Observations by Key Monroe~~Home of Right Opinions, Cynical Viewpoints, and TMI in Hefty Doses
|E-mail: keymonroe [at] alltel [dot] net

December 10, 2004

Runnin from the Cops, a Tale From My Youth

It all started when I was 15. I had two best girlfriends, and a terrible trio we were, until one of them moved to Virginia Beach. (She was a military brat.)

We, the remaining duo, pooled the funds, and by the time the following summer rolled around, we had enough for airfare. TWO WEEKS away from home! (...her poor mom.)

We didn't waste any time, the first Friday there, we headed for a humungo keg party complete with a garage band. (No parents in sight.)

We were there maybe thirty minutes before the cops showed up. The band members headed for the stairs. They looked like men with missions, so we followed them. After climbing two flights of stairs, we found ourselves secluded in a small, finished room in the attic. It was very quiet in contrast to the chaos reverberating throughout the rest of the house.

Ten minutes later, our nerves were beginning to calm, but no, we should have known better. We weren't THAT lucky. Two cops barged in and began searching the room.

We were shocked. We didn't know WHAT was going on. We had been up there the whole time; we didn't even KNOW there was alcohol downstairs.

So he looked at us as though we were full of shit--and we were---and then he told us to hit the road.

...and they were in a band...and they were cute. So we snuck out to meet them a couple of times.

Sooo...Is it commom knowledge that people are really weird about teenagers hanging out in houses under construction in Virginia?

I had never had a problem in Georgia...

This house was just down the street from my friend's house. We rationalized that since we were already sneaking out, it might be best if we didn't also leave the area. Huh. WRONG!

So the second we entered the house, the three guys each grabbed their respective "match," pulling us three different directions, and thereby killing the "safety in numbers" barrier.

Luckily, I had the sense to keep my clothes on. (For at least another year in fact, but that's another story.) I heard my friends in the bonus room and figured that's where I needed to be. So, I dragged my date up the stairs to join the others. That's when we noticed blue lights flickering in the windows.

Chivalry was dead that night. And stupid. Two of them ran into the neighbor's yard, (likely the very neighbors that had ratted us out.) I followed my idiot date into the woods, where he promptly LOST my ass.

Did I mention that I was bare-footed? Yep, you can take the girl outta Georgia, but you can't take Georgia outta the girl.

The briars were a bitch. I was on a brush-infested upward slope, making my way to the tracks that ending up being my saving grace.

The officer below encircled me within the spotlight of his flashlight and ordered me to come out of there. I stared at him. I thought about it. Then I thought, nah, I think I'll take my chances with the briars.

I continued towards the tracks, and followed them two streets over. I waited fifteen minutes before I snuck my ass into my friend's fenced back yard.

No police vehicles in sight, I would have been encouraged had the lights not been on, and my friend's angry mom not been standing in the center of the Living Room interrogating the other two.

Great, I thought, those dumbasses got themselves caught. Were they stupid enough to tell the cop where they lived? We had no I.D. on us. They could have pointed to an empty house, explained that their parents were out of town, and begged for mercy, but nooo...

I went in. "YOU!" she shrieked. "I would have expected this kind of behavior out of the other two, but YOU..." she shook her head, "I expected more out of you."

Figure that. She expected more out of me than she did out of her own daughter. That's nice. Wonder what she would have thought, had she known that I had been making out with her son for several hours on the nights that I didn't have a date? (...So I was a bit of a player. Who wasn't at that age?)

Upstairs, within the sanctity of our shared bedroom, I learned that my friends HAD initially gotten away, but that the GUYS, the testicularly-challenged, oatmeal for brains GUYS, got their asses caught, and rather than act natural, (dumb), they led the police officers directly to my friend's house.



I realize that the entire situation was less than ideal, on my part as well, but, come on, was that not WRONG?

There you have it. One of the tales of my youth. I'm at a scary age. I'm old enough to expect more out of my child, yet young enough to remember exactly what it was like to be, well, misdirected.

Disclaimer: This has been a recycled post. (Sue me.)

posted by Key on 05:08 PM | Comments (4)
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I don't think we ever forget those misdirections as long as we live. We remember them being fun at the time, but then we wonder, "What in the hell was I thinking?" Then we hope our kids don't do the same foolish things we did... then we realize they probably will.

Posted by: Dash at December 10, 2004 06:05 PM

That's what you get for hanging around guitar players. I've WARNED YOU about those swine.

Posted by: Acidman at December 10, 2004 08:10 PM

I liked it then,I like it again... I'm in Greesboro, Ga...Know where that is? I don't.

Posted by: Sam at December 10, 2004 10:22 PM

*L* Tales of your youth are almost an echo of mine! Well, maybe mine happened 10 or 20 years before yours, but what the hell! I've heard it said, 'If you remember the 60's you didn't Live in the 60's',,,sort of true, too!

Posted by: Michele at December 11, 2004 07:07 AM
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