Wednesday, April 09, 2003
You're right. You do make my life pretty damn difficult.
Tuesdary symphony rehearsals are an institution. My dad's been doing them since I was in around the third grade. Usually he hangs out with his musician friends afterward, and I can't remember a time in the past year when he's been home any earlier than 11PM.
Except tonight.
Of course, I had invited Caroline over -- and eventually, into my bedroom. We weren't "doing it," if you must know, but we were certainly in a compromising position. Anyway, whatever we were doing was interrupted pretty thoroughly by the sound of my dad walking into the living room.
An ecstasy of fumbling.
We're at least dressed now, giving each other wide-eyed "look at me I'm scared!" expressions as my dad does the dishes. We have half an hour to get Caroline out of my house before she's late to get home. Perhaps this is a good time to give you an idea of my apartment's floor plan:
Dad is out there playing his bloody bass at this point, and we've got AIM going as we desperately troll for ideas among our friends. One friend of mine (Robert) was activating a network of hacker sleeper agents to bomb my modem so dad had to work on it in his room (labeled "certain death"). But as plan after brilliant plan was hatched and discarded, I suddenly had a flash of simple inspiration. I'd ask Dad for something he only had in his room while Caroline snuck out. I called her on her cell phone from mine, and the signal was the push of a button.
I soon had Dad where I wanted him. He couldn't see the door and the task would take him time. I pushed the button and prepared to stall like mad. As it turned out, I didn't have to.
A clatter? Hah! More like a clamor! An uproar! A bloody cacophony!
Apparently Caroline didn't realize that sometimes doors "lock," and you have to "unlock" them before they will "open." Her process of discovery was ear-splitting. I stared at Dad for a minute, then glanced over my shoulder.
"What the fuck was that?" I asked, an actor to the very last.
He thought for a second. "I think that was your girlfriend leaving."
"Hmm. Well. That might have been it."
Nick @ 12:09 AM |
