For those of you who know me in real life, you will SOOOOOO not be surprised by this story. And for those new friends, you will probably not be shocked by AAANNNYYY of this story.
See, when I was younger, I was a hellcat. Woopsies.
This is the story about when I got my brother arrested (yes, J A I L) when we were in high school.
It goes down like this: Friday was a teacher “work day”. So Thursday night was par-tay time. Except, I was on restriction at home for causing trouble and whatnot.
Anyhoohaw, our gang decides “let’s go to the movies tonight!!” and I’m pondering how the hell do I do that when I can’t… When it dawns on me that I am not on restriction from babysitting…
Here’s reason #3,243 that I never wanted a child. She’d have my smarts. And my stupids.
So… I formulate my master plan:
- Scan the phone book for the name Smith
- Write down said name “Mrs. Smith” and her phone number on a piece of paper for the folks.
- Steal 3″ high heels from mom’s closet (she was a shoewhore)
- Put on Bonne Bell Bubble Gum lip smackers lip gloss
As I grabbed my handbag and started to leave, I hear my older brother behind me.
BRO: “Oh hey, I can drive you.”
Wha? He was being nice to me. A teenager.
Me: “OK. Bitchin.”
I had him drive me about 10 houses down from my friend Juli’s house.
Me: “Oh hey, yeah, here it is. OK. Thanks. Bye.”
He waits at the curb of some random house I picked. Holy fartin what the heck? P.U.L.L. A.W.A.Y. I scream inside. I knock on the door, and a nice man in a wheelchair opens it.
Me: “Hi (I might have flicked my hair), can I like borrow your phone?”
WCM: “Sure.” (No weirdness, either btw. A genuine non-freak.)
I wave over my shoulder at my brother and enter wheelchair man’s house. Dial Juli and giggle “I’ll be there in five minutes!”
Our gang proceeds to have a great time at the movies and we’re all giggling and smoking cigarettes and whatnot. But… I don’t go home on time. Woopsies.
Dad gets concerned when I’m not home at the noted time and decides to call Mrs. Smith.
Becoming suspicious (I got mad smarts from Dad, mad antics from Mom) he has my bro go get me. You know, to make sure I’m ok.
Bro arrives at the wheelchair man’s house. Knocks on the door.
WCM: “Can I help you?”
BRO: “I dropped my sister off here earlier to babysit. Ummm is she still in there?”
WCM: “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
OK abbreviated version – Bro thinks there is something nefarious going on and poor wheelchair man has no idea the trouble I have caused by letting me use his phone. Poor thing.
Bro is tall and muscular (and blonde – big Swedish guy) and after several ping pong tosses of “No, She’s Not” and “Yes, She Is”, he pushes past the door and WCM is ‘accidentally’ pushed out of his wheelchair.
WCM starts panicking and threatens to call the police if BRO doesn’t leave immediately. BRO responds something like “Oh yeah, how about I call them for you.”
Sirens a-blazing, here come the po po.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I come waltzing in the door. When bro isn’t behind me, Dad asks where he is. “I dunno”, I reply *confused*. He squints at me. Cuz he knows me.
Dad jumps out of his barcalounger and says “Take me to where you were babysitting.”
I take him to WCM’s house and we arrive just as bro is being cuffed and stuffed into the back of the po po car.
OK, so I really am a bad girl.
All charges were dropped of course. He still talks to me. We even STILL laugh over all of this. Cuz after all, he is my bro and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. He’s a trouble maker too. Probably why we STILL laugh over this.