Back in July I wrote about some hooliganisms that my neighbor Rodney and I got into. One of the more interesting stories of my youth also dealt with Rodney and another friend, Shae.
I think it was back in 1990 just before I got my license. Shae was a bit older and already had his driver’s license. One night he drove over to pick Rodney and I up to go cruise the mall as teens back then tended to do on Friday nights. Shae drove a black pick-up truck with that tiny back seat. You know the seat that made you sit sideways and was super uncomfortable? Yeah, that one. I was the lucky guy to get stuck back there.
For one reason or another old Rodney decided it was a good idea to take along his Bowie knife. That seemed reasonable, we both thought. Yeah right.
It was sort of late when we got to the mall and most of the girls (yes, we wanted to “score chicks” but never did) had already moved on to better venues. The mall was closed and pretty much vacant except for those unlucky employees who were cleaning and locking up. We really had no business being there at all.
It was at that time, somewhere in the dark recesses of the parking lot that someone noticed a car. It was a pretty nice car that was parked away from any light post and Rodney wanted Shae to drive up to it. Rodney got out, knife in hand, and decided to try it out. Up one side with the knife and down the other. Both Shae and I, being childish and teenagers, found this to be hilarious. I think it was more of the brazen, eff-the-world attitude that was being displayed. I am sure that the laughter only fueled the fire. At that moment Rodney stopped, raised the knife and brought it down, plunging with extreme force into the trunk. A large puncture wound was evident even from our distance.
He jumped into the truck and we took off, wheels squealing. We cackled all the way down the road, really proud of ourselves and Rodney for what he had done. It was not long after that the moment which would be our undoing would occur. We were coming up on the left side of a station wagon. I remember this phrase being uttered:
“Pull up to that grocery-getter!”
Rodney rolled down his window and leaned almost waist deep out of the hole it created. I noticed that the station wagon was being driven by a woman in her mid-40s and an early teenaged young lady was in the passenger seat. Rodney extended his arm, knife in tow, wagging it frighteningly towards their vehicle and screamed this ugly phrase:
“I’m gonna cut your fuckin’ titties off, bitch!“
The woman looked calmly at him, almost studying his face. She proceeded to slow down as Shae hit the gas pedal to speed away. Of course we had the obligatory laugh-fest afterwards. This is big stuff for 15 and 16 year old boys out on the town unchaperoned for one of the very first times.
We talked about this maybe once or twice more over the next couple of days, not really thinking about what we had done. A few more laughs were had. The laughing stopped soon. Why? Good question. Not too long after that incident, my parents got a call from Shae’s parents. Something bad happened and we needed to meet over there. I heard that Rodney and his parents were going to be there as well. That didn’t sound good.
What transpired was after we passed this poor lady and who we later found out was her niece, was that she had the intelligence and forethought to take down the tag number of Shae’s truck…which was registered to Shae’s dad…so that she could find us…with help from her police officer friends…because she worked with them…as a parole officer. She came to Shae’s parent’s house to visit with us and teach us about what could have happened to us. A little arrest here maybe and a little assault there maybe. It was all pretty scary to say the least.
Could he/we have chosen a worse target to threaten? Not really. Moral of this story? Don’t be a punk-ass as a teen ‘cuz it might just bite you.
