Shelley's Pizza Wagon
Right after graduating from high school, I fell in with a group of people I had admired for years. They were, in my view, brainy yet cool. Their Dominant Male, Mike, was a long-haired Honor Roll student who listened to cool, obscure music (like I did and do), smoked dope (ditto), and his mom would buy beer for all his friends, and they would have a party nearly every Friday and Saturday night at his house. Best of all, he lived only about a quarter-mile away!
The Dominant Female of the group was Shelley. She was cute, with long blond hair and big tits. Only problem was, she was nothing but a spoiled, ever-petulant little BITCH. She HATED not getting her way, and could effectively manipulate the other women in the clique, forcing them to boycott a party because of some perceived slight or another, and just generally bend them to her childish will.
Also, she was the only chick with a car.
And a stylish one it was, too, a plain, white '67 Chevy Impala station wagon which apparently was a hand-me-down from her parents. She would pick up all her girl friends and bring them to the party. The regulars would include:
MEGHAN, the dumb one. You could say ANYthing to her in public without being slapped because she simply didn't know what it meant. Great fun at parties.
JULIE, the short, squeaky one with the endearing buck teeth. Always cheerful, like a cartoon squirrel or something.
JEANNIE, the fat, jolly one. A genuinely nice person.
CRYSTAL, who would readily hop into bed with any male sporting cocaine or heroin(!). Eventually attempted suicide with a daisy razor, which is an amazing display of emotional instability AND stupidity AT THE SAME TIME. She survived the tiny, doubled wounds.
Though we partied at Mike's often, we also frequently went to other, larger parties. If the larger party turned out to suck, we would all usually end up at Mike's house.
Anyway, we were at one of these larger parties one night when Shelley threw a fit. I had undermined her plan to drag off everyone to an out-of-town party the following weekend by having one myself. Now it would be just her and the girls going, and she had just gotten the news. She walked up to me in her petulant Shelley way, and uttered a single word: "fuck." Or maybe it was "fucked." It was hard to tell. I was on acid at the time. At any rate, this was not something that a snotty, uppity little shit like Shelley said very often. So she was pretty much pegging the petulance-meter.
My good friend Kerry was on acid this evening too. We hung together a bit in those days, Kerry being a member of the clique and all. Also, he lived near Mike and me. Later, Kerry and I would become roommates and mortal enemies. On this particular evening, however, we had both dropped some of the cheap "Red Barrel" that was going around. The party was a drag, though, and Shelley was hanging with some of the older low-lifes, 25-year old guys with scraggly beards and arrest records, who gave her their utmost attention.
As was often the case, Kerry and I decided to bag the party and go get a pizza. We drove to Pietro's and ordered some damn thing that was covered with tomato slices. I thought Kerry liked tomatoes on pizza. He thought I liked tomatoes on pizza. Neither one of us did. So, when the pizza arrived, we both dumped the tomatoes off our current slice and onto the remaining pizza. When we were done, we still had a third of a large pizza, with an entire pizza's worth of tomatoes piled on top. We got some foil from the nice folks there and wrapped it up to go. We were planning on going back to the party.
There was no conspiracy up until now. We had simply eaten a pizza and were headed back to see if the party had changed and, hopefully, gotten better. But somewhere along the line -- and I swear I do not remember whose idea this was, Kerry's or mine -- it was decided that the hell with the party, but since we were headed that way, we would hit the exterior of Shelley's car with a single piece of pizza. Since I was driving, Kerry would be the "hit man". Obviously, we were both still pretty fried on the acid and looking for a memorable laugh.
As we pulled up towards Shelley's car at about 10 mph, Kerry grabbed a piece of pizza from the foil and pushed his entire upper half out the window as he aimed for Shelley's back window. We both began to laugh like hell. I noted that we were basically invisible from inside the party house, with its front window curtains drawn closed. Kerry threw the pizza, and its sloppy side hit the rear window of the Chevy wagon perfectly flush with a SPLAT! We were screaming with laughter now. Since no one in the house could see us, I had an idea. I stopped next to Shelley's car. "See if the door's unlocked", I instructed Kerry. He tried it. It opened. Instinctively, Kerry knew what to do. He pulled out the rest of the pizza, tomatoes and all, and proceeded to hurriedly cover the entire inside of Shelley's wagon with nearly a half a Hula Loola, with extra tomatoes. There was gooey pizza everywhere -- the dashboard, the seat -- the steering wheel even sported its own piece which was slowly oozing toward the floor. We howled like monkeys in heat and got the hell out of there.
It was the next afternoon before we found out what happened when Shelley discovered the mess in her car. Julie reported about how incredibly angry Shelley was. All wonderful news to us. Except one thing. Mike had left the party right after us, and she decided that that damn Mike had done this! So deeply pissed was Shelley that she conjured up her greatest powers of manipulation and convinced one of the low-lifes at the party to kick Mike's ass. Perhaps the low-life's boner had worn off a bit or something, but by the time Shelley and the crud got to Mike's house, they randomly decided to throw a plastic flower pot through the front window instead. It bounced off and broke. They left.
Later, Shelley admitted her part in the flower-pot throwing, and begrudgingly apologized to Mike's mom.
Kerry and I never admitted to anything, although we told Mike about it the morning after the pizza attack. Mike made us promise him that if we ever did anything like that again, not to tell him about it.
As for me, I have a daughter now, and my number one goal is to make sure she does NOT grow up to be like Shelley.