The lifestyle in “mellow” Marin was typical of the liberal times: it was okay to indulge in anything you wanted at any time, as long as you didn’t hassle anybody. The wealthy county where Marty lived was becoming a national joke, and the ludicrous lifestyles of the rich and aimless provided excellent cartoon material. The term “yuppie” was invented to describe the young, urban professionals who were making a ton of money (or were born into it) and buying luxurious homes, cars, boats, designer clothes, and drugs. Outsiders had the impression that the languid yuppies of Marin sat all day in their hot tubs, abusing exotic drugs and massaging each other with peacock feathers. The backwards tribe in the Lagunitas Triangle only had enough money to do one of those three things, but they were exceedingly mellow in their approach to breaking the law. Technically, they violated one statute or another almost every day! The teenagers took their parties on the road, venturing deep into the hills above Fairfax to get away from parents, cops, and other hassles.
The bored cops of “Unfair-fax” (as teenagers referred to the town), made it their life’s mission to track down Marty and his friends wherever they were partying. The little hamlet was so laid-back it was supine, and there was almost no crime because most things that got stolen were illegal, and thus unlikely to be reported. Marty reckoned that the local law enforcement’s only excitement was busting kids on skateboards, or pouring out the beers of underage drinkers, both of which they pursued with the verve of stormtroopers. For example, one night the gang was having a harmless pop-up party on the Bolinas Ridge about five miles from town near the dam. The dome lights from their rides cast a feeble glow on the turnout next to the road, and Blue Oyster Cult blasted from the speakers in the back of Marty’s truck like a sonic bonfire. Being overly distracted by the revelry, they recognized the approaching headlights too late, and nearly shit their collective pants when the red and blue lights went on, and the siren chirped, “Who-o-o-o-op!”
“It’s the cops!” exclaimed Derek unnecessarily. His skinny body jerked in the glaring searchlight as he discreetly tried to push a case of Heineken behind Mike’s Stanger with his foot.
The officers of the Unfair-fax Police had serious chips on their shoulders, because none of them could afford to live in Marin, and they got paid to protect a community that poured money down the drain as if it was dirty hot tub water. So naturally, they attacked any symbol of their resentment. They confiscated all the fine quality open containers, and poured them out on the road, making sure the boys all watched. The remaining brewskies went in their trunk as “evidence” for charges that were never filed. (It was generally assumed they drank it themselves, and who could blame them? It was very good beer.) Then they took all their names, shined flashlights inside the vehicles, told them to turn the music down (so it wouldn’t disturb the deer?), and when they ran out of things about which to hassle them, they headed back for town. The boys waited 15 minutes before following so they could get more beer.
As unfair as it might be, Fairfax was a lot more interesting than the Rusty Bucket Ranch, where a typical night’s entertainment consisted of watching Star Trek reruns while Marge and Jimbo get drunk. On Tuesdays, they all watched M*A*S*H (Marty’s favorite show), but the rest of the time the television was a wasteland of corny sitcoms or unrealistic dramas that reflected little about their lives, and so they went and made their own adventures. M*A*S*H was a notable exception, however. The humanity of that show often touched a deep nerve in Marty. He had seen the movie in a theater, and a heavily edited version sometimes played on TV, but he always saw something new. Of course it was hilarious, effectively portraying a zany mix of serious themes and slapstick, reckless abandon. He thought nearly all the characters in the TV show were better renditions than in the movie, and one (Radar) was even the same actor! Marty bought the book by Richard Hooker, which explained the nuances in more detail. The central message of the novel was: in the face of events that were out of your control and made no sense whatsoever, there were three options: laugh, get drunk, or commit suicide. The latter supposedly led to redemption and a new start. The lyrics of the theme song written for the movie effectively revealed the author’s core message:
“Suicide is painless, it brings on many changes,
and I can take or leave it if I please.”
What a wholesome theme for a television show! America had come a long way since the Sixties, and now they consumed their peace and war protests with a side dish of suicide. Marty figured the show was using dramatic representation to make a point, because who could really consider killing themselves? There was enough danger in life that could snuff you out in a heartbeat, and taking ‘the easy way out’ just didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t imagine a harsh scenario like war, or the gruesome horrors of performing surgery on human bodies ripped apart by man’s atrocities to man, which made his own little pains and troubles seem trivial by comparison. In truth, he hadn’t much considered the finality of death as part of his own life. Marty’s deceased relatives passed away when he was too young to remember anything about them. In his own world, the recent demise of Bird, the blind musician, deeply saddened him, but he honestly didn’t know him very well. The mystery of ending one’s own life seemed too remote to fathom. Marty reflected on Vincent van Gogh, and wondered how he could have shot himself in the chest in the middle of a field, surrounded by the unspeakable beauty that he was able to see and capture like no one else. Marty’s personal philosophy assured him the best thing to do in the face of adversity was to keep on laughing and partying until the situation changed for the better.
