Friday, January 16, 2009
EPISODE #4: (Another night of Vodka Collins, a/k/a S*#T happens)
This is more my roommate’s story, but I was involved, and I haven’t seen the girl in ages, so I’m telling it!
It’s still the same roommate, and I was still married to the same guy. Like I said earlier, this was a crazy time in my life. I wanted out of the marriage, and was going back to relive my teen years that I had spent married and tied down, so a lot of wild things were going on in my life.
My room-y had a new boyfriend, after her split from her live-in. He was older, and, come to find out, married. And had no intentions of having my roommate as anything other than a little piece on the side.
We were in a bar a few nights later (oh, no, not again) and we’re hashing this over. “Hell hath no fury” and all that. The boyfriend had kind of a blase attitude about their relationship and didn’t think much at all about what he was doing to her. Just, “oh, well, S*#T happens.” So in our Vodka Collins induced commiserating, we kept dreaming up revenge scenarios. For instance, cut his gonads off and tell him, “oh, well, S*#T happens”. Or, slash his tires on his precious Ford Bronco and tell him, “oh, well, S*#T happens”. Or call his wife, tell of the affair and say, “oh, well, S*#T happens”. You know, stuff we wish we had the gall to do, but didn’t. Just the Vodka talking.
So we’re leaving the bar, not even late that night, and I wasn’t even really drunk. Just feeling good. Good in that “pissed off woman with a mission” sort of way. Sisterhood, revenge....we were feeling invincible. We walked out of the bar and take a short cut around the back. The bar was undergoing some renovations, apparently to the bathrooms, because sitting right there in front of us as we rounded by the back door was a toilet. Just appearing as if my magic out of nowhere. A used, discarded porcelin toilet bowl, sitting right by the dumpster. Kind of how my roommate felt: S*#Tty and used and discarded.
You can practically see the light bulbs going off in our heads. You guessed it: we hauled that toilet bowl home, in the trunk of the car, and got to work on it. We cleaned it up a bit, and then went to “Spencer’s” in the mall, where they had those bumper stickers from long ago, red bumper stickers with white lettering, spelling out “S*#T HAPPENS”.
Well, it sure did that night. We bought a bumper sticker, brought it home and slapped it on that toilet, and then in the dark, misty hours after 2AM, we hauled that thing to room-y’s boyfriend’s house, and left it in their driveway, right in front of the garage door, where either the boyfriend or his wife would be sure to find it when they came out for the paper the next morning.
We didn’t stick around to see the fireworks. We hauled butt home and celebrated with another Vodka Collins. The next morning brought the news that wife-y had not been too pleased with what the cheating husband had quickly explained must have been a prank by his hunting buddies. But no real damage occurred. And then a sobering thought: he let us know how close we had come to real trouble, because his house and property was wired for security with laser lights, or some kind of invisible lighting around the perimeter of his yard, and he does not know how we managed to pull off that stunt without triggering the silent alarm, and the police! GUH! That would have been, well, S#*TTY!
But: all’s well that ends well. Their relationship ended. She went on to meet a really nice, young, unmarried guy that was crazy about her. I don’t know what ever happened to that married man. Nor do I know what happened to that roommate....haven’t seen her in years. And when I look back on that prank, I get chills. I was really in a bad place at that time in my life. Crazy, drinking and partying too much, pulling stunts and pranks like that. Thank God I grew up and learned some valuable lessons without having anyone get hurt.