Wednesday, May 12, 2010

When Good Pranks Go Bad

Yesterday, I went to work two hours late and watched Maury, the awesome daytime television show that everyone should know, instead. As second generation white trash, I inevitably love Maury and every guest that he has. Except when he does those shows with people with birth defects or other freakishness, that shit is just offensive. Anyway, I updated my Facebook status about this and my childhood best friend Creamy commented reminding me of my high school prank involving this very show.

It was first month of senior year, the very first year the seniors weren't allowed to leave during lunch. To compensate, the administration converted the former detention room into a smelly "Senior Lounge." Since Maury airs from 9AM to 2PM and is the best that daytime television has to offer, this is all that happened in the Senior Lounge (SL). Once a friend and I ate pot brownies and another time everyone saw a retarded person's abnormally hairy balls but Maury was basically the extent of the action.

One day they posted a call at the end of the episode; "Do you have a teenage daughter who you can't control and need Maury to help? If so, call (800 bla blah)." Suddenly inspired, I consulted Creamy and the rest of the SL and decided I would call in, using Creamy as my inspiration for my out of control daughter. Back then, I could conjure up a ridiculous white trash hick voice that I could speak in all day if I wanted and I utilized this skill to make my call. Sadly, since I am no longer surrounded by hicks, I have lost this valued skill. It is easily one of my biggest regrets. But our conversation went roughly like this:

"Thank you for calling Maury, my name is Amy, how can I help you today?"

"Ut, yut, Aymee? Ma name is Bree. Ah jist saw yer ad fer tha outta control girls an', uh, ah nid halp wit ma 14 yeer eld?"

(Clearly becoming more interested) "Yes! Great, what kind of problems are you having with her?"

"Well, she bin sneakin out and steeeelin tha ker an', uh, ah foun a handle-a licker in 'er bedroom. Plus ah thank she bin havin the sex cuz ah foun tha, uh, baby killin pills in her purse."

"Hmm, okay, okay, I think we can help you with that. When did you find this bottle and the birth control pills?"

"Yut, see thats tha thang, ah foun tha licker on a school naight? So ah know that she ain't goin' to school? An it was SoCo an ah don' know where she gettin that SoCo money so I suspectin' she stealin from me too. An she don' neva tell me nothin anymo so ah don' know how many boys she been makin sex wit."

Et cetera. I embellished the story a little more using exploits from my and Creamy's real life (everything I had said one of us had actively been doing at that time, though we were 17), keeping up the hick accent the whole time. Excitedly, Amy asked if she could speak to Creamy when she got home from school and I informed her that we would. Then I started coaching Creamy on her hick accent.

Seriously, you would have thought that this girl would pick up a hick accent no problem and be ready to perform on command. She was at least 7th generation hick, one of those people who was related to hundreds of people within the 20 mile radius surrounding my town. During sleepovers, her dad would wake up at 6 AM and come down to the basement, where we were sleeping, and start working out in the next room. Blasting country music. Not only that, I had heard her make fun of hick words before! I knew she could do it, but she was cracking under the pressure. Nervously, we went to her house after school and tried to perfect her accent before swim practice. Failure ensued. I called them back and informed them that once again, she had not shown up and I was frantic with worry, but would call them tomorrow when I got a chance.

The next day, I called them during my break in the SL but Amy wasn't available so they took a message. Since I was in high school, I had classes, but since I was a senior I was also an entitled bitch so for the most part I wasn't worried. Two periods later I was in Senior Health Sciences or the Biggest Fucking Joke ever. My teacher was also an uber bitch who never had any children because her womb was an unholy place of hate where no embryo could survive. Anyway, my ancient early 2000's phone began to ring and I looked down and saw it was Amy calling. I looked up at my teacher and said, "Sorry, this is Maury calling. I have to take this," and walked outside of the class. I told them how Creamy finally came home at one in the morning wearing nothing but a mini skirt, with no underwear, and a halter top. I told her I couldn't take this much longer, I desperately needed their help, and even my fake sobs had a hick twang. Most of my friends in health class knew about the prank and were standing at the door laughing their asses off and pleasing me as the center of attention.

They made me promise to get Creamy on the phone that evening. For the rest of the day I worked on her phone confidence so that way when she spoke with them they would want us to go on their show. I had no long term plans at this point; I was flying by the seat of my Canadian Tuxedo acid-wash pants. Finally, we got to her house after school and I called them back. I told them I had finally gotten her but I had just "given her a beatin'" so she was "kinda skert". Mainly, I said this because I thought it would give Creamy some breathing room and lessen the pressure, leading to white trash success.

She bombed. It was truly terrible. Instead of a hick accent, she put on a tiny voice and spoke with an English accent. She barely said anything at all. I saw our dreams of appearing on the Maury show getting flushed down the drain. I quickly grabbed the phone back and said that we would have to call them tomorrow because the whoopin' I had just given her clearly knocked her senses, and her accent, out. I even explained that she normally, "tahks lak me," but was being fancy for Maury. She bought it and agreed that the next day would probably be better.

