Something Came Up

Well, it’s taken almost a half century, but I’m finally going to get it off my chest. It’s been long enough. The way I see it, It took less than 50 years after dropping the The Bomb on Japan for us to become allies. So if time can heal a wound like that, maybe Susan wonʼt hold a grudge. She might even laugh. Either way, I’m telling the story.  

It was the summer of 1970, one year before my high school graduation, and I was working at a golf course pro shop. Even though the air conditioning was preferable than the 90+ degrees outside, time was passing slower than cold ketchup pouring out of a bottle.  No doubt it was because later I had a date with Susan. She was a cute, perky strawberry blonde, and we had been dating on and off for a month or two. Nothing serious, but we were having a good time. 

When I called her to confirm the pick up arrangements, Susan told me something had come up, and she had to break the date.   No word on what that something was.  What I didn’t know at the time that in dating parlance, “something came up” is a major red flag.   It usually means that something better came up.  Sometimes you have to learn things the hard way.  So, looking back, this became a teachable moment for me.  

Now dateless, I called my best friend Richard.  He had nothing on his agenda.  Using my Dadʼs VW, we decided to spending the evening “driving around”, which was teen-code for getting into trouble - and more likely than not, we were going to cause it.

It didnʼt take long. A drive by Susanʼs house, standard operating procedure for a guy who had a date broken under suspicious circumstances, revealed what “the something” was.  A  big black motorcycle was sitting on the street in front of her house. She lied to me! My honor was wounded - no matter if we werenʼt going steady. I had been lied to. There was no need for that.  Something had to be done. But what?   Circling the block, Richard told me to stop the car. “What is he up to?”, I thought.  I dropped him off about 100 yards from the bike, and watched as he walked up to the motorcycle, casually pulled out the spark plug wire, tossed it in the shrubbery, and replaced the plug cap in one smooth movement. It was gutsy.  It was brilliant!   No matter that this guy probably had nothing to do with the broken date.  His evening was ruined and he didn’t even know it yet. Nowadays, we call that collateral damage.  

I picked Richard up, and we drove away laughing.  We showed them!  Then, as always seems to happen when we are together,  we decided to take it to the next level.  I don’t know who came up with this idea, but one of us thought it would be even funnier if we could somehow see what was going to happen.  Wait!   I noticed that the people  across the street from Susan weren’t home.  So it would be a simple matter to hide in the bushes in front of their house and get a close up view of our revenge.  Since I was a the wronged party, we decided that I would be the shrubbery stalker. 

There was a certain danger in this little plan.  Because of the narrow street and small lots, the neighbor’s home was no more than 50 feet from the motorcycle.  There was a chance I could be spotted.  At the least,  it would be embarrassing.  I would look like a childish, immature teenager - which of course I was.  At the worst,  I could get into a fight that I wasn’t sure I could win. 

None of this mattered at the time. I simply had to see what was going to happen.  It would be like a 1970’s version of Impractical Jokers!  

We drove out of the subdivision, stopped, and swapped places in the car. Then Richard pulled up to the neighbor’s house.   I got out of the car, walked up the driveway, and slipped underneath the shrubs between the lawn and the mondo grass.  Nothing to do now but wait on the show.    

The curtain rose quickly.  In just a few minutes, Susan’s front door opened and the couple appeared, talking and laughing.  They walked to the motorcycle and kissed goodnight.  Surprisingly, a flash of anger and jealously flooded thru me.  It was difficult for me to see rejection first hand. 

Of course, all of that changed when he tried to start the bike.  Keep in mind there was no key to turn.  In the early 70’s, you had to kick start a motorcycle.  And he could kick all he wanted, it wasn't gonna start. I suppressed laughter as he jumped up and kicked down,  jumped up and kicked down again, again, and again.  Then he began to swear. Susan got upset.  This was great!

However, my amusement began to ebb as his anger grew.   This guy was getting crazy mad now.  And when he finally checked the spark plug wire, he went into a vein popping, tree kicking, rock throwing, necking choking tirade.  He was dropping      f- bombs that could be heard in Tuscaloosa. 

“If I ever f*****g catch the little motherf*****r that pulled my f******g spark plug wire out, I will kill that little f****r with my bare f******g hands! And I f*****g mean it!”

Now there was nothing funny at all - just a genuine fear for my life.   Someone like this was totally out of control. A dart from a tranquilizer gun wouldn’t stop him from killing me if he knew where I was.  And I was so close.  I’m sure if they were really looking, I could have been spotted.  I flattened my body behind the mondo grass and tried to look like an azalea.  

To his credit, he showed a lot of ingenuity - tightly twisting a piece of foil from a chewing gum wrapper and using it as a makeshift plug wire.  And it worked - kind of.  The bike would spit and sputter for a few minutes,  then it would  die. This was followed by a tirade of swearing. Then it began again.  It actually took on a kind of rhythm.  

“Rrrrm!  Pop! Pop!  Gonna kill that little motherf****r!   Rrrrm!  Pop! Pop! Gonna find that little sumbitch!”   If I hadn’t been so concerned about my imminent death, it would have been hilarious.  

The motorcycle coughed and burped it’s way down the subdivision road, going dead about every 100 yards. Even a quarter mile away you could still hear the cursing.  Susan finally went inside.  I immediately crawled out from under an azalea bush and followed the motorcycle from a distance. It was time for me to be extracted.  

Then I spotted the VW.  I was in disbelief. What is Richard doing?   He had pulled up by the motorcycle and was talking to the guy!  What is going on?   I slipped back into someone’s yard just in case he decided to turn around,  and watched.  After a few minutes, the motorcycle slowly sputtered down the road, and the bug headed my way.   

I stepped out on to the curb.  And the instant I was in the safety of the Volkswagen I blurted out, “What in the world were you doing back there?”

Richard smiled and said,  “Just seeing if I could help.  That was one upset guy.   Somebody screwed up his motorcycle.” 

I burst out laughing, gulping air until I almost hyperventilated.  I finally said, ”So you were offering to help him fix the motorcycle that you just personally sabotaged?  He grinned and nodded.  I started laughing again, saying,  “You’re not the Good Samaritan, you’re the Bad Samaritan.”    

Of course, I never spoke to Susan again.  I’m sure she knew I figured out that she lied to me.  But I’m not sure she ever figured out that Richard and I were responsible for removing the spark plug wire on the motorcycle.   And I’m positive she didn’t know that I watched the whole thing play out from just a few feet away. 

So now, our little secret has been brought out into the light. I feel like a weight has been lifted.  Confession is good for the soul.   And there’s even more to the story.  I’d like to tell you, but something came up.   

Maybe another time.  

Please like and share - unless something comes up!

#highschoolrevenge

#shrubberyisscratchy

#somethingcameup