Back in High School, I had two interests: cars and girls. I really couldn't afford either, but I pursued both with great zeal and enthusiasm.
In my senior year, I was dating this adorable gal we'll call Laura. She looked like Leah Thompson in "Back to the Future," if that paints a picture. With feathered hair and skin tight jeans, she was the all American girl. I was completely infatuated with her.
As the school year was winding down for the Christmas holiday, we had been an item for more than 9 months. In teen-years, that's more like a decade. In any case, even at a young age, I knew that living at home with no money for a weekend getaway really isn't conducive to romantic interludes.
We were both still virgins and not for lack of interest, it was just that we never got time alone.
One particular week, I was grounded from the car for some infraction (in my teen years, I committed many.) But a unique opportunity was approaching: Laura's parents were going out for dinner to a location 60 miles away. This was rare, because her parents didn't trust her alone as they already suspected we were fooling around.
Nevertheless, Laura was reluctant because she had a biology test on Monday. Proclaiming that I was a whiz at biology, I offered to come over to drill her. Pun intended. It seemed that the time was right on this particular Friday at 6pm.
I told my folks I had to work that night just so I could get access to the family car. (My little jalopy was getting the transmission fixed and my dad took his company car to go to work.) Since my mom was home alone, I knew she'd buy my bevy of BS and she happily turned over the keys.
I threw on my uniform and went to "work."
Her parents left ten minutes before I got there. Like an idiot, I parked my moms 79 Chrysler LeBaron Town and Country wagon (think family Truckster, straight out of Chevy Chase's "Vacation") in the driveway. I had been itching to get my hands on the wagon for a date with Laura, because I had always thought that under the right circumstances, Laura and I could "get busy" in the back. To Laura's credit, she wouldn't set foot in my "shaggin wagon." Instead, she was reserving the "big deed" for a special, classier set up.
That night, I showed up with a single rose, take-out from Lui's kitchen...and condoms. Yeah...classy. Anyway, with the parents safely on their way to their dinner, things got steamy quickly. Within a half an hour, we adjourned to the bedroom. Clothes were off within seconds. Asi it turns out, taking off our clothes took longer than the act. Not more than ten seconds into the throes of passion and heavy breathing, Laura said excitedly "they're coming, they're coming." I wasn't an expert, but I'm pretty sure that wasn't the right phrase. Two seconds later, it didn't matter. I was done and quickly muttered "we're coming?" She frantically corrected me, "no they're coming!" as she pointed to her bedroom door.
There were strange noises down the hall. At first, I thought it was $16 worth of bad Chinese food rumbling in my stomach...a few precious seconds ticked by. Then there were voices in the hallway and light came on, casting a sliver of light from under the door. I was seconds from sure death. Her parents had sprung a trap for us.
Like a naked Ninja, I gathered most of my clothes and with no way out, I used the bedroom window and literally jumped from the second story window. More like flew out the bedroom window, actually. In my carefully planned escaped, I neglected to remove the screen. Fortunately, the Webber grille 10 feet below broke my fall.
Her father, a Baptist minister, lost himself in the moment, shouting "what the f$ck was that?" When a Baptist minister resorts to profanity, it's time to go. As her parents raced to the backyard, clothes in hand and bare butt in the breeze, I was in my car within seconds. One problem: I was blocked in.
Using my brilliant logic, I backed over the fresh, wet lawn, spinning my tires and digging trenches with them. After what seemed an eternity, I made it to the sidewalk and backed off the 2 foot high, steep concrete curb. Sparks and crushing metal noises ensued, but I made clean getaway. Or so I thought.
I raced home, wondering if Laura would crack under the strain of interrogation. I gambled that she wouldn't. At a stoplight, I tried to regain my composure when I noticed I was still naked from the waist down and I somehow, the condom was coming along for the ride, no pun intended. I quickly pulled on my jeans...but what to do with the condom? I surely couldn't toss it out the window. It was a Friday night on surface streets. Naturally, I stuck in the ashtray. Somehow, I must've pressed the cigarette lighter in and within seconds, I smelled smoke. By the time I stopped for the next red light, the car was filling with smoke. In a panic, I rolled down the windows and opened the ashtray. To confused fellow motorists, it must've looked like a Cheech and Chong movie.
