Now, I have for the past month or so been fulfilling requirements for South Carolina's ALCOHOL EDUCATION PROGRAM because of an UNDER-AGED DRINKING TICKET which I received last semester. The program requires clients to participate in COMMUNITY SERVICE at non-profit organizations and take a number of alcohol-related information sessions. One of these sessions was simply called an alcohol education class, which I attended for three Fridays with a couple other AEP clients. For the final class, the teacher, MR. BEN BOATWRIGHT (who actually is a decent, respectable fellow), said we were to create and present an "art project" (which encompassed any medium: painting, drawing, sculpting, spoken word, written word, et cetera) in which the students must explain what AEP means to him or her. I chose to write a manifesto, as it was the medium in which I could most-clearly articulate my views on the program, and my roommate and friend, ANDY (pictured), suggested I use it as a subject for a BLOG POST. I had already toyed with the idea myself and I have decided to do so as I thought about the essay for quite a while and treated the project much like I would a POST on my BLOG. So, the ensuing words come from my UNTITLED MANIFESTO that I created for the AEP PROGRAM.
My problem with the program starts with the evening on which I committed my “offense.” I had gone to a friend’s house out in Blythewood and was quietly spending time with friends and just happen to have been drinking beer. Nobody I was with was excessively loud or drunk and we were all having a pleasant, low-key time. The only reason that I think the police even showed up is because they were called to another house down the street that may have actually been disturbing the peace of the gated community. Whatever the reason, the police came in nine separate cars and searched the entire house. I willingly walked outside and stood with my friends, thinking that there was no possible way that these cocky dullards were going to write some nineteen tickets for those who happened to be under-aged. I was wrong, though, as we waited for about two hours while the law enforcers did their enforcing with smiles on their faces, the entire time trying to sound appealing to us as they lamented the beer which they made us pour into the sink. Any bad view that we were supposed to reserve for the liquid was immediately countered by the police officers’ assertions that they wanted to take it home and drink it themselves.