On the annual trip to
Mackinac Island a couple years ago, one of the band members became hopelessly ensnared in an evil plot to see her
reputation ruined. Of course it wasn’t her fault. It’s never her fault. We’ll call her
Alyak.
We were given free reign to find our own entertainment for the night after the parade and marching festival on the island. How much trouble can kids get into on a little chunk of land with no cars? A lot more than anyone planned on.
Most of us spent the free hours roaming the streets, hopping over horse poo and making fun of the bearded fudge-seller lady with the pink striped shirt. The haunted house, some skipping rocks in the lake, attaching the band director to Fort Michilamackinac with saran wrap. Wearing stuffed monkeys as belts and getting into the Butterfly House for free. The usual. At curfew, we headed back to the hotel and wasted time staying awake and swimming in a hot tub full of nearly naked teenagers. But then we realized someone was missing. Alyak.
One of the chaperones found her, passed out on a bench back by the performance area. Her story was simple – some large, strange men had offered her a nice glass of orange juice. She had accepted, being naïve, and had not noticed the strong vodka flavor under the citrus taste. She asked for more. A few cups later, she woke up back at the hotel and in some deep shit.
Don’t drink on band trips. It’s pathetic.