Good idea. Bad idea. I think the first time I heard that was in the early 90s with the creation of Tiny Toons, Steven Spielberg’s animated cartoon. It was an animated bit that didn’t include any iconic Warner Brothers characters, like Bugs Bunny or Daffy Duck. That’s what made it unique. It featured a skull headed man resembling something a four or five-year-old would draw. And the figure would go through things that would be a good idea or a bad idea. Every bad idea left the character in dire circumstances, much like the iconic Daffy Duck would suffer at the hands of Bugs. And like Daffy, I’ve had my fair share of bad ideas. Carl’s Junior in Monterey, California? That would be one of the bad ones.

Sophomore year, high school, 1986. Attending a private school in Dublin meant many things other public schools had opportunities for ours did not. A smaller school meant more one-on-one attention from our teachers. I didn’t think that was a good thing then, especially when I often refused to participate in class or finish my homework. This killed any chances of getting a higher-level math degree because I hated doing math homework. Because we didn’t get off campus much, unlike our public school friends who had an open campus, we took advantage of every off-campus opportunity. Going to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, the one with the humpback whales? We couldn’t pass that up. It never failed, though. There was always one or two kids whose parents refused to let them out into the world. Our high school was a safe place disconnected from the outside real world.

I can’t remember what it cost to go, but I pleaded with the parental units to go. I so wanted to go to the beach and see the ocean, even if it was only two hours from Dublin. It was springtime, which added the bonus of lots of sunshine and marginally warm weather. Marginally warm for the coast – like in the mid-70s, low 80s.

This trip was unlike others we’d taken. The entire sophomore class, those of us enrolled in Biology, were invited to go. No one else. I think there were thirty-five of us that went. And, back then, I didn’t have a lot of friends. This was before my first date, but that’s a story for another day. But I did have a few, Steve being one of the closest in my class.

According to multiple sources, Steve was a good dude. A party guy. He was a big fan of Yes, Led Zeplin, and Dire Straits. Steve was also a Steve Miller fan, which made sense to me. And, of course, Pink Floyd. He talked about Pink Floyd all the time, being that he was a big Roger Waters fan. I didn’t know much about their music then, but I quickly learned all about the band on our trip to Monterey.

That trip really informed my musical education because of a few classmates sitting at the back of the school bus chartered specifically for our road trip. A big, bright, yellow school bus. Bench seats. No seat belts. This was 1986. Seat belts on a school bus? Are you kidding me? Oh, and rules? Rules on a bus. Yeah, right! The kids in the back had a tape deck, or boom box, as we called them. I’m not sure who it belonged to. It could’ve been Janet, Mike, Tricia, or Todd. They all had cassettes, and each played a few songs and then swapped tapes for the next band. It started with Motley Cru, which was unsurprising considering Janet was in charge of the box. And the volume was up all the way, like distorted loud. But everyone was singing the music – except me. I didn’t know their songs. And I was brainwashed into believing that all their music was Satanic. It wasn’t, of course, but Christians at the time ostracized anything that didn’t conform to the conservative standards. They definitely did not!

Motley Cru. Def Leppard. Dokken. Bon Jovi, Slippery When Wet. Metallica, Master of Puppets. Way before Stranger Things decided to put it back on the charts. Yeah. Good 80s hair metal rock. This is what I remember, not every single cassette they listened to. However, if they read this, they could tell me what else we heard.

So, the day at the aquarium was uneventful, but our lunch at Carl’s Junior? That’s where the good idea bad idea came into play.

On the West Coast, Carl’s Junior is known for their Western Bacon cheeseburger, a teenage staple. I hated McDonald’s, except for their fries, and Burger King was best at making onion rings. But not much else. Carl’s fries sucked, so when we could choose, we got fries from McDonald’s, onion rings from the BK, and burgers from Carl’s. Oh, and let’s not forget Wendy’s Frosty’s. Those were the best when you dipped Mickey D’s fries into the vanilla-flavored frosty. Yum!

But there wasn’t another fast food place. Just Carl’s. So, the burger would work. And this was before extra value meals, so you didn’t have a cheap option. I figured the burger, fries, and a Coke would work. It did.

Back then, Carl’s had these great ketchup packets. Tiny little troughs of ketchup covered with a small piece of film. You can’t call it aluminum foil because it was more plastic-like than that. That little piece of foil kept it in the trough.

Steve, the intelligent guy he was, wore a white t-shirt that day over a black-and-white checked button-down shirt. Why would a teenager wear white on a field trip day? I certainly didn’t. Then again, I knew how much of a clumsy moron I could be when it came to fast food.

We ordered, got food to eat inside, and sat in a two-person booth. Steve sat across from me, and then the idea hit me. I should play with said ketchup packet, pressing both sides and rocking it back and forth. Across from me sat Steve in his white t-shirt. Well, one too many times, I pressed, and it happened: ketchup flew everywhere. It splattered Steve, painting the white shirt in a bright reddish color. It got in his hair. In his eyes. On his face. All over his white shirt. And, more importantly, not a drop got on me.

Would you laugh in that situation? Because I certainly did! And no one else in my class saw it happen – the aftermath of it? Yeah. Pretty much everyone saw that. And was grateful that they weren’t sitting anywhere close to me.

I’m not sure he ever really forgave me for the ketchup on his white shirt, but he would tell me, months later, that he was glad it wasn’t his Pink Floyd concert t-shirt!