When life gets hard, I say bucket!

There's a story I love to tell about one of the times I went to Tijuana. Now it's not so much about me being drunk, but rest assured I was drinking that night. The real star of this story is my buddy Kris:

UT had just won the Holiday Bowl against the Washington Huskies and to celebrate, me and the Bunch/Beta crew decided to head over to what Krusty the Klown dubbed "the happiest place on Earth."

When we got across the border, after the obligatory 30-minute trolley ride, we embarked towards the nearest bar. It was an upstairs bar (that will come into play later). We didn't hesitate to order a couple (4) buckets of beer to celebrate the Horns' win. And celebrate we did. Why we even used our empty bottles constructively.

Kris was, by far, the champ of the group: 10 beers before he even thought to "broke the seal." He was so proud of the bucket he finished on his own, he paid the bartender so he could keep it as a souvenir. We decided the bar was getting a little lame (we were the only patrons aside from some greasy, El Guapo-looking dudes) so we decided to head on to the next bar. I was last in line, making sure everyone was accounted for... I didn't want a replay of the Dirty Dave debaucle from the year before. As we're heading out of the bar, a security guard stops Kris at the bottom of the stairway out (see, what did I say). So the security guard starts giving him shit. Kris is adamant that he paid for that bucket fair and square so he better get it back. The security ass lifted his shirt slightly to reveal a badge and said, "I'm Policia. Do you really want to start shit essay?" Kris backs off and the dickhead turns to go up the stairs... and there I am. I'm already a foot taller than this guy. Plus, I'm standing a couple of steps up. I look down, square into his astonished face and say in my lowest, meanest, flattest voice, "You ain't leaving with my friend's bucket!" About that time, to more vatos turn the corner to stand behind him. I don't move. Suddenly from behind him the manager comes out of some random door and asks what's going on. The bouncer says Kris is trying to steal the beer bucket while Kris is still saying he bought it. The manager does a quick survey of the situation and takes the bucket out of the bouncer's hands. Then he turns to Kris, turns the bucket upside down, puts it on Kris's head, chortles a merry little hispanic laugh, and says, "You can go." And so we went to the next bar.

Our next stop was Animale'. It's a bar I went to the previous year and had a good time. There was pool, a broken mechanical bull, and a gyroscope to keep us entertained; see:

Anyways... we drank more beer. We even took action pictures on the broken mechanical bull. Beleive it or not, I passed out for a couple of minutes (probably around 3:45am), but came to in time to protect the bucket of beer from some poacher. None of us had any idea what time it was, but frankly, none of us cared. Eventually, we all decided it was time to go. On the way out of the bar, the same shit happened! A security guard stopped Kris. Started giving him shit. Kris protested (very drunkenly at this time). The security ass showed a badge. He turned to go inside. I got in the way. .More vatos showed up. The manager came out, surveys the situation, takes the bucket out of the bouncer's hands, turns to Kris, turns the bucket upside down, puts it on Kris's head, chortles a merry little hispanic laugh, and says, "You can go." It was time to Taco Bell our asses and head for the border.

We catch a couple of taxis back to the border (there were about 12 of us) which drop us off at the checkpoint. As Kris is getting out of the cab, he grabs the nappy blanket on the back window sill and throws it around his neck like a Batman cape. The cabi jumps out screaming, "Senor, gimme back blanket!" To which Kris replies, "No, its my blanket now." Cabi: "No, es my blanket, senor. Give it now!" Kris: "How much to my blanket?" (did I mention he was blotto?) Cabi: "$5?" Kris: "SOLD MOFO!" And thus with his bucket helmet and ratty blanket-cape we went on to the checkpoint.

While waiting in line to cross the border, I see a nice stone carving of the US seal on the wall of the building. I ask a US Border Patrol Officer if I can take a picture of it. He doesn't even say "N.." before Kris is snapping a shot. Unlucky for all of us, 9/11 was only a couple of months behind us and it was a potential felony to photograph the insides of federal buildings without proper written consent. And so Kris was taken into custody by the US Border Patrol, helmet, cape, and all.

Everyone else makes it through the checkpoint and I put them all on the trolley home. Lucky for us the Trolley had just started running again and they caught the 5:30am trolley from Tijuana to San Diego (which, if I'm not mistaken, is German for a whale's vagina). I stayed behind. Kris was my little bro in band and if he didn't make it back to the hotel in time, neither of us would. Sometimes a brother's all you got. Anywho, I'm sitting there for about thirty minutes, getting weird stares from all of the migrant workers coming over for a hard days work, when Kris finally emerges from the building... helmet, cape, and all. Well, almost all. The Border Patrol confiscated his disposable camera, which is the main reason there are not more photos of this night. After a little rant about his camera and the "cock-suckers that took it", I get Kris onto the Trolley with me and get the rest of the story on the way home. As it turns out, they interogated him a little, asking why he took the picture, why he was wearing a cape, and where the hell did he get a bucket to wear. When they decided he was a harmless, drunk, college student, the Cheif looked at him, picked up the bucket, put it on his head, chuckled, and told him to get the hell out of there.

It's a good thing he had that bucket, too. Halfway home, he looks up at me from his stupor and informs me he's gonna be sick. I tell him that he's got a bucket. He thanked me, removed his armor, and proceeded to yack up 2 days worth of band food into it. I'm serious! I know for a fact that he hadn't had anything with olives for at least 36 hours. Seriously though, I'm glad I was able to wake up enough to get both of us off the trolley at the correct station.

When we got off the trolley, we both had to piss something awful. And what better place to do it than into two giant planters for palm trees in an empty train station. Well, at least it was empty until I looked around the corner mid-leak and noticed the 500 people exiting the San Diego commuter rail. "Pinch it off dude! Time to go." "But I am."

When I got Kris up to his room around 6:45am, he went straight to the bathroom, came back out, and face-planted into the bed; not waking a single roommate. So I left, packed, and was the first one at breakfast. As it turns out, Kris wasn't using the bathroom. He put his bucket in the shower, turned it on full blast, and left it. His roommate woke up, heard the shower, and triple-counted the number of people in his room. I can only imagine what his face must have looked like when, after the intense cloud of steam cleared from the room, he saw an empty beer bucket taking a shower.

And that's the story of Kris and his bucket. It's one of my favorite of all time and rivaled by very few. As an epilogue, that morning, when Kris got on the Trumpet bus, the comment, "You smell like Death" was uttered by many. And he looked it, too. That day, we marched a parade at Disney Land. I marched alongside Kris and had to hold him up with one hand and play my trumpet with the other. Later, at Space Mountain, Kris was dry-heaving into a trashcan. All I could hear was a little girl ask, "Mommy, mommy, what's wrong with that man?" Ahh the innocence of youth.