Last Dance at the Alexandria Hotel - Powerpill - 12/13/1997

I was late to the party for reasons I can't recall but that didn't matter because all of my friends were going to be there and I had three pure e pills (molecules) in my pocket from the previous weekend as I made the familiar drive to downtown Los Angeles from Orange County.  I was blowing through Commerce City when I decided to wash down my first pill via my one liter of Mtn. Dew and took my second one when I finally parked my car after surrendering five bucks to a homeless looking person who said she'd look after my car.  I handed over another five dollars to some kids who gave me three balloons filled with shitty tasting gas but orbited my head and kicked my e into high gear.  

Three or four times here now, I've never been a fan of this venue.  I've heard horror stories of security out of control, ghostly hallucinations as party kids explored "Shining-esque" abandoned corridors, over crowding, shitty ventilation, and stifling heat that made the walls sweat and air thick.  But the DJ line-up and Old School / Classic Techno music was way too good to pass up.

By the time I got to the door I was solidly buzzing and climbing that euphoric MDMA induced ladder higher and higher reaching for the soft, fluffy clouds in my head.  My body craved bass and I began to nod my head and bounce to the vibrations of the music reverberating off the walls while a security guard patted me down for weapons then turned me loose.

Getting from point A to point B at the Alexandria Hotel was always a pain in the ass.  Interlinking corridors that connected different dance rooms became jammed with wide-eyed and sweat soaked party revelers as we were herded by each others momentum.  After doing what felt like epic battle and pausing only to give a hug to a familiar face  I made it to the main dance hall and linked up with my friends at about midnight.

Hugs were exchanged and I danced my ass off for a solid hour to incredible sounds.  They had a jungle and drum n' bass room but I didn't want to exhort the effort to fight through the crowds again to get there.  Besides the old school sounds and vibes were way to good.

It was now pushing two A.M. and I had to take a wicked piss.  That Mtn. Dew wanted out with a vengeance.  Knowing that there would be line the thought of finding a corner to take a leak entered my sedated noggin but better judgment prevailed.  Naturally, the bathroom stunk and looked weird.  Here was an area of the party where the florescent lights accentuated filthy floors, blown pupils and graffiti on walls.  You couldn't escape it.  Soiled paper towels were everywhere and trashcans over flowed with empty water bottles and colorful flyers for future parties.

While my bladder emptied I caught a glimpse of a kid scribbling illegible graffiti words on the wall with thick sharpie pin.  He looked like he was enjoying himself so I asked to borrow his pin and he handed it over.  While I pissed I began to draw a landscape, rolling hills, a bright sun, trees, and pastures.  The MDMA now wildly running it's course through my bloodstream made me feel like Bob fucking Ross.  Keep in mind I don't possess an artistic bone in my body but I was working this landscape and loving it.  It felt so right and was all so mindless and automatic.   

I didn't hear it then but I sure as hell can hear it now.  That bathroom got quiet ... eerily quiet.  Half a second after I stuffed my doped up flaccid baby dick back into my JNCO jeans then BOOM!  I was checked by a security guard against the wall who gave me a little peck of a kiss on the cheek.  It was his sweet way of saying, "I caught you, motherfucker".  Someone behind me lowly muttered, "oh shit". 

I was immediately hand cuffed and frisked for more pins and weapons of which, naturally they found neither.  All I had on me was a half drank water bottle in my back pocket, my wallet in my front, and my last e pill wrapped in cellophane and stuffed down my sock.  We proceeded through the party drawing uneasy stares from from the kids as the merciless crowd parted for us like Moses at the Red Sea then on to a maze of hallways and eventually to an office where I was sat down in front of a massive Samoan guy dressed in all black behind a desk.  I sat there in silence for about fifteen minutes, listening to the security radio squawk while staring blankly at the sharpie pin that was confiscated from me and now sitting in front of the head security guard.  There was a blissful and unexplainable resolve within my core, like in the back of my mind I knew I was fucked but I strangely understood that I would be OK, that I'd come out of this self inflicted moment of retardation in one piece.  Come to think of it I don't think I have ever been so collected while under such extreme pressure.  With that said I both blame the drugs for getting me in trouble and am ever so thankful for the drugs and how I had absolutely zero worry because of them.  Anyway, nobody said a word until they brought in the next poor sap who got caught writing graffiti.

This kid was in his early twenties and clearly jittery and nervous over the ordeal.  He was running his mouth at a thousand words per minute and creating a lot of bad noise until the head security guard finally told him to shut the fuck up.  The dialog went something like this ...

Head security guard - "we're going to remove your cuffs and you better tell me now if any of you are armed because I am."

At this moment I was staring down the barrel of a .45 pointed directly at my face.  I didn't flinch, move a muscle, or say a word.  The gun then is pointed at the other guys head and he shy'd away from it like it was a blazing torch as our cuffs are removed.

Head security guard - "we know the janitor that cleans up all the graffiti you guys leave behind after every one of these parties.  It cost a lot of money and time for him.  Empty your pockets on the desk and give me your IDs." 

I complied and emptied the contents of my wallet.  Thirty-five dollars and ten cents.  I set my ID next the three bills and the dime.  The dude next to me said he didn't have anything in his pockets and doesn't have an ID and says he just got out of prison and is on parole.  I glanced to my right and can see that he was fumbling with a very large wad of cash (obvious slinging money was obvious), as if he was about to give it up but decided to stuff it back in his pocket.  I felt a slight twinge of anger over this as I was getting robbed.

Head Security Guard - "I'm trying to decide which one of you are going to jail tonight."  The kid to my right in the other hot seat starts to wildly plead his case again blabbering about parole and prison while I continue to exercise my right to remain silent.  Security tells him to shut the fuck up again.  The Samoan security guard picks up my dime and smiles.

He looks me dead in my blown pupils, "Call it".  Tails I immediately reply.  The coin flips about three feet in the air and is then caught.  He holds onto it for what seems like an eternity.  Now peaking on the pure roll there was no longer any sound whatsoever and all attention was focused on this massive Samoan fist clenching the dime.  Me and the other caught kid inched a little closer, a little closer.  The other three security guards behind us moved in towards the desk.  There was only this moment as all time is frozen in anticipation.  His hand finally opens, very slowly ...

"Tails it is.  Please safely escort Mr. Licari to the parking lot.  Mr. Licari please stop drawing on our walls and drive safely on your way back to Anaheim."  He then turns his attention to the loser of the coin toss, "And you're going to jail" he says nonchalantly.  I am then whisked off my chair and led out as the kid who just got hosed erupts in savage protest.  The door closes behind me and the sounds of skirmish and flogging in the office blare like live drums as the poor bastard is re-cuffed and subdued.         

I'm led to the door and turned loose by the security guard who initially apprehended me.  He tells me to drive safe and heads back into the party.  I take a deep breath of the crisp December air still not quite aware of what had just transpired as I wobbly make my way to the parking lot.  When I get to the parking lot the kids who sold my the balloons on my way in know about everything that happened.  This blows my mind and I suddenly feel like a strange celebrity.  They give me free balloons and five bucks for gas after hearing how I got robbed.  This many years later I'd love to thank those guys again. 

It was about 3AM and the drive home was solemn, no music, just my window open and the sounds of the freeway at 80 miles per hour.  Flying through Commerce City and rattled over the tribulation I took my third e pill for the evening, safely made it home and spent the rest of of my roll melting into my bath, then melting into my couch under the safety of cozy blankets and ambient music while vowing never to step foot into the Alexandria Hotel again.