Busted Dustin
So I went to a storytelling show last night where the theme was “Coming of Age.” People told stories about their weddings and proms, and since I never had a wedding or prom, I thought of what story I would tell. I was tempted to tell the story of the time I lost my virginity, but the current person I’m having sex with was there and I didn’t want to make the evening as painful and awkward as the actual night I lost my virginity. So I prepared a slightly less painful and awkward story. And it was good that I did because they called me to go up on stage to tell it. And so I recalled with as much detail as I could the first time I was caught making out with a girl in a public park after dark by the police. And yes, I said first.
Check out the actual footage from the Speakeasy show where I told this story.
Now I was 17 when this happened and I’ve since lived an entire other 17 years, so this story that I’m about to tell you will be a good mixture of actual events, exaggerated details and completely fabricated lies, some I’ve told myself for years and some I’m intentionally telling you now and I’ll let you sort it out in your head.
When you’re in high school and your girlfriend and you both live with your parents, it’s tough to find a place and time to make out. You either need to wait for them to leave, find a friend whose parents aren’t home, won’t notice or don’t care (and that’s a little weird even for me), or go outside. And so we just got in the car without a real plan. But first I needed to get the car.
“Mom, can I borrow the car?”
“Sure honey, where are you going?”
“Um… I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? What do you mean you don’t know? Why are you taking your blanket?”
“I love you too.”
And off I went to pick her up. Now here’s where my memory gets a little hazy. It was a nice summer night and we ended up at Bridgeport Park, where I had played many a youth baseball game in my day. And I was about to get to second base once again (hehe). I remember that we were in the beginning stages of making out when we saw a car driving along this dirt path that ran across the park. I remember thinking that it was probably in our best interests to lie down to the ground as flat as we possibly could. Like we were one with the grass. I also remember thinking that maybe we should have done a better job of hiding the car instead of parking it completely alone right near the entrance to the park. Thankfully, it looked like the car was going to pass us and we could resume our activities. It was just then that we saw the car turn 90 degrees right toward us. And there were the two normal headlights and then a third one on the driver’s side by the mirror to signify that this was either a cop or a really dedicated particpant in the middle of a game of flashlight tag.
The gig was up. We were caught. It was time to salvage what dignity we could. She had already taken off her shirt and I believe her bra was partially unbuckled, probably by her out of frustration of my ineptitude to do it myself. I was completely naked. Because we of course all know how much more patience boys have when it comes to matters of this nature. So she was already completely clothed by the time the police got to us. I, however, was shirtless and had put my shorts on backwards. If there’s ever an excuse to put your shorts on backwards gentlemen, this is it. I did of course still have my shoes on, because we of course all know how much more patience boys have when it comes to matters of this nature.
So the cop drives up and the first thing he says is “Maam, are you OK.” This is a great first question to ask for obvious reasons, but a question I was nonetheless unprepared for, having already resolved myself to do all the talking.
“Yes, she’s fine” I heard myself say a little before I thought about the implications of that statement.
“Sir, I’m not speaking to you” he said, obviously agitated.
“Fine then, I’m not speaking to you either.”
Now, the humor implicit in that statement became completely irrelevant very quickly. It’s possible my thought process was distracted by the question of whether or not I should bother zipping up the back of my shorts, because I certainly wasn’t going to walk anywhere like this. Thank the Gods of Calmer Heads that my girlfriend decided to speak up and tell the officer that she was OK and there of her own free will. He then asked for her name, to which she said “Penny.” The amazing part is that her name was Veronica. I have no idea how she pulled that off so fluidly. I was so taken aback that when the officer asked for my name, I completely panicked and told him the truth. 8,000 other boy's names in the world and they all escaped me at the moment I needed access to them more than ever.
The officer then informed us that we were not to be in the park after dark and we should “take it somewhere else.” As previously discussed, our options were limited, though I’m happy the officer still condoned our actions on some level, just asking that they not happen in his jurisdiction. Besides the lack of options, I could tell the mood was killed at this point. For her. I, of course was already scouting out other public parks or patches of soft ground not directly alongside a major road in my head. No need to waste a perfectly good blanket. But the night was over. And more than anything else, that was the night I learned that I could not lie to save my life in pressure situations and I could also never trust Veronica or whatever the hell her name is again .
Parking and parking,
Busted Dustin.
Still Standing Right Here… QOTD credits: Mike DeStefano – (For saying “I’m not speaking to you either” in 7th grade to Mr. Sindaco)
