Caught Red-Handed

We have previously discussed how sometimes things that seem like good ideas, like making your own potato chips, are really not very good ideas at all. I am a parent and although my children are perfect angels, they will occasionally try to get away with things they know they should not do, like watch "Jersey Shore" or wear ridiculously short shorts. The combination of these two thoughts reminded me of why I never rebelled: I always got caught.

Example #1

My friend Mary lived about an hour away and would come to my house on the weekends for a variety of reasons, the two most obvious being my extreme coolness and the fact that my parents let us do pretty much whatever we wanted. During one of our many escapades Mary met Derrick, and she was instantly attracted to him the way you are always instantly attracted to things that are bad for you, like chocolate mousse pie and chili cheese fries. Mary's parents were dead-set against her dating so theirs was a forbidden love. Things went pretty well for quite a while until my dad met Derrick and (rightfully) deemed him to be questionable. Dad forbade me - well, us - from associating with Derrick and his friends.

But Mary and I weren't going to let that stop us. We came up with a plan - a perfect and excellent plan - for her to spend an extended amount of time with Derrick. I would tell my parents I was going to Mary's house for the day and come home that evening. In reality, I would pick up Derrick and his friend Scott, go get Mary, and we would go to Watkins Glen for the day where we would have a highly romantic picnic. I would return home in the evening and no one would have a clue.

To be honest, I don't remember a thing about what we did that day. All I know is we drove home listening to AC DC and to this day I know all the words to "You Shook Me All Night Long." I dropped off Derrick and Scott and headed home, satisfied that we had not aroused any suspicions. When I got upstairs, my dad put down his book, stared at me meaningfully, and said, "Derrick's mom called looking for him."

Oops.

Example #2

My senior year I had French class the last period of the day. Our teacher was hugely pregnant and missed our class every Thursday to go to her doctor's appointment. We had the same sub every time, a clueless old lady who would collect our homework and did not take attendance. As a resourceful young person with top-notch forgery skills, I saw this as an opportunity. I would provide some friends in class with notes from their mothers excusing them for dentist's appointments at times of their choosing, and they would hand in homework for me and my friend Heather while we skipped class. It was the perfect plan.

Thursday came and Heather and I turned over our homework to our partners in crime. My parking spot in the Student Government lot allowed us to escape from school grounds without being confronted by one of the Teacher's Aides. We hopped in my Toyota Tercel and headed out on the Parkway. We had done it. We had pulled off the impossible, skipping class and leaving the school without getting caught. We were so cool. We knew we were cool because someone was honking and waving at us at a stoplight. It was our French teacher.

Example #3

Sometimes, when you are highly skilled like me, you can get caught and publicly blamed even when you aren't the one doing anything wrong. The summer I graduated from High School one of my friends came up with the brilliant idea for us to take an overnight camping trip before we all left for college. I'm not one for the outdoors or any other activity that involves insects, sweat, and/or dirt, so I was not too jazzed about the idea. I'd rather have a root canal and invasive abdominal surgery than go camping; at least the hospital has cable and a flushing toilet. Naturally, this activity was supposed to be free of adult supervision and full of the type of hijinks one would normally expect from marginally nerdy high schoolers who think they are rebels (i.e., three cans of beer and making out). We were all supposed to tell our parents we were sleeping over at each other's houses and they would never know.

Everyone was looking forward to the trip and thought it was going to be the best thing ever. Except me. I really did not want to go and was conflicted about how to broach the subject with my boyfriend, who I assumed was just as excited as everyone else. I agonized for a few days over what to say, and then we had this deep conversation:

Me, with angst: About that camping trip -

Boyfriend, interrupting : I don't think its a good idea.

Me, surprised: So you don't want to go?

Boyfriend, with decisiveness: No.

Me, relieved: Cool.

Thus, we removed ourselves from the process and the flurry of preparations went on without us. The night of the fateful trip arrived and I was working a shift at the grocery store when my friend Jen's mom came through my line buying a pound of butter. Jen and I had been friends since 7th grade, I had spent a lot of time at her house, and I knew Mrs. G well. Well enough to know that she, normally a kind and sweet tempered lady, was not at all happy. I could practically see rage emanating from her in waves.

Mrs G, in her scariest mean-mother voice, yelled,"I know what you are up to. And you are not going to get away with it!" By this point, everyone in the front end of the store was staring at me. "But I'm not going!" I protested. Mrs G. narrowed her eyes and hissed, "well, if you see Jennifer, you tell her if she doesn't come home by ten o'clock she will never leave the house again!" She then stomped off without her butter, and the bag boys fought over who had to chase her down because they were all terrified.

So you see why I didn't bother trying to get away with anything.