My First Run-In with the Law − 1 February, 1990

My first official run-in with the law came when I was 17 years old and naturally it was the end result of a very common High School excursion – a beer run. Paul, Robbie and I had tried and failed to buy beer with and without ID for about a year (as soon as we could drive). There were gas stations and convenience stores dotted across Fort Worth that would hand beer to us without asking for ID. The likelihood of scoring beer was indirectly related to the quality of neighborhood. Poor, debilitated and run down neighborhoods typically had a locally owned convenience store – 7-11 would never dream of putting a store there. These locally owned stores were always a high school kids’ supply warehouse for being bad. Wine, beer, cigarettes, spray paint, anything you wanted was there for the buying. Clerks at these stores could give a rats ass who they sold to – not only because they were happy that you were not robbing them – but the cops never patrolled those areas – who is going to bust them for selling to minors?

But beer buying tonight was just not happening. There may have been a crack down on stores, or maybe we just looked TOO young to buy beer, or maybe one store got busted and had to pay a huge fine for selling to a minor. Nobody was selling us beer – nobody. We went to East Lancaster (hell hole), then tried White Settlement road (yes – there is a neighborhood called “White Settlement”), then gave Como (another hell hole) a spin. Como wasn’t selling so we went to Cowtown, Vickery Road, and Highway 80 – nothing.

Out of desperation, we went back to our own neighborhood and pulled up to a liquor store right off of Highway 377. We rolled into the dirt parking lot and the decision was made that I would go in because 1) it was my turn and 2) I looked the oldest.

Buying beer was easy for me, never got nervous about being busted and I didn’t care if the clerk refused to sell to me. Some people will elaborate and say that the best way to buy beer as a minor was to “act confident” or acted like this is not your first time. Not me – I went in and bought beer and looked happy doing so.

That is what happened in Benbrook that night. I walked up to the counter with two cases of delicious Bud Light and about $30 in hand. Handed the girl my money, grabbed my change, gathered up my beer and walked out the door thinking about where we were going to go to get loaded.

I took two steps outside and I knew I was busted – I saw the square lights – the TABC (Texas Alcohol Something Commission). The TABC were not cops specifically, more like county marshals who enforced the alcohol standard of each and every county in Texas (some counties are dry). Nonetheless, the TABC drive unmarked cars that lack sirens and light, but are still unmistakable by their square headlights – so bright and unique.

The TABC pulled up quickly in the dirt parking lot and two agents popped out – a man and a woman. There was not argument from me, Robbie or Paul, we were busted. The male agent made me drop the beer and then pulled me into the convenience store by the arm. Once inside he asked sternly “Who sold you the beer? Point at them!” I felt horrible about doing it, because I felt as if the girl who sold me the beer had done me a big favor, but I lifted my arm and pointed at the girl behind the counter. I just gave her a $500 fine with my stiffened index finger.

The agent dragged me back outside and asked if I used a fake ID.

Nope.

He then asked me if I had a fake ID on me. Carrying a fake ID was a big no-no to the TABC and if I had one on me, I would receive at least one more ticket and a much stiffer fine. I had a fake ID in my front pocket.

Nope.

From there the female officer wrote us three MIP (minor in possession) tickets (a misdemeanor), while her male counterpart watched us pour out 48 beers into the parking lot – which honestly brought the biggest protest from us.

Afterwards we laughed it off and went home, thinking that it was not a big deal. “Oh boo hoo!! A ticket!!”

But when we went to court a few days later the county clerk informed us that because we were still under 18 years old, we were not able to pay our ticket until we spoke with the judge – with our parents.

Oh shucks (didn’t say shucks).

I was in bad, bad trouble and this event is over.