Here’s a taste…
Sunday November 13th 2005, 3:34 am
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My Best “Oh Shit!” Story

There comes a point in every man’s life when he feels that the world has tuned against him, and that there is no escape from the cold, empty, black void of soul-crushing despair he has been cast into. This moment and I are on a first name basis. I call it Bob.
In the spring of my senior year of high school, there was a massive two day long storm that caused quite a bit of damage in my hometown. Downtown was flooded, and many of my friends opened their front doors to find a tidal wave welcoming itself into the living room to ruin the good rug, and carry off the cat. Cars were floating down the roads, people started hoarding supplies, and yet my school remained open. My imminent misfortune, however, had little to do with the flood, and nothing to do with my school.
I generally go to bed very late, around two or three in the morning. The first night of this storm was no different. I lived at the top of a hill, and I had no trouble with flooding that day, so I was making my usual rounds around the house, turning off all the lights, and making sure all the doors were locked. That’s when Bob showed up.
Just as I was about to go upstairs to bed, I passed the back door- and saw a figure walking behind my house. Of course, I assumed the worst (he must be an axe murderer, and I have to beat him until candy comes out), and ran for the side door, snatching my steel baton off the table as I went. I ran through the side door into the pouring rain, thunder and lightning, threw out the baton, and rounded the corner of my house to find myself face to face with… my neighbor, John.
Looking back, it would have been cool to see, because lightning flashed just before, and just after I came around the corner. So what John saw was a flash of nothing, and then, a second later, a flash of my silhouette wielding a baton. That’s probably why he screamed like a little girl.
Thankfully, I recognized him before I tenderized him like a side of beef, and I asked him what the hell he was doing. He proceeded to tell me that he had been at a party drinking with some of his friends, and that he, in his drunken stupor, had simply come home to the wrong house. I told him that his house was next door, and he responded, “Okay, thanks A.J.” (He thinks my name is A.J.). And so, frustrated and very wet, I went back to the side door to dry off and go to bed, only to be rudely reminded that in my rush to protect my family from the crazed killer outside, I had locked the door on my way out.

Oh shit.

Perhaps now would be a good time to mention that I was wearing nothing but boxers. My father sleeps like the dead, and I knew that if I woke up my mother, she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, and she needed all the sleep she could possibly get. So let’s review; I was locked out of my house, in the torrential downpour, in my underwear, with nothing but a baton. Curse you, Bob. I then remembered that we keep a spare key buried near the bushes right next to the door. So, with a slight lift in my spirits, I began to look for it. That slight lift became a severe drop however, when I found that while the rain had caused no damage to my house, the soil around it had eroded just enough to wash away the spare key, and given the amount of water in the road, it had been floating along all day. There was no hope of finding it. And I was starting to run out of options. But there is always, always another way. Then it hit me. The garage.
My garage is very easy to break into. Unfortunately, it isn’t connected to my house. But I remembered something I had found while cleaning it out that past weekend; three giant key rings full of spare keys. And so I went up, broke into my own damn garage, and found the keys. There were at least 50 on each ring.

Three things that would have helped me in this situation, but didn’t, because of the situation:
1. We have an outside light fitted with a long life bulb that stays on all the time.
Oh Shit- the bulb chose this day to burn out.
2. I have excellent night vision. I could identify the key I needed.
Oh Shit- every few seconds, there was a lightning flash that wouldn’t let my eyes adjust to the darkness.
3. The key to this door has a very distinctive shape. I could identify it by touch.
Oh shit- my fingers were numb from the cold at this point. I couldn’t feel a damn thing.

Taking stock of one’s life in situations like this is an easy way to become supremely depressed. So instead of stopping to think again, I tried every key. One by one. The last key on the last ring fit the door (figures), and I got back in, after my boxers had soaked up enough water to moisten the Gaza Strip.
Needless to say, it’s times like these that I sometimes wish that I were a drinking man. But there is no drowning my sorrows. They’re excellent swimmers. And thankfully, with regards to that situation, so am I. But there was a certain sense of accomplishment that came with it. I had set out to keep my family safe, and here they were, safe and sound. Granted, they didn’t need my making an ass of myself in the rain to remain that way, but at least I kept John from wasting his time at the wrong house. I don’t know if he remembers that night, but one thing’s for sure- I’ll never forget it for as long as I live.

And I’ve been known to hold a grudge.


1 Comment so far
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You’re so special with a capital parenthesis! So, do you often beat axe murderers until the candy comes out? Oooh!Oooh! What kind of candy??? But seriously, that was a great story, hilarious.

Comment by nicci 11.14.05 @ 10:22 am



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