When there was nothing to do in the smallish town (like 20'000 people, just under city standard) that my friends and I grew up in, we would just drive around yelling things out the window at strangers.

Most of the things we'd yell were harmless, but this one time my friend who we called CornBall in the passenger seat, decided it would be funny yelled at a Taco Bell while we were at a stoplight.

#"YOUR KITCHEN GAVE ME MOUTH HERPES!"

As he got to the M in mouth, an car pulled up to the light between us and the Taco Bell.

In this car was a young guy, with his driver side window down. Due to the positioning of CornBall, he yelled

#"MOUTH HERPES!" right into to this dudes car at full volume. The guy proceeded to role his window up, and run the stop light.

Growing up, I lived in an ok house, but as you would go further down the street, there were a lot of crimes and break in's happening there so there were a lot of cop cars patrolling. I met a couple people near my age there and hung out with them a lot. I went over to my friend Dee's* house a lot, and met her brother Tye* who was six years older than me, and four older than her. We all got along really well and played GTA and other action video games together. One day, going over to my brother's friends house named Dan* from Dee* and Tye's* house. Tye* gives me a 10 and a bag and asks me to take it to Dan*. Fast forward the next four years I hang out at their house and get 10's every time I did this (2-3 times a week). Next thing you know I'm 14 and find out Tye* joined the air force, message him on FB, curious about what was always in those bags, he shoots me a message back that reads "The pot I grew in my room". I sit there 14 year old me, dumbfounded. I carried pot between houses surrounded by cop cars, never questioned because I was a short, scrawny white blonde girl.

*Names have been changed

TL:DR: Got paid 2-3 times a week to carry pot between houses near my neighborhood when I was 8-12

You know how some schools make students present their research on current events that they pulled off of news sites for some classes? I had to do that every month for my Spanish 1 class at my old school. I honestly hated the idea. We were in this class to learn about the Spanish language, not to waste our time searching for news stories that consist of nothing but drug cartels and people getting shot. If we actually wanted to know about that, we would search it on our own terms. Most of my articles were on countries like Mexico or Spain, countries that people knew very well about and would probably have a lot of information on. However, most of the stories I managed to pull about those countries were about the drug cartels and whatnot. My friend/classmate, who had researched current events in Peru, found an article about tourists getting naked in the Machu Picchu. I do not remember if I heard her report on this or not, but I can tell you that it was the only interesting report ever done for current events.

Way back in second grade there was a new kid in school. His name was Joe, and he was pretty cool. Over time, we became closer and closer. He was once my best bro. Until one day I started hanging out with a lady friend. I believe her name was Melissa or something. Anyways, one day Joe got really angry at me, and came up to me during recess and pushed me down. I got back up, and without thinking, I punched him in he face. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Melissa storming off. Meanwhile, Joe's eye was starting to swell up. I looked like a ball of cotton. Joe started crying, and I ran over to Melissa. I tried to explain I wasn't thinking, but she refused to talk to me. Anyways, If it weren't for Cotton-Eye Joe, i'd be married long time ago. Where did you come from, where did you go? Where did you come from, Cotton-Eye Joe?

In France at a music festival called Hellfest, we had left the festival site to go shopping on the Sunday morning, I decided to take a McShit at the McDonald's next door to the supermarket. Queue took in excess of 30minutes, but for a clean toilet with paper and water I wasn't too upset. Finally as it is nearing my turn there in one gentleman in the only cubical, a Canadian man in front of me, myself, and then the rest of the queue is outside of the restroom. A Frenchman walks in says something I don't understand, I tell him I don't speak French, he tells me he feels sick and asks if he can go in front. I told him he could vomit in the sink or go outside and use a bush, he asks the Canadian and gets told the same thing. He waits behind me for about 5 minutes while we are still waiting for the same guy to finish his business until I see out the corner of my eye, in the mirror, him giving up, dropping him bag, dropping trow, and then dropping the biggest deuce I have ever seen exit a human. I fail to stifle a laugh alerting the Canadian who then sees it too and starts laughing also. The pooper leaves in shame without wiping and barely pulling his trousers all they way up.

Well shit happens, and I only noticed it when my throat was hot and my mother and her office mates were laughing at me.