I pulled over for a minute and tried to air the car out, but I needed to get home. I don't know where the condom ended up, but I didn't have time to track it down. I jumped on the freeway to bypass the surface street traffic and raced home.
As I exited the freeway trying to beat my dad home from work, I drifted the family car like a true pro. I bounced into my driveway and told my mom that work let me off early because they weren't busy and retreated to my room. My dad got home about five minutes after I did.
I heard my parents arguing for a few minutes, then we all sat down to the family dinner. My dad seemed calm and even started a conversation with me about my day, which was a little odd.
Dad: "So you got called in to work today?"
Me: "Yup."
Dad: "But they let you off early?"
Me: "Ya. Slow night."
Dad: "I bet you hate driving your moms car."
Me: "It's better than nothing."
Dad: "You know, you have to be careful with that thing, it doesn't handle like your little sports car." Me: "It does just fine." grinning devilishly as if I had just pulled off an escape from Alcatraz.
Dad: "Maybe, but I noticed if you corner too fast, you might lose one of these, " at which time he produced a bent up hubcap that looks a lot like the ones on my mom's car.
At this point, I was like a deer in the headlights. Turns our that he was pumping gas when I flew around the corner across the street and a hubcap from my car rolled right up into the gas station parking lot where it smashed into a dumpster.
I knew I was screwed.
Before he could start into a tirade, the phone rang. I was sent to my room by my dad while he attended to my moms hysterics. I tried to catch snippets of the conversation through the air vents but it sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher. After a few minutes, I was promptly summoned to the living room.
It is here that I learned that Laura's dad had just called...seems he was sure it was me fleeing his house. Before I could put together an excuse that sounded remotely plausible, my dad informed me that Laura's dad even "has my license plate."
Thinking that this was highly improbable (given my impeccable stunt driving and the fact that it was pretty dark), I then learned that he didn't have the plate number...he had the whole license plate. It seems that in my getaway, the concrete curb had ripped off the whole front plate and deposited it curbside.
At this point, my mom was giving me the evil eye and I remember feeling embarrassed that my mom knew I was trying to have sex.
After my mom left the room, my dad asked me point blank, in typical Joe Pesci character: "are you putting the screws to this girl?" I shrugged my shoulders in shame. He then raised his hand...to high five me. Stunned, I looked him square in the eye with amazement.
He calmly stated "You know what happens next, right?" A thousand scenarios are running through my head. Italian fathers have a nasty habit of telling you what they're going to do to you in graphic detail. One such rant went something like this "I'm gonna pull the ear off the side of your head and stick in your pants so you can hear me kicking your ass down the street."
Instead, he calmly blurts out "You need to go get that license plate back. And while you're at it, you need to buy mom a new hubcap." It seems as if my dad would forgive far more bad behavior if it somehow involved a woman. To say I got conflicting parental views on this incident would be an understatement.
I told my dad I'd fix the hubcap, which looked more like a Pringle's potato chip. He demanded that I fix the hubcap tonight. I did the best I could and an hour later, my parents inspected my work. For whatever reason, my mom decided to snoop around inside the car. Fearful that she'd discover the condom I lost, I stood at the door to the garage, petrified. My mom got out of the car and asked why the car smelled like burning rubber. With a look of disgust, she asked me point blank, "Craig were you burning rubber in my car?" "Not exactly in it," I thought.
I saw Laura once more, when she returned the bent-up license plate. I had a tough time looking her in the eye, as I was ashamed at the trouble I had caused her.
As for the condom? I never found it, so if you ever find one roadside, let me know. I would like some closure on this whole incident.
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