Welcome to a Secret Subject Swap put on by Baking In A Tornado. This week, 15 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style. Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts. At the end of this post you will find a list of the other bloggers participating in the subject swap. Please check them out and see if you can find who received my subject!
My subject is: “Your best friend(s) knock at your door. You open the door and she quickly says you have to come with her now, no questions asked. What would happen? What sort of shenanigans would you get up to? Who would you terrorize?”
It was submitted by Dinosaur Superhero Mommy.
Here we go…
I grew up in a small, rural town about 20 miles outside of Portland, Oregon. Its only claim to fame is that it’s the end of the Oregon Trail, which unless you were forced to play the video game in grade school like we were, doesn’t really mean much. It is one of those places where, if you don’t fancy getting thrown out of stale beer-smelling country dive bars, there isn’t much to do in an evening besides cause trouble.
One night I was out with my two best girlfriends and we were looking for something interesting to do, which for sixteen year old girls usually involved boys. Unfortunately, my high school paramour and I were going through one of our earth-shattering “off again” periods, so calling him was out of the question. So was calling anyone else who might be out with him that night, which pretty much covered every boy we knew within a 10-mile radius. Foiled again.
We briefly considered going home and having a quite girls’ night in. Briefly. Then, because we were stupid kids, we decided it would be a much better idea to terrorize my ex-boyfriend by hitting him where it would hurt the most: his car. Let me be clear, it wasn’t just any old car. My ex drove a beautifully restored 1968 Chevelle Malibu that he’d tinkered with and rebuilt himself. It was sea-foam green with a black rag top and an engine that you could hear purring from three blocks away. There was no sneaking into my house while my parents were asleep. Basically, it was sex on wheels. Sometimes literally.
That car was his baby and everyone knew it. When he and I got into a fender-bender on the way to school and turned up to school late, me sporting a very impressive black eye from the airbag, our classmates flocked to us in concern. For the car. I think someone even sent flowers while it was in the shop. To be fair, the fender that bent his beloved car was mine when I rear-ended him on the way to school. But still, I expected at least a little sympathy. I was lucky he was still speaking to me.
Somehow, that night, as my girlfriends and I drove around our sleepy town looking for entertainment, that car seemed like a shiny beacon calling us to it like moths to a flame. We couldn’t resist messing with it. So, as we had so many nights before, we entered the only 24-hour grocery store in our town looking for supplies for our growing plan to hit my ex right in his manhood. We wandered up and down the aisles considering the muscle car’s possible fate. Spray paint? No, too permanent. Fish? Too smelly. Toilet paper? It would blow away too easily.
Could we put something on top of the toilet paper to keep it from blowing off the car and ensuring that he appreciated our handy work the next morning? Of course! Canola oil and eggs. Obviously. We purchased our contraband, smiling wicked smiles as we congratulated ourselves for being such clever villains.
What was our next stop? The car? Oh, no. First we had to enlist the help of a camera man. Because without proof, it didn’t happen, and what master criminal doesn’t want incriminating video evidence of himself committing his crimes? So with our new assistant in tow, we finally headed over to my ex’s house where, unfortunately for him, his car was neatly parked. I guess he decided to stay in that night after all. We could have called some other boys to entertain us, but we’d already come too far to turn back.
We emptied about four rolls of toilet paper, a carton of eggs and an entire bottle of canola oil all over his recently waxed car. The whole event, which had taken hours for us to plot, prepare, and shop for, took only five minutes to execute. We smiled for the camera in front of our victim and then scrambled back into the car to flee the scene of the crime. We’d pulled it off flawlessly.
We chuckled imagining his face the next morning when he saw the destruction we’d caused. We felt proud that we’d punished him for some teenage wrong that he’d committed toward me, although if I remember right I’d actually broken up with him that time. We snickered at the thought of him wiping gooey toilet paper off his car for hours before he could possibly go out on the date I was sure he had planned with some new girl the next night. Weren’t we clever?
Turns out. No. Apparently the combination of egg, canola oil, toilet paper, car wax and the hot summer sun create a sort of paper mache-type paste which unless very carefully removed will take paint right off a car. Our little practical joke had gotten very real. About a year later, I finally fessed up to my ex during one of our blissful “on again” periods that it had been a terrible joke gone wrong that had caused the several minor, but still very visible, blemishes on the hood of his car. To my surprise, he said nothing.
However, one morning during our next “off again” phase I woke up to find my entire house and yard covered in what must have been a Costco-sized pack of toilet paper. It was everywhere, and I lived on two acres. And of course, since it was Oregon, it had rained. It took me about six hours to clean it all off the yard before my mother had an aneurysm. I still think I came out ahead in that deal.
About a year ago, my friend found the old video tape of our one and only dalliance into criminal life. I felt a pang of guilt as I watched us egg that beautiful car and I wondered if he ever got those damaged spots fixed. Then my friend informed me that he sold the car years ago after his first wife (yes, I said FIRST wife) totaled it in an accident.
I wonder what he’d done to her?
What sort of (innocent?) trouble did you cause as a teenager? I’d love to hear about it. And when you’re done commenting, don’t forget to check out the other talented bloggers who participated in this week’s swap.