B to the M to the Double U, Ungh!

I haven’t always been the pure, sweet, innocent, church-going mamma jamma I am today.  I too have a tainted past.  What?

My first job ever was at the illustrious Jack in the Box at the top of East Hill in Kent.  The manager there did not hire me because I was qualified to flip burgers or handle other people’s money though – I think she hired me to keep me from calling and showing up daily to find out if she had considered me for the position they may or may not have had available.  It took about two weeks to wear her down, but it worked.

I had been encouraged to apply by two of my friends in art class who worked there, Tamra and John.  Tamra quit soon after I started working there, I think because she graduated from high school and went off to become all she could be down at the Salvation Army.  And John was there through the summer… until he got fed up with all the hijinx.

John and I eventually ended up on the same schedule closing the store, which meant cleaning it from top to bottom, and then locking up.  There was another person there with us, who primarily drank coffee and counted money while we schlubbed the mops and cleaned counter surfaces, pretty much in that order.  John was not popular, but I thought he was an okay guy.  He was a bit anal about stuff, and was very opinionated (hmmm reminds me of someone) which turned some people off.

Well after I made it through my introductory period, I was allowed to join the rest of the crew in some late night shenanigans.  This involved stuffing bread into people’s tailpipes, dropping foreign objects into open windows of people’s houses, and messing with mailboxes.  Of course these were usually John’s car, house and mail box – and he never caught on it was his own coworkers doing it to him.

That’s beside the point though, because the more evil-ish things I did were with John actually, on our way home every night at about two in the morning.  We walked home since it was really close (less than a mile), and this was back in the late 80′s when it was pretty safe at night… for us anyway.  We occasionally would go to Safeway and buy crap food that our parents would never keep laying about for us to consume like rabid dogs.  We’d buy Cool-whip and eat it out of the container with a spoon, candy bars and all kinds of just hyped up sugary treats.

One night while walking past Kirk Damon’s house we had an idea: to make a car sundae.  We dumped our whipped cream on top of the BMW’s sunroof behind where there was that little wind guard/scoop thingy.  We just slapped it in, knowing that his dad (cause Kirk certainly wasn’t driving this thing) would open it the next day in the summer heat and get a nice unexpected “shower”.

Now, Kirk Damon was a jerk.  He was in the same grade as John and myself and was a bully since elementary school.  He looked like a younger David Hasselhoff, with his big hair, only with less of a future.  Kirk was pals with all the other bullies and jocks and they made it clear that we were not acceptable as fellow humans.  This was definitely no excuse for what we did – but it sure helped us sleep at night… peacefully and sans-nightmares.

Well the next day I walked to work and strolled by good ol’ Kirk’s house and saw the BMW sitting there, clean.  No evidence that we had done our deed to the sunroof.  I guess we didn’t know what to have expected, but it was disappointing to see nothing.  There was no sun-baked milky residue or any sign on the driver or passenger seats to testify that anything evil had been done.  So the challenge had been issued – and accepted.

After work, John and I went to the store and bought aerosol whip cream, despite its noise-factor, we figured it would condense into its liquid form much faster than the cool-whip caulk we used the night previous.  We also purchased some Hershey’s Chocolate Syrup… mmmmmmm.  Soon we were at the BMW and sprayed the sunroof reservoir with the whip cream, and decorated the top with chocolate sauce, and filled in any gaps in the seal with the brown sugar laden graffiti.  And as soon as we had descended upon the vehicle, we had escaped and up the hill to our respective homes – anticipating the next day’s approach.

Well sonuvabitch if the car wasn’t clean again!  Their garage door was open so I couldn’t spend any time inspecting the interior really, and though I saw no one in the garage, I just kept on my own merry way and plotted for another dose of sundae slaughter.

I’ve always had a pretty good sense of something being wrong, and save myself from being electrocuted (like trying to change my starter without disconnecting the battery first) murdered or caught doing things that would land me in prison.  I know, but that sounds worse than it really is.

Well this final evening, and yes I did say “final”, we bought more whipped cream, chocolate sauce (one bottle each this time) and a big honkin’ jar of maraschino cherries.  This was going to be one real mother to try and clean up this time!  So as we approached, john tossed his bag on the ground and my Douggy senses started to tingle.  We were in trouble – I just didn’t know from where.  As the streetlight shown down on the sparkly BMW beckoning to us, I ushered John to pick back up his bag and to wait until we had turned the corner.  My plan was to at least stash our bags half way up the hill first – and then come back and paint the car.  But as we rounded the corner, there was Kirk’s dad, half way up the hill leaning against another car just watching his car.

John and I walked up the hill past him without saying a word.  Thank God it was nighttime because in the daylight he would have surely seen that I had no color in my face and that we were obviously the guilty party.  I think he probably figured it out anyway, but there was no proof that I know about left behind to finger one of us.  A month or so later John quit working at “The Box” and I was left to walk home alone.  We had stopped taking that path home, and have since sold their house – but I can’t help still looking for that BMW when I’m driving in the old neighborhood.

What’s the statute of limitations on that kind of thing?