Why Old Station Wagons Make Bad Getaway Cars
While researching my memoir, I came across a story I'd written on my old blog. Like the last relic I shared, it's also about sneaking out.
What can I say? My friends and I did a lot of sneaking out.
One day, way back in 1989, my friend Joanna, a couple other Jersey Girls, and I piled into Bessy, the old brown station wagon Joanna had in high school, drove off school grounds (ILLEGAL!) and headed out to lunch.
We drove down the main road of our tiny town, belting out Paula Abdul's "Straight Up" when Joanna spied her mother (who, by the way, was like some kind of ninja CIA agent, somehow always catching us when we were up to no good) in the rear-view mirror.
"Holy sh*t! That's my mother!" Joanna screamed.
"No!" I spun around in the backseat. And there was Joanna's mother, leaning over the steering wheel of the car behind us, squinting at Bessy.
"I gotta lose her!" Joanna yelled and slammed on the accelerator. Bessy lurched and then continued to drive at the same speed we'd been going. Poor Bessy was old and she had a little hitch in her get along. As much as she probably wanted to, there was no way Bessy could outrun Joanna's mother's brand-new Maxima.
"Turn into the church!" One of the other Jersey Girls yelled as if God would protect us and Joanna's mother would somehow not see us turning off the main road.
Joanna yanked the steering wheel to the right. All the girls the backseat crashed into me as Bessy turned hard into the church parking lot.
Behind us, honking blared. Joanna's mother's car was so close it was practically attached to Bessy's bumper.
A defeated Bessy rolled to a stop.
"Get back to school!" Joanna's mother yelled.
We shrank in fear. Then we went back to school.
What kind of wheels did you roll around in when you were in high school?