from that night is being parallel to the deck thinking...oh sh!t I'm going to fly off this thing..
-srl
posted by Tyler at 10:57 PM
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