The next day, I had Creamy call in again during our break. (I explained that I had taken her out of school so that she could talk to Maury.) This time she did much better, in that she managed more than five words and had the faintest twang, and Amy said that she was interested in having us on the show. She just wanted to confirm our address and the date that we were coming down. We scheduled for the end of September, only a couple weeks away. It was quickly becoming real. Logistically, it was filmed in the same town where Creamy's older sister lived so we could easily go down and stay with her without attracting too much attention. Realistically, how was I going to go on the show with her and add 30 years to my age? Luckily, I had a mullet wig and we decided that they could do amazing things with make up and I could definitely look older with some advanced techniques. We were going to go for it.

Again during Biggest Fucking Joke, Amy called back and this time, my teacher was not as accommodating. I explained that we were in the final stages and I really had no choice and left the class anyway. Amy informed me that she just needed me to fax ID to show proof of age and birth certificates for proof of relationship. I agreed that would be no problem, once I figured out what and where a fax machine was. She said she would try to find one in my town that I could use and call me back. I suspect she knows something but I am so far in, there is no looking back. My next class is AP Physics (which I eventually drop because, as evidenced, I was in no frame of mind that year to be learning PHYSICS), and thus, I cannot leave to take superfluous calls. Foreseeing an issue with my voicemail saying my name, I change it to Bree, complete with hick accent, and go to class. I should mention that Bree is Creamy's mom's real name.

The entire time, I'm passing notes with Creamy explaining the dire situation we were in and how we were going to have to get a fake ID with her Mom's name and my face, no later than tomorrow. We come up with no solutions. Amy calls back, probably to tell me there's a fax machine at Wal-Mart or something. I let it go to voicemail, confident in my scheme. Twenty minutes later, Creamy's house calls but I miss it, sending it too to voicemail. During lunch, I get a call from Amy. She is not happy. She explains that she called my alternate phone number (for some reason I had given them Creamy's home number as a contact, my biggest mistake) and asked for Bree. REAL Bree, in a regular, non-hick voice, confirmed that she was speaking. Confused, Amy pillaged on and let her know that she could fax the documentation whenever she was ready at some little store. Even more confused, Bree responded that she would have to clarify what the heck she was talking about. Amy explained that they had been talking and didn't she have a 14 year old named Creamy who stole the car, wore slutty outfits, took secret birth control and hid bottles of SoCo in her room? Well, Bree confirmed some of these things were in fact true, but she had not been talking to them. She deduces her daughter and her friend were responsible for this, hangs up with Amy and calls me, hearing her name, just with a hick accent, for the voice message.

I had not yet realized the missed call from REAL Bree and took Amy's call when she called me back after the previous conversation. As I said before, I was too far in to look back and I'm a shitty story teller when I realize that everything around me has collapsed. But I don't like to give up either so I told Amy a tale of my husband's fancy Manhattan sister named Bree who occasionally came to help us out when times were hard. I said that he liked the name so much he married me, also named Bree, you know how these upstate towns are, right? I added that Creamy was a family name and half the kids in the family are named Creamy! That OTHER Bree was just confused. See, I said, both of our kids are both terrors and have done a lot of the same things, so she thought you were talking about HER Creamy.

Amy said she bought it but I think she knew it was over. Creamy and I were still riding the wave and so I thought that we were in the clear. We went to her house after school, with a few of our other friends who always came with us, and plotted in her kitchen. We decided that we could probably find a copy of her Mother's birth certificate and then just scan it into the computer, using MS Paint (since we didn't know about Photoshop yet) to alter the name. We could do the same thing with my ID. Just as we had concluded that we were actually going to be able to go all the way with this, Creamy's mom comes STORMING in, screaming at the top of her lungs, "WHAT ARE YOU LITTLE SHITS TALKING ABOUT?!"

This was coming from a polite, put together, well-spoken woman who I had never even heard say "damn." During her tirade, (my other friends calmly walked out of the room as soon as it started and listened to us get berated in the next room) she used every major swearword and crushed us until we were nothing more than piles of shamed dust. She mentioned the major crimes we were breaking by stealing her identity, how angry she was that she dragged us into one of our schemes using HER REAL NAME!!! It was far more terrifying than anything that my parents had ever done to me and I distinctly remember being five and getting hit bare-assed with a leather belt. I would have taken an hour of that over what was happening here. I would have cried if tears hadn't feared leaving my body. I can't even recount most of it because I swear to God, my memory has blocked it as a traumatic experience and it could only be revived by a skilled hypnotist. Or acid, I imagine.

I can't explain what we were thinking, trying to go through with our plot even though we had confirmation that we were caught. I can explain that we were comfortable speaking openly of identity theft since Creamy's parents own two very successful ice cream stands and were never there after school, leaving us falsely safe in our discussions. This marked the end of my extensive pranking for at least two years, leaving many people safe from my terrorizing. I don't know how her parents feel about it now since we never spoke of it again, but I laugh boisterously anytime I try to tell it so I'm pretty sure that makes it all worth it. And yes, I am indeed active in the pranking scene again and it is AWESOME.

No comments:

Post a Comment