Humpty Frickin Dumpty

Most people would be content after receiving a plea-bargain that asked for a testimony of no-contest. Since I am not most people, I am sitting outside of the courtroom on the day of my sentencing writing an apology letter. Do I say that I am an innocent bystander who was wrapped into an inescapable wave of crime that let to the destruction of dozens of citizens’ property or do I own up to my excessive participation? I don’t want to lie so I go with a combination of both:

I wasn’t sure what I was doing in the back seat of my car, going to my friend’s ex-girlfriend’s house.

Well, it was true that I didn’t know exactly what to be prepared for. We had just been hanging out like any other Tuesday night when we decided to drive up to Mountain Ridge. Rob’s ex did live there, but he couldn’t drive yet so John grabbed the keys to my car because he knew the way. Our unassuming tour of the well-off neighborhood took a turn for the worse when Rob saw another guy’s car in his ex’s driveway. John and Futch were both sympathetic to his quandary as they exclaimed, “That bitch.”

No one said it, but somehow everyone in the car decided that we would egg her house. We drove the 7 miles to the Food4Less by my house and collected three dozen eggs for a dollar fifty. Once we had acquired our ammunition we went back and did reconnaissance. We made sure that there weren’t many cars or people out and about, then we rolled down our windows and drove towards Rob’s ex’s house. It was the only place that we were ever malicious to. Whoever’s new Honda Civic was sitting in her driveway received at least a dozen eggs by itself. It was novice, but we were excited and John peeled on throughout the neighborhood.

It was junior year of high school and we needed some sort of release to our aggression which had built steadily throughout the semester. We didn’t laugh because we were damaging property, we were laughing because Rob, a 6’4” beast with his arm hanging out of my ’86 Civic that we refer to as the Millennium Falcon, was the only one who could consistently set off alarms on cars. Futch would try his hardest, but he just didn’t have enough leverage in his 110 pound frame to throw the eggs fast enough and John was too focused on driving to do anything but lob them.

The prank just went too far. None of us really meant to hurt anyone.

It was exhilarating to get away with it, but none of us talked about it. Avoiding the discussion only made the experience that much more vivid in our brains, so on Thursday we went again. This time we stopped by the store before heading to our location. People have laughed at us for it but after getting two crates of eggs we went back to the same rich neighborhood. We weren’t trying to terrorize anyone, we just couldn’t think of any better place to go. On the drive to the same neighborhood we noticed a police car parked at a nearby convenience store. Seeing the cop made me realize that we should probably cover up my license plate. They called me paranoid and we decided to wait in the parking lot until the officer sped off in a direction opposite of our target. The eggs seemed to glow like I had a blacklight aimed right as them as we waited for him to leave. Once we were free and clear, we entered the neighborhood and began recon again.

With less concern of being caught than the first night, we were looking for what to egg, not who to avoid. A red Mustang as well as the black Dodge Ram with a boat attached were prime candidates. Our route was charted and we began releasing ammunition once again, sometimes one at a time, and other times five or six at once. We tried not to set off alarms. It was funny the first time, but we didn’t want any more attention drawn to my car speeding around the block. We were going for net effect that time. I was as excited as an eight month old puppy when one egg that I threw managed to hit the rear quarter panel and do summersaults all the way to the headlight, smearing yolk throughout its entire journey. The 120 eggs were disposed of before we were prepared. Discussions of retrieving more ammo were hurriedly canceled on the drive out, when we noticed owners beginning to inspect the results of our attack.

The scale and boldness in which our transgressions were committed, alone, are reason enough for us to be punished.

It wasn’t until three weeks into our crime wave that things turned for the worse. After a successful completion of our mission, John turned left when he should have turned right. His error in navigation had us traveling down an area we already went through. Dozens of property-owners were outside of their homes, and one of the women recognized our car. She was waving a white cordless phone at us while screaming at the top of her lungs, “I am calling 9-1-1.”

She was on the driver’s side, and John immediately asked for me to hand him an egg. We had nearly 20 left, but I didn’t. I couldn’t hand him an egg. He was going to throw it at her. I couldn’t stand the thought of actually hurting someone with the eggs. It would have been more than a joke then.

I proclaimed, “There’s none left”

But Futch said, “Yes there are,” before handing a 2 inch white bullet to John.

John sped through the neighborhood, avoiding the outraged citizens attempting to dive in font of our car. He managed to get through the street but ignored al sense when he circled back to the same street. Reaching speeds of nearly 50 miles per hour, he hurled the egg at the startled woman that was holding the phone to her head. Likely talking to a dispatcher, she dropped the phone when the yolk and white exploded. John was laughing at the top of his lungs and could barely drive. I was too shocked to laugh but I was relieved once I realized that he had thrown it at her feet and only a small portion of it actually hit her.

The relief rapidly died to panic when I looked back and saw a maroon truck tailing us out of the area. He was right on our tail, and sped up to nearly nudge us.

“Oh Shit!”

John heard my exclamation and saw the vehicle in the rear view mirror and silently responded by pushing harder down on the gas pedal. After the first set of winding roads, I was pretty sure that he was intent on nudging us into an accident. With the first tap of his bumper to ours, Futch and I decided to take action.

With our 19 remaining eggs, we hung out the windows and attempted to slam them against his windshield in the most distracting way possible. Half way through our frantic expulsion of eggs he swerved. The guy was smart enough to not use his windshield wipers and continued in hot pursuit. We were nearly out of the cobweb of streets when I noticed that the stoplight of the main street was yellow. We were yards from the intersection when the light turned red and John sped up once again. At highway speeds he didn’t even consider pressing the brake pedal as he turned the wheel. The 14 year-old car challenged gravity as it tilted on two wheels then slammed back onto the pavement, clear of the oncoming traffic. Cars behind us continued as usual, not even honking, and the red truck was unable to follow.

We weren’t trying to get away with anything, we were just scared.

We didn’t proceed with any more petty destruction after that night. It was far too threatening, and people knew. Applying faces to the property became far too frightening to think about. For months there were announcements at school asking for any information that could help them find the perpetrators, and we never came forward. But my license plate was 021-AGE and we had come in too close of contact with people. After the affected citizens had built up reports of over $7000 worth of damage, we plea bargained it down to $1500 restitution each. It was somewhat deserved, but every time I think of the gentleman who claimed that he made $250 an hour and it took him 10 hours to clean off his boat, I think it was well deserved on both ends.