Flying rodents of unusual size

Last week, I described the pre-dinner events of my 20th birthday. And the banana balloon capture caper.

Dinner itself was fun too. Marian, Anne, Deb and I walked to the restaurant -- two scooters, a power wheelchair and one bi-ped skipping along to keep up. Traveling in a pack of wheelchairs over familiar sidewalk terrain is something of an art. The unspoken rule is that everyone paces themselves to the slowest chair (or the walker) but allows for speed changes and swerves around uneven pieces of pavement. In neighborhoods around campus where we were all familiar with the potholes and seizmic cracks in the sidewalks, a simple trip together somewhere sometimes felt like an intricate dance -- slowing, speeding, weaving sideways to avoid a crumbled edge of cement, zipping closer so we could keep up converation. We'd anticipate the sudden stop and lurch of each other's chairs to navigate smoothly. Well, mostly. There were collisions now and then.

I still didn't know where we were going for my surprise dinner, though briefly I expected it might be McDonald's because of the perverse humor of my friends. We ended up at Monty's in downtown Tempe. The main strip has changed a lot since those days, with many new restaurants beyond the means of the local students, but Monty's was one of the few fine-dining experiences within walking distance of the dorms back then, and I'd never been inside.

Possibly, the highlight of the evening was when Deb stepped up to the hostess and announced our arrival, then added "we'll just need one chair." Our little parade through the many rooms of the restaurant was fun, too. Oh, the expressions as we rolled by -- one, two chairs, three. The public spectacle of disability is always more fun when shared. To often it's experienced alone and feels alienating instead.

I had the famous barbeque ribs for dinner -- a splurge. And a bottle of wine, then Irish coffee with dessert. Yes, alcohol at a restaurant on my 20th birthday. I was the only one underage but sometimes gimpiness freaks servers out so much you don't get carded. There are perks now and then.

Anyway, dinner was delicious and I drove out of the place with a good buzz. We all did, which I suppose explains our detour under city hall on the way home. Tempe's city hall building is an impressive bit of architecture -- it's an inverted pyramid with large slabs of window covering the slanted sides. The "point" of the pyramid is underground and is reached by long fabulous ramps that go "WHEEEEEEE!" When drunk.

It was dark down there after-hours, which accentuated the sense of speed. Anne's scooter lacked the stiff automatic braking on slopes, and she shrieked with laughter. The buzz of our power chairs and voices echoed off locked office doors and through the leafy atrium under the building"s bulk. And there was another whirring screeching noise we couldn't identify as we raced up the ramp and plunged down it again. Deb leapt onto benches. More shrieking laughter. And that other whirring and shrieking.

'What is that?"

Marian gasped. "BATS!"

We'd disturbed their nighttime playground and they were swooping around us in the darkness. The echoing noise of our chairs frightened them, perhaps. Now we all shrieked in earnest, ducking instinctually, as we sped up the ramp and back into the sultry October night. As it turns out, scary bats are hilarious when you're drunk.

Back at the dorm, the room I shared with Marian had been toilet-papered extensively. I felt special. And that banana-shaped balloon was there for the upcoming adventure.