I was driving up to Alaska to do some camping. It was a long ass drive. Don't get me started. I was in the Canadian Rockies, about 50 miles east of Dawson. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this caribou is on the side of the road. I'm looking at him. He's looking at me. We lock eyes. He lowers his antlers. Bastard rams his head into the side of my Outback! He just stumbles around! I'm at a loss, I don't know what to do. I don't want to leave him, because I'm a pansy. Luckily I've been driving along a moderately used logging road and I see a truck coming up in the distance behind me. The most stereotypical, Canadian lumberjack steps out of the cab. Takes a look at the dent over my wheel well, laughs at me. Then he proceeds to shoot the caribou, tie it to the hood of his truck, and ask if i want to follow him back to the logging camp. We went back and i had the best damn venison ever. Ended up getting some jerky for the road too!

Prefacing this story: drugs are bad, kids. I don't do a lot of them, but one time I had run a few errands with a friend of mine and came back to her house, and she said "hey, I have some shrooms I'm trying to finish off, want to help?" So of course I said yes, because why not? I'd done them once or twice before.

Everything starts out fine. We're laughing and watching TV and waiting for it all to kick in. Ellen comes on the TV and it's a Channing Tatum interview so we're like, yeah, why not. Turns out, he shares my one single irrational fear. Porcelain dolls. I can't explain why. They just freak me out.

So I start telling my friend about this, and because I forgot for a moment how my imagination runs wild even when I'm entirely sober, I bring up the island of the dolls. It's this creepy island with a bunch of broken dolls hanging all over everything. Friend doesn't believe me so I google it for her and show her the pictures.

And this is about when things took the turn.

I'm sitting there on my friend's couch, the shrooms are kicking in, and suddenly I start seeing dolls. Everywhere. And when I can't see them, I know they're just under the surface. This is not a fear at this point, this is reality. There are dolls everywhere, I decide. Under every surface, around every corner. They're under the couch, they're under cushions and pillows, in the 'fridge and in the bathroom and behind the TV. I become 100% certain that there are OBVIOUSLY creepy dolls waiting everywhere, and as soon as I look away they move. Like a Toy Story thing, but my nightmares. I even think there are legions of them crawling through her yard toward the doors and windows.

We are under attack by porcelain dolls, I told her.

After an hour or two she calmed me down, but I will never forget the feeling of knowing, for sure, that there is no reason why there wouldn't be creepy dolls hiding all over the world, waiting to get me.

a couple years ago, i indirectly pissed all over the floor of a classroom. Dont ask why( i caant remember, i probablu just got bored or stayed awake too long), but i shoved a growable alligator toy in a waterbottle and pissed in it. I dont know how long ago i made it, but i found it in the back of one of my closets, had a laugh, and told my friend about it. He wanted me to bring it with me to school the next day, as we had plans for me to come over and spend the night that day, and, being a kid, i actually brought a bottle of my fermented piss into my school.

My friend and i had a laugh, for the first half of the day, we would wait until someone wasnt looking, then swap something they would notice around them out with the pissgator, then when they went to tell a teacher or monitor about it wed switch them back. At abut the last quarter of the day, we had this annoying kid that always followed us around and did whatever they could to get attention, so we had an idea. Slip pissgator into his backpack while he was up getting lunch.

He didn't find it till his last class, I wasn't there, but the story goes as follows:

he looked in his backpack for a pencil, then found a bottle filled with piss and a toy growable alligator engorged with piss. The same friend i had plans with got him to roll it across the table to a kid that always picked on him. As soon as said kid noticed, he slapped it off the table, knocking it to the floor. Where it busted open and my old, rancid ass urine spilled across the floor, and a piss laden toy alligator took the center stage of the room.