The unofficial launching pad for their mobile gang of merrymakers was the Baxters’ residence on Park Road, which was centrally located and usually had an abundance of older guys around who could buy beer. When Fred came home, that was the signal to skedaddle and find a convenient yet out-of-the-way spot to party where the cops might not find them. Boobers’ mom, Audrey, was a very tolerant and wise woman. She raised four boys of her own, along with a couple of semi-adopted cousins, and a tolerated a variety of local teenagers like Marty, Mike, Rob, Bart, and Dave. Bart’s little brother Tom and his pal Randy often came down from their homes up in the hills to catch a ride to the next party. They were young bucks who were just starting to venture out into the wild abundance of mischief that only teenagers could find. There was always food available in Aubrey’s kitchen, and she made sure they ate before going out, “Fred’s gonna be home soon,” she teased with a knowing wink, “You don’t want to drink on an empty stomach.” Her youngest son, Derek, was still only 15, and she knew there was nothing she could do to control his behavior once he was out of the house. But if he didn’t call in at least once a night, she wouldn’t let him go the next time. She liberally encouraged them to use what she called “the buddy system,” so the person who was the most sober would be driving at all times. That was sometimes a challenge!
“Where are you going?” she asked as the rutting herd of young bucks gathered their jackets, her piercing eye simultaneously pinning six teenagers to the floor with one commanding glance.
“Out,” responded Derek and Boobers in unison, shuffling their feet to break free from the mysterious force that held them in place.
“Just stay around town, okay? Don’t drive too far.” Her smile released the bonds and they could suddenly move again. They all crowded out of the house at the same time.
When the front door closed and launched them into the freedom of the night, Boobers complained by way of apology, “Sorry, man, she’s really annoying. She always hassles us about that stuff.”
“That’s cool,” Marty responded with genuine appreciation, “It’s nice to have a parent who cares where you are and what you’re doing.”
Most of the time they cruised their cars in a caravan, looking for a new place where the cops wouldn’t find them and pour out the beer. They drank up on Cala hill, at the end of hillside roads where trails began, or up on the Bolinas Ridge. Dennis, being the oldest and most experienced partier in the group, was confident that if they avoided private property the cops wouldn’t cite them. One night, two police cars swooped in to the dead end where they were hanging out, and blocked the road with their lights flashing, radios squawking, and searchlights glaring in their faces. Dennis and Mike opened all the beers and everyone quickly emptied them so the cops wouldn’t get any to put in their trunk. When they shined their flashlights, they saw five teenage boys with a bottle in each hand, pouring all the beer onto the ground. Un-Fairfax’s finest were not amused by this stunt, and cited Dennis for “contributing to the delinquency of minors.” All the younger guys thought that was funny, because they managed their own delinquency quite well without any help, thank you very much! Later, when Dennis appeared in court, the cops didn’t bother to show up so the charges were dismissed anyway.
One time, Marty was driving the usual back roads route to the Baxters’ house, and his truck suddenly fell to its knees – or at least that’s what it felt like – and he was astonished to see one of its wheels bouncing off down the road as the truck ground to a stop on the asphalt. After another expensive tow, Dale informed him all five of the lug nuts had sheared off, damaging the brake drum and tie rod. Marty couldn’t even come up with a cartoon for that jargon, which sounded like someone in the band got hurt. That was another costly repair job, and now he really felt as if he was a slave to keeping the old Apollo on the road. His own space program was turning out to be every bit as over budget as NASA’s!
When Marty wasn’t at school, he had to put in a lot of hours at the pet store, because he was also contributing to the domestic budget (he refused to call it “paying rent” because he was part of the family). The frequent repairs to Apollo often prevented him from buying any books, records, beer, or weed, which were his only contribution to America’s growing economy. Beer and weed were always around anyway. The tribe shared whatever they had, and those who hunted and gathered brought home the day’s haul. Aquarium Beautiful was becoming an all-too-familiar stock exchange, where Marty traded his life for money (always remembering Otter’s drunken advice with chagrin). Sometimes, he was even left alone to “mind the store” while Bob disappeared for hours in his office, or went down to the bar. Pat had emphysema and spent most of her time at home, coming in to do the deposits and books. Marge and Marty often worked together, and she’d sometimes slip out to “run some errands” while still on the clock. She usually came back a little tipsy, and at times he had to be the one to shut down the store, lock the doors, and drive her home before he could go out with his friends.
