The best thing that ever happened for the life and economy of underage drinking parties was…Facebook. Within the last two years I have been to these types of calls more frequently and in a larger capacity than in my previous five years of law enforcement. The reasons are obvious, for it provides an aggregate of information for these parties to happen resulting in us responding to mini Woodstocks throughout the summer.
Peace, love and music are replaced with a barn, disco ball and DJ. Jimi Hendrix and Credence Clearwater Revival are replaced with Jay-Z and Lady GaGa. The parties take place in rural areas, usually on farms where the house is being rented out. The tip usually comes from a disgruntled neighbor that lives a mile down the road and can hear the incessant bass thundering across the soy bean field. Other times the tip comes from an unhappy minor that anonymously calls to report it because he was harassed or kicked out of the party.
One night I responded to a smaller version of these parties that was more traditional. It was a gathering of 20-30 friends around a campfire coming together for music, hanging out and lots of beer. They had a fifty gallon drum filled with ice and layered with Busch beer. The double wide trailer on the property had empty Windsor and Captain Morgan bottles on the table. As my partner and I dutifully started handing out citations it became apparent that no one knew (or would confess to knowing) who the property owner was.
After the last ticket was issued I began walking around the property to see what I could see. As I made my way around the corner of a house that was under construction, my flashlight found two shiny eyes staring back at me. A labrador retriever was sitting along the edge of the house next to a lump curled up on the ground. As I pointed my flashlight down at the lump I could see someone laying facedown. Viola. It was the son of the property owner.
I turned him over and began shaking him his limp body but there was no response. I sunk the tips of my knuckles into his sternum and began rubbing them back and forth in a vigorous manner; an effective way to cause pain. A low rumbling sound came from his stomach that slowly but steadily increased in volume. I rolled him onto his side as a voluminous amount of brown liquid came gushing out of his mouth and onto the ground. The vomit came in waves. Four of them. I have seen people hurl up the contents of their stomach many times but none have come close to what this young man had. The surf was definitely up dude.
He slowly started gaining consciousness. The paramedics arrived to usher him away to the hospital to be treated and monitored for the amount of alcohol he still had in his blood stream. I wonder what may have happened to him had he stayed in that face-down position the rest of the night. Alcohol is the statistical stimulus of a cops call load.