Seriously.
This is the story of the first time I went to Atlanta, the unassuming victims I brought with me, and the time I desecrated an entire religion. All entirely by accident...mostly.
Without really knowing what we were getting into, three friends and I boarded into K-V's Jimmy (which had no A/C and smelled like sweat and wet climbing gear, but had some sweet road trip games in the back seat) and took a day trip to HOTlanta.
Demographic breakdown:
Myself- hailing from the suburbs, the author is convinced that she is waaaay more hood than she actually is, but as the brownest member of this particular group of friends, she carries the party on make-believe street cred. A celebrity in her own mind, you may know her as "Peaches".
Double dub- a striking blonde from a suburb of Jacksonville, J.Dub is quick to defend herself as anything but the damsel in distress, but since she looks so damn much like a damsel in distress, no one listens. The girls' got the chops, but has never had to use them.
Kdog- tougher than most men I know, Kdog can outdance just about anyone, and makes terrible, terrible mixed drinks. Also, does not know how to frown, but knows every lyric to every rap song ever. Governs her life on a series of strange and seemingly haphazard rules, all the while having absolutely no inhibitions.
Prince Valium- No one even knows what that name means, but this guy kept us all grounded, I guess. As grounded as we could be kept. He's probably the only one of us who has a real, grown up job. Notable achievements: eating an entire box of oatmeal raisin cookies, never wearing his dancebelt.
Jackie- Easily identified by a polo shirt and yacht club membership, he once walked into a mall in the middle of the ghetto and asked where he could find the "mall where everything didn't fall of the back of a truck". Famous for converting a Wendy's into a class-act "wangs n thangs", as well as promoting general debauchery wherever he goes.
After a raucous morning at "Atlanta underground" and "The world of Coca-Cola", Jackie decided we should get lost in the ghetto. For shits and giggles.
But first we should probably stop on the street corner and get custom grills made. Which only cost $20. And were custom made out of aluminum foil by a crackhead named Francisco.
After about 15 minutes in the aforementioned Peachtree City Mall, our group intuition told us that maybe this was a weird choice for the afternoon.
"Hey, I think the oldest church in Atlanta is somewhere around here, I've been there before"
"Oh, sweet. Lets go check that out instead of getting angry glances from the people who live here and don't appreciate five white college students treating their neighborhood like the goddamn San Diego Wild Animal Park"
The church was closed, but our ever charming master of ceremonies just popped that collar and swindled the patron into letting us explore.
Your move, father.
I had never been in a Catholic church before. That's probably not true, but I had certainly never been alone in a Catholic church before, with free range to explore all of the vestments and altars and whathaveyou.
Double dub and I proceeded to sneak around to a particularly enticing raised platform, upon which sat a particularly enticing stone pedestal of sorts. On the back side of said pedestal was a teeny tiny, wee little door. Any guys, here's the thing- I just want to impress Indiana Jones, all right?
Curiouser and curiouser.
As Double dub and I opened the portal in question, and gingerly reached a hand in to grasp whatever secret treasure certainly laid inside, we heard a strange noise come from across the sanctuary.
"Close it! Close that door! No!No!No! Close it!"
Up runs Senor Jackie and his valium steed- "Shannon. That is the tabernacle. Get down from there. What the hell are you doing?"
Tabernacle. Right. Good. I mean- they really shouldn't leave something like that so tempting and accessible. It should at least be behind a rope or something, right?
Cue rope, stage left.
Oh.
For those of you who don't live in the time of Moses, the Tabernacle is, traditionally, the dwelling place of the divine, used whilst the Hebrews were fleeing Egypt. It housed the Arc of the Covenant, which, as we all know, melts Nazi faces:
Thankfully, that Tabernacle was destroyed, and the Arc of the Covenant now lives in a secret warehouse in George Lucas' basement.
Also, thankfully, we were in a Catholic church, wherein the tabernacle holds the express purpose of housing the consecrated Eucharist. I mean, it's like whatever.
Hey, Indy. Call me.
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