Beer Pong


I was visiting the town I grew up in a short while back, seeing friends and family, and enjoying some good times.

I was with some friends on a saturday night, It was getting late in the evening, and they were headed to a big party, It was no one I knew, local celebrity types, and seemed interesting, so I tagged along.

We had been at a wedding, so we were all dressed for the occasion, shirt and tie, I even had a vest on. It pronounced my beer belly, so you know, I looked good.

I didn’t know what to expect, but it was told to me that it would be wild, and it sounded like a unique experience so I went with it.

We got there, and it was across the street from where I used to unload bikes into a warehouse, to be built in the bike shop I worked at a few blocks away. It was also a few doors down from where another local celebrity, a transvestite named David Lisa had lived years and years before. I was familiar with the university area neighborhood, and quickly realized it was not going to be what I expected it to be. I had gone to college parties on this block when I was in high school, and probably not since.

Up the stairs were the festivities, a farewell of sorts to a popular dwelling for ivy league tenants, who were reveling in their own small town conquests. They had come from all over, to go to school, and were likely on to new chapters. The transitory, stepping stone stylings of the student inhabitant’s where I grew up was nothing new to me,it was just the way it’s always been.

The hosts were well educated, well groomed, and just as depraved as the locals they mingled with, who seemed less apt to disguise there vices or habits.

I had always been an outsider, even in my own home town, and now, a half a generation older, if not more, I gazed upon these lunatics, who were probably no different than I, and I was bewildered. I have always embraced my own oddities, and screwball practices, with self deprecating humor, and pseudo self confidence, and here I was witnessing gifted, talented people, in nice clothes, with bright futures, and opportunities, playing beer pong, listening to DJ Snake and Lil JON’s “turn down for what”, and swigging Tequila.

I was pretty underwhelmed, at the supremely ordinary turn of events, at what I thought was going to be an epic party, but I was with friends, who’s company I appreciated, and the hosts seemed like nice people, so I tried not to be too much of a snob. I just don’t really care about beer pong and bad music, so I left.

The next day, I took a picture of a waterfall, and posted on a popular social network, with a brief description of the night previous. I Thought it was harmless, until the host of party, in the small town I grew up in, Screen Grabbed it, and sent it in a text message to my friend. The partygoers and my buddy were rightfully upset that I shared this on social media. I was invited to a private party, and the details of the evening, no matter how trivial were no one’s business, and that was fine.

What struck me as odd though, was why the Mayor of a small city in upstate Ny would possibly have any interest at looking at waterfall pictures on my Instagram account…


Steve Crandall

Coffee sipping pilot of a red FBM frame and a Nikon camera.