Marty was getting to be an expert in the needs and behavior of all the animals… except his co-workers. For example, some of the tropical fish had very interesting habits, and scientific knowledge was required to maintain optimal health in an aquarium. He read all the books, and learned to diagnose and treat aquatic diseases with antibiotics or other chemicals. He specialized in acclimating new arrivals to avoid the massive die-offs that were common when stressed-out fish were crowded into plastic bags and delivered in Styrofoam boxes. His methods were not just economically sensible; he also felt it was the least he could do – especially for the saltwater fish that were still captured in the wild. Picture being kidnapped from the paradise of a coral reef, imprisoned in less than a gallon of water with your own waste, and being blasted with artificial lights and sounds. He couldn’t imagine a more stressful situation! Since he was part of the economic cycle that doomed them, Marty felt it was his duty to care for the dazed and confused little creatures as best he could. For example, he taught himself about the variety of foods that were available for specialized diets, and the importance of not overfeeding. He spent a lot of time with new aquarium enthusiasts, teaching them the responsible techniques for keeping their unique and exotic animals alive. Without telling the boss, he even discouraged several customers who weren’t taking good care of their fish, and kindly advised them to find another hobby. The most frustrating thing was when some idiot brought back a dead fish that he had painstakingly nursed back to health!
The feathered and furry critters were more durable. By far, the most popular pets were the hamsters, because they came with cool accessories that were a big hit with the kids. Colorful, modular plastic enclosures were available, with see-through tubes and chambers that imitated their natural habitat as burrowing rodents in the deserts of North Africa. Marty didn’t like hamsters much at all. He thought they were a furry species of insect, or psychotic tribbles. They were too high-strung for handling, and were likely to bite or piss on you at any time. They got very agitated in confinement, and sometimes even murdered each other. Because of their origin, he imagined them as Libyan terrorists whose mission was to infiltrate American society in large numbers, until at some future signal they would all rise up and chew the fingernails off their oppressors. Sometimes, in the course of cleaning out a cage, he would find a half-eaten corpse, which proved they were bloodthirsty cannibals! However, there were always a few dumb ones that could be tamed, and it was amusing to put them inside the little plastic balls so they could roll around the store and delight the kiddies, who cajoled their parents to get them a hamster inside a ball. Oh, and one of those adorable cages with the tubes, and the wheel, along with a water bottle, shavings, and some food and vitamins, too! People would pay over 50 bucks to have a cute rodent accessory in their home, while they paid the pest control company fifty more to keep the unfashionable rodents out.
Captain Hook eyed those wandering, globular vermin with supreme suspicion, and squawked loudly whenever they bumped up on the base of his perch. The old buzzard was losing a lot of feathers, and Bob admitted he didn’t really know how old he was, but macaws often lived to be 70 or 80. The other animals Hookie hated were the snakes, and Marty learned to block his vision whenever he took one out to show a prospective customer, or the parrot would shriek in alarm and flap his wings madly in panic. The reptiles were becoming increasingly popular, which was a drag because they ate the rats and mice he was raising in the back room. Marty usually got attached to the rats, which were very intelligent and easily tamed. Whenever he could, he sold the wicked hamsters for snake food at the same price as rats, just to save his buddies from being eaten. That practice came to an abrupt halt when one of the customers brought his boa constrictor back and complained to Pat because a psychotic hamster attacked it, and chewed out one of its eyeballs!
Snakes of all sizes frequently escaped and roamed the pet store, and Marty often found them gazing longingly at the terrified rats and mice in the back room, or curled up under the heated aquariums, digesting a meal. They got into the walls and the attic, and roamed the building for God knows how long before they were found. They were actually useful, because they reduced the population of escaped rodents! The dark, unseen bowels of the building were like a niche habitat, with its own food chain. Sometimes they heard bumps or scuffles in the ceiling above, and once the owners of the deli asked him to retrieve a python they found under their oven. That was just one of the many reasons Marty never ate at that deli! One day, Bob was picking his teeth behind the counter while Marty was helping a lady choose a canary for her elderly mother, who was in the front of the store looking at the bird cages. Captain Hook started shrieking and flapping his wings, and Bob muttered “Oh shit,” and moved quicker than Marty had ever seen him. Then he saw why: the little old lady was wearing a hat with a long, bobbing feather. Just above her head, hanging from one of the cages on display, a large boa at least five feet long was weaving its head back and forth, as if it was about to strike her hat! Bob quickly ushered her away discreetly, proclaiming he had some nice cages on sale. Marty tried to distract the daughter long enough so that Bob could throw a towel over the snake, and he pulled the cage to the ground with a crash. With the parrot shrieking and a man wrestling a writhing towel on the floor, the flustered ladies left in a big hurry.
Working at the pet store gave Marty a solid appreciation for biology as the dominant paradigm of corporal existence, and helped him to understand many aspects of human behavior; especially amongst the analogous party animals. In that artificially controlled retail environment, he routinely witnessed cycles of birth, death, and rebirth. Those lessons developed in him the perspective to see outside the hamster ball, and to learn how to overcome its limitations so he could avoid the obstacles in his own path.