Pepin
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2000
- Posts
- 160
A 1962 Ford Rambler. It was on loan while the Camaro was in the shop. That is another adventure alltogether. It was late in the year, I remember this because it was cold out, and it was only a few weeks before I was supposed to report to Great Lakes, Il. for basic training. It had been raining alot that day, and the night air was a little more nippy than I could remember in a long time. I was on the way to pick up my brother from his job, at a local fast food franchise. He had closed the store that night. I stopped by the "Cicrle K" to talk to a buddy that had flagged me down. As soon as I got out of the car, I saw it, painted on the driver's side of the white car, was the words "FUCK YOU" scraweld in red hairspray, the kind you use for halloween (another dead giveaway that it was fall) 
. "Who did that?" he asked me. I knew who it was, it was the girl who has asked me out a few times before, and I had replied "FUCK YOU!" "Stephaine," I said Tenfold. Yep, it had come back to haunt me. I was sure that's who it was, because as I was leaving the house, on the way to get my brother, I remembered seeing her car. Seeing her car in my neighborhood was an oddity, since she didn't work that night, she lived a mere 45 miles to the south of me. While I was standing there contemplating murder in the first, Scott said to me, "There she goes, let's go get her!" "Naw, I gotta go get my brother, c'mon, lessgo." We hopped in the loaner, and off we went. Two blocks later we pulled into the parking lot, where my brother was waiting. Scott flipped over the seat into the back as I cam to a stop, and scooted over. First words outta my brother were, "Who'dja piss off?" I played dumb. "Whaddya mean?" I was a bad actor. About that time, I pointed, as Stepahine went racing by, no headlights, headed for home, hoping we wouldn't see her. "Her." "Lessgo get her!" Scott shouted from the backseat. We dropped him off at the gas station, where he slept in the bathroom. "We don't need your help Scott." My brother reported. "But we know where to find you if we do."
We were in pursuit, the tires squealed as we rounded the corner, tuning onto Highway 39.
Highway 39 is a 28-mile stretch between Louisburg, (where we lived) and Bunn, (another one-horse town.) Louisburg was bigger by population, so we got all the cool stuff, we had a TG&Y, a Byrd’s food store, Pizza Hut, McDonald’s, Hardees, and a few other things that Bunn was lacking, like a KFC, and most recently, Wal-Mart, just to name a few, and to give you an idea of how “behind” Bunn actually was, compared to Louisburg.
Stephanie had been having car trouble, (thanks to me the weekend earlier) and could only sputter along at like 50 Mph. Cut to the Rambler, 1962 V6 289 small block, we had power, and plenty to spare. Sure it was 3 on the tree, and the driver’s door had been opened all the way to the front fender, but it wasn’t ours, and quite honestly, we didn’t care if the car got us back home or not. Our concern was to chase down Stephanie, and make her clean off the car. We followed her to her girlfriend’s house, or at least we stopped nearby, and got Stephanie out of her car, and she admitted that she was the graffitist, and that she wanted to get her friend Sherry (we called her Dairy Cow for short) to ride along and that she would meet us back at our place. Sherry was a portly gal, at 5’1” she was the reason they call women broad, tipping the scales at nearly 300lbs. We had plans for Sherry, as she neared Stephanie’s car, we rolled toward her, without missing a step, she got right up on top of the car. She was on the hood at first, spread-eagle, my brother kept hitting the gas then the brakes, trying to roll her off. “Punch it!” I screamed, as Stephanie was trying to rescue Sherry the whole time. Sherry somehow made her way up on top of the car; we were hitting speeds of up to 70mph, slamming on the brakes at random, diving into parking lots, abandoned warehouses along the way, with Sherry, white knuckled, hanging on to the top of the car the best she could. Safety? What in the hell is that to 3 high-school aged kids? My brother was the only “Real” adult there, and he was driving yeah, looking back, we could have gotten into a shitload of trouble, But when you invite the chief of police over to your place to smoke out with you and play chess, we didn’t care. Did we have any concern that she might actually hit the pavement at 70mph? Oh man, what a cool sight that would have been. I think back now and realize how dumb we were at times, and if I were to pass right now, I would say I lived life to the fullest. When we got home, Sherry’s face was a little wind burned, and she was all wet, I offered to hose her down but she declined. I got a warm soapy bucket of water, and a scrubbing they were. I told them that I had made sure that they would not leave till it was all cleaned off, I had the coil wire to Stephanie’s car under my mattress.
