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Out Of The Frying Pan And Into The Fire

, , , , , , , | Related | January 13, 2022

This took place in the mid-1990s when I was fifteen years old. It was around 11:00 at night when I heard someone tap on my window. I looked out to see two of my best buddies waving at me and gesturing for me to come out. I opened my window.

Me: *Whispering* “Dude! What the h*** are you doing here? You’re gonna get me in trouble!”

Friend: “Dog, you gotta come with us! There’s this smashing party going on at [Boy]’s place! His dad is out for the weekend and he’s got the place to himself! Girls all over the place! You gotta check it out!”

I’d never snuck out of the house before.

Me: “Uhhh… I dunno about that.”

Friend: “[Crush] is there.”

Me: “You serious?”

Friend: “Dead serious. Come on, I told them we were gonna come get you. You’re gonna let everyone down!”

That particular girl being there was all the reason I needed to risk my neck. I quietly got dressed and tiptoed out the back door since the screen in my bedroom window was too difficult to remove and replace.

After spending a good five hours or so frolicking around with everyone and acting like the bunch of high school morons we were, we decided around 4:00 am that we’d all better split and get back home before our luck ran out and someone came looking for us.

I managed to slip back in through the back door and was tiptoeing back to my room when I heard a toilet flush and my mom emerged from the bathroom with a groggy look on her face. And there I was, standing in the middle of the hallway, fully dressed and reeking of cigarettes and beer (neither of which my parents had).

Mom: “What are you doing?”

Me: “I heard a weird noise in the shed so I just went to check it out.”

Mom: “You got dressed up like that to—” *sniffing* “OH, H*** NO! [Dad], get out here now!”

My parents were having some serious marital issues at the time, to the point where they were sleeping in separate bedrooms.

Mom: *Banging on my dad’s door* “GET OUT HERE, [DAD]!”

No answer.

In a rage, my mom threw the door open and ripped the blanket off my dad’s bed to reveal an empty bed. Puzzled, my mom looked outside to see his car missing from the driveway, and then, she picked up the phone.

Mom: “Hello, is [Dad] there?” *Pause* “This is [Mom]; I am [Dad]’s wife. Did he have a graveyard shift tonight?” *Pause* “He hasn’t had one all this year?!” *Pause* “Really now?!” *Pause* “Thank you!” *Slamming the phone down* “If this is some kind of prank, somebody better say something now because I’m about to go homicidal! Get back in bed! Don’t think you’re off the hook!”

I got back in bed with an “I’m-so-dead” feeling of impending doom hovering over me.

Around six am, I woke up to hear:


Dad: “I got called in for a graveyard shift; someone called in sick.”


Cue a mayhem-filled screaming match where my dad finally fessed up about “the other girl” — who happened to be one of her good friends. The screaming match grew into a screaming marathon that continued almost until noon, and my dad ended up moving out about two weeks later.

As for me, my mom was so pissed that she never punished me for sneaking out of the house to smoke and drink, although, for a while, she started making me put my shoes and jacket in her bedroom at night. That lasted up until I was sixteen.

My dad still jokes with me to this day that I inadvertently got him busted doing essentially the same thing the same night.

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