Driving down the street the other day, I saw a group of youngsters sliding from one end of their lawn to the other via the most dangerous means of travel, the Slip and Slide. Just the sight of the uncontrollable wet tarp death trap/fun summertime activity flooded my brain inbox with good old toys that they just don’t make anymore, like that uranium-filled chem set from the ’50s.
Anyhoo, it was a slow night and I was playing Sonic the Hedgehog behind the bar (we’ve got the Sega plugged in this week) between pitching changes during the Oakland A’s eleven inning tilt Wednesday night, and I brought up the slip and slide to one of our regulars, Randy. After Randy and I argued whether or not you can still buy slip and slides (turns out you can, there’s just a “no adults” disclaimer), Randy dropped the mother of all mothers on me.
“Oh yeah, Jarts, I still have a set in my garage. Never use them.” Before I could even plan my extraction strategy, Randy offered them to me. “I’ll trade you the set for a few beers.” I said I’d let him drink free for a week. A trade I’m surely to regret, but in the moment, that moment, I had to seize it. I finished the night with a permanent smile. I dreamed of Chaos Emeralds and dangerous lawn sports that night, friends. It was a wonderful dreamscape.