Undisputed_ How to Become the World Champion in 1,372 Easy Steps - Chris Jericho [141]
The girls and I rubbed and polished for hours (stop it—remember, they were just friends, for gosh sake!), picked up the cigarette butts, the beer bottles, and the assorted trash. We sprayed three cans of Lysol in every nook and cranny to try to mask the smell of smoke and beer. We loaded twelve bags of garbage in the back of one chick’s Tercel and off they went. All of our hard work had paid off. The house was immaculate—maybe even cleaner than when my mom had left.
I sat down on the living room sofa with a relieved sigh at 5:55, and at 6 p.m. sharp in walked my mom. She took one look around the living room and said, “Why is that vase moved? Did you have a party?”
My mother was a witch.
“No way, Mom. I just had some people over.”
“How many?”
“Maybe ten or twelve?”
“Ten or twelve? That’s a party!”
She eventually calmed down, but ten years later when I showed her the list and told her there were actually 212 people there, she blew a gasket and grounded me.
I was twenty-seven years old.
I finished up with a story about the time I was sixteen years old and bought beer with my homemade fake ID. I was walking out of the vendor carrying a two-four just as someone was walking in. Out in the parking lot, I triumphantly raised the case of beer above my head like a trophy, grinning at my friends in the awaiting car. But instead of smiling back, they were frantically motioning for me to get back in the vehicle.
“What’s the problem,” I solicited to Speewee as I slid into the side seat of his Sirocco.
“Your mom just went into the vendor and your dad is in the car right next to us !”
Stealing a glance to the right, I saw my dad calmly reading the paper, completely oblivious to the fact that his sixteen-year-old son (who had just bought a case of beer) was looking right at him.
I felt like Ferris Bueller in the traffic jam and crouched down into the backseat whispering frantically, “Drive … drive !!”
Speewee pulled away and ten minutes later we were back at his house drinking a nice cold brown and laughing how we’d pulled off the perfect crime. Suddenly the phone rang.
It was my mom.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. I knew from the sound of her voice that I was busted.
“Just watching movies at Speewee’s house.”
“You’ve been there all night?”
Nervously I said, “Yeah.”
She clearly wasn’t buying it and dropped the bomb. “Then why did I just see you at the vendor?”
“Vendor? Why would I be at the vendor? I’m only sixteen years old, Mom!” I laughed nervously as Speewee reveled in my misery by chugging a beerski right in front of my face.
She knew I was lying. “We were just at the beer store and I’m convinced I saw you. Come home right now.”
Get back, Loretta.
As I rushed out of the door I heard Speewee say, “Don’t tell her about the beer!”
No shit, Speewee—and what kind of a name was that anyway? Swedish?
As I ran home to face the Dragon Lady, I desperately stuffed a couple pieces of Bubblicious in my mouth to mask the smell of the beer. I got back to my house and walked downstairs, dreading the soon-to-be-coming interrogation.
“So you weren’t at the vendor?” my mom said incredulously.
“No.”
“Your breath smells like gum. Why is that?”
“Because I was chewing gum.”
“You sure you weren’t at the vendor?”
My mom was slowly breaking me down with her examination. She was better than the FBI. She was the MBI.
“No! I wasn’t at the stupid vendor! Enough already, okay, Mom? Give it up.”
“Okay, I believe you. I’ll give it up,” she said.
What? She believed me? Just like that? I backed up slowly, certain that the hammer was still gonna fall, but it didn’t.
She looked at me nonchalantly and motioned for me to leave. “Go back to Speewee’s and watch the rest of the movie with your friends. I’m sure they’re still there.”
Well, well, well. I guess she wasn’t a witch after all. The MBI wasn’t as clever as she thought.
“All right, Mom.” I nodded with great aplomb and began to leave.