. "Who did that?" he asked me. I knew who it was, it was the girl who has asked me out a few times before, and I had replied "FUCK YOU!" "Stephaine," I said Tenfold. Yep, it had come back to haunt me. I was sure that's who it was, because as I was leaving the house, on the way to get my brother, I remembered seeing her car. Seeing her car in my neighborhood was an oddity, since she didn't work that night, she lived a mere 45 miles to the south of me. While I was standing there contemplating murder in the first, Scott said to me, "There she goes, let's go get her!" "Naw, I gotta go get my brother, c'mon, lessgo." We hopped in the loaner, and off we went. Two blocks later we pulled into the parking lot, where my brother was waiting. Scott flipped over the seat into the back as I cam to a stop, and scooted over. First words outta my brother were, "Who'dja piss off?" I played dumb. "Whaddya mean?" I was a bad actor. About that time, I pointed, as Stepahine went racing by, no headlights, headed for home, hoping we wouldn't see her. "Her." "Lessgo get her!" Scott shouted from the backseat. We dropped him off at the gas station, where he slept in the bathroom. "We don't need your help Scott." My brother reported. "But we know where to find you if we do."We were in pursuit, the tires squealed as we rounded the corner, tuning onto Highway 39.
Highway 39 is a 28-mile stretch between Louisburg, (where we lived) and Bunn, (another one-horse town.) Louisburg was bigger by population, so we got all the cool stuff, we had a TG&Y, a Byrd’s food store, Pizza Hut, McDonald’s, Hardees, and a few other things that Bunn was lacking, like a KFC, and most recently, Wal-Mart, just to name a few, and to give you an idea of how “behind” Bunn actually was, compared to Louisburg.
Stephanie had been having car trouble, (thanks to me the weekend earlier) and could only sputter along at like 50 Mph. Cut to the Rambler, 1962 V6 289 small block, we had power, and plenty to spare. Sure it was 3 on the tree, and the driver’s door had been opened all the way to the front fender, but it wasn’t ours, and quite honestly, we didn’t care if the car got us back home or not. Our concern was to chase down Stephanie, and make her clean off the car. We followed her to her girlfriend’s house, or at least we stopped nearby, and got Stephanie out of her car, and she admitted that she was the graffitist, and that she wanted to get her friend Sherry (we called her Dairy Cow for short) to ride along and that she would meet us back at our place. Sherry was a portly gal, at 5’1” she was the reason they call women broad, tipping the scales at nearly 300lbs. We had plans for Sherry, as she neared Stephanie’s car, we rolled toward her, without missing a step, she got right up on top of the car. She was on the hood at first, spread-eagle, my brother kept hitting the gas then the brakes, trying to roll her off. “Punch it!” I screamed, as Stephanie was trying to rescue Sherry the whole time. Sherry somehow made her way up on top of the car; we were hitting speeds of up to 70mph, slamming on the brakes at random, diving into parking lots, abandoned warehouses along the way, with Sherry, white knuckled, hanging on to the top of the car the best she could. Safety? What in the hell is that to 3 high-school aged kids? My brother was the only “Real” adult there, and he was driving yeah, looking back, we could have gotten into a shitload of trouble, But when you invite the chief of police over to your place to smoke out with you and play chess, we didn’t care. Did we have any concern that she might actually hit the pavement at 70mph? Oh man, what a cool sight that would have been. I think back now and realize how dumb we were at times, and if I were to pass right now, I would say I lived life to the fullest. When we got home, Sherry’s face was a little wind burned, and she was all wet, I offered to hose her down but she declined. I got a warm soapy bucket of water, and a scrubbing they were. I told them that I had made sure that they would not leave till it was all cleaned off, I had the coil wire to Stephanie’s car under my mattress.
