I don’t consider myself the heroic type, but I once peed on a criminal.

Several things led me to peeing on a criminal.

  1. The South Carolina State Fair served beer way back in the stone age when I was a kid.
  2. My high school had a food booth at the fair. They served beer, but the ladies running the booth didn’t know how to tap a keg.
  3. The South Carolina State Fair charged you to pee.

Note: They didn’t technically charge you to pee. They had bathroom attendants who stood by the exit door with a tray. You were supposed to drop money in as you left. My cousin, Tim, who also peed on the criminal, and I were basically broke and didn’t want to squander our money on paying to do something we, as guys, could pretty much do anywhere (and everywhere) for free. Get it?

That night we swung by my high school’s food booth mainly to see if there were any girls from school working the counter. There weren’t, but there were a few moms who asked us if we knew how to tap a keg. “Sure,” we told them lying through our teeth.

“You are both under twenty-one, so you’ve got to promise us you won’t drink any of the beer, else we could get in trouble,” one of the mothers told us. Of course, we swore nary a drop would pass our lips.

Did I mention, at that age, we were your typical lying teenage dirt bags?

The keg was in a little courtyard-type area behind the booth. In addition to the keg there were packs of large Budweiser cups, too. It didn’t take much to figure out how to tap the keg. Of course, we pulled out two cups, filled them up and downed them.

Repeat.

Repeat.

By the time we hauled the keg into the booth and made our way out of there, we had downed several cups of beer. It didn’t take long for it to makes it way through us. We went to the mens room and paid the vig. Thirty minues later, we had to go again.

There was a line of semi-trucks parked near the bathrooms. There were signs on poles telling fair-goers to stay out.

“Let’s do it,” Tim said.

We snuck between the semis. We were doing our business when we heard someone running toward us from the right. He was maybe twenty five. He wore a hoodie, though we didn’t call them hoodies back then. He had something tucked under his right armpit. To this day, I have no idea what it was.

We figured he worked for the fair or something. We thought he was running up to tell us to stop doing what we were doing and get out of there. I don’t know about Tim, but I was preparing myself to do battle in case he came at us swinging.

He ran right past us, straight through both streams.

Tim said a bad word.

We were looking to the left watching him run off when we heard another person running our way from the right. To our shock and terror, it was a police officer.

“Aim down, boys!” he shouted.

We aimed down.

The officer ran by in hot pursuit.

Tim looked at me. I looked at Tim. We both said the same bad word.

After awhile, we eased our way out from between the trucks and wandered around the fair some more. Thirty minutes later, we had to go again. We went to the men’s’ room, paid the vig to the attendant then went home where the living is easy and peeing is free.

All things considered; it was a pretty good night. We gave a fleeing felon his just due and performed our civic duty by cooperating with law enforcement.

I will always wonder what it was he was holding under his armpit, though.