Quick preface: I'm living with my girlfriend and her mom. Her mom is full on psycho, loves me one day, hates me the next. I have misdemeanor warrants for my arrest and ma d knows it. I'm woken up just after midnight by a loud pounding on the apartment door. Criminal instincts kick in, I wake my girl and tell her "that's the cops, go talk to them.", she says "no it's not, you're paranoid", but does what I asked. I'm struggling to get dressed. I get one shoe on, I'm looking for the other when I hear the officers voice, 10' away in the living room, and I hear the word "Liberty". I'm like, fuck the other shoe, I'm out. The window was already open but I began to struggle with the screen. It was making noise so I knew I only had seconds before the cop came in the room. Again, I'm like, fuck it, take two steps back and dive through the screen out into the grass. I hit the ground in a roll, got up and took off as fast as I could. It's pitch dark, no moon, and I ran into a construction site right near the complex. At a dead run, the kind of run where you know incarceration is right behind you and your adrenaline is pumping, and you just kind of have tunnel vision because you are so singularly focused on escape. Suddenly I can no longer feel the ground beneath my feet, the next thing I feel is the wind being knocked out of me by the far side of the 4'x4'x4' hole I just ran into. I'm running again before I've even caught my breath. I find some tall grass and lay down. I assume they'll be gone in 20 mins or so because of how minimal my warrants were, no such luck. I keep seeing flashing lights reflecting off the surrounding trees and I think, ok, so they're just driving around looking for me, they'll never find me in here. That is, until I hear footsteps tromping through the woods between the construction site and the road that runs behind it. They keep getting closer, it almost feels like they're coming straight for me. Then I hear what I dreaded the most, the sound of a dog shaking the dew from the tall grass off his coat. I clearly hear his ears flapping and the jingling of his collar. I mean, just a couple feet away, but they're behind my line of sight and I dare not make the slightest move to look. Normally I would just get up and say "you got me" cuz once you're dead to rights it doesn't help to piss them off. For some reason I laid there still and quiet, even though I knew capture was imminent. I see the globe of the officers flashlight sweeping back and forth, very nearly over my position many times. Then the officer and his dog come into view, very close. The officer stops, close enough that in my horizontal stretched out position I could've swept his leg, obviously I didn't do anything that foolish. The dog turns and walks in my direction while the cop is sweeping his flashlight, but not so much so that he pulled the slack out of the leash, which would draw the cop's attention. He continues towards me, sniffs my foot with no shoe on it, makes eye contact with me, and walks back to the officer's side. They continue ahead on the path they were on, turn around, and make their way back past me. I can only assume that because of the flashlight, the officer's eyes weren't properly adjusted to the dark so he could only see what was directly in the line of the flashlight. As far as the dog not alerting, I have to assume that they were hoping I had drugs on me and that the dog would alert at their presence, They did find my other shoe back at the apartment but when they asked who's it was, my girl said it was her's, so they didn't use it as scenting material because we had been through this before, but that's another post. It was a size 13 DC, she's about 5'6" and about 130 lb. Cop bought it, no questions asked. So anyway, about an hour after the cop with the dog was out of my vicinity, I crept back up to the apartment. Got my other shoe, my belt, my hoodie, something to drink, a smoke, and called a friend to come get me. Wow typing this is giving me those butterflies and adrenaline all over again. Disclaimer: This is 100% true, I have a feeling that many of the stories I share on this sub will be downvoted and assumed lies and I really can't blame anyone. If someone told me a story featuring some of the shit I've experienced, I'd be like "yea, ok pal."

I just want to start out the story by telling you a little about my brother and I. Im 16 and my brother is 15. Were from eastern Nebraska and we moved to the east coast about a year ago. We lived in Philadelphia for about a eight months then we moved to orlando florida. I wont specify what suburb we lived in and went to school at. Before I start in on all this i feel like its important that you have a physical description of us. Im white, tall, with a broad build. My litttle brother is even bigger then me. A chubby kid with alot of muscle mass.

So our drug dealing shenanigans began when my brother and I were smoking out of a homemade bong by our pool. My brother had bought about an ounce of weed from this big black dude with dreads that went to our school. We had more weed then we could smoke so we started selling dimes to our friends. We honestly ripped them off pretty hard. 20 bucks for a gram. We never sold more then a gram at a time. We were always able to re-up from the black dude with dreads. Sorry thats not his name, but thats how im going to address him. (DEAL WITH IT) We were making about $200 bucks a week. And that was just profit so i wasnt complaining. Eventually I got nervous about selling in school so i just quit selling all together. I just referred my friends to my little brother who obviously was still selling and my brother still cut me in half.

So this is where it gets intense. I was standing in my kitchen when my little brother walks in the front door at like 9 o clock at night. I asked "did you sell that dime to nicole?" expecting he had money for me he replied quickly "NO... Some kid stole it from me" I was shocked... and said "uhhh... What?" He explained to me how "some black kid just walked up while I was showing people the bag and he snatched it and ran"
YOUIDIOT.jpg

I wasnt that mad about the weed to be honest. I was pissed off that someone has the nerve to steal from my little brother. I swore to myself, That the next day we were going to find whoever the hell did this.

Fast forward to exams the next day.

We had a sixteen minute break after our 4th period exam. I was walking with my friend mike. My little brother comes up to me and said "I just saw the kid, Hes in the cafeteria" I said "Lets go then" We walked into the cafeteria and did one sweep and we didnt find him. Then we turned around and the bell rang. Shit. I didnt want to wait to find this kid so we walked back towards the cafeteria. Then we did find him He was walking the opposite direction of us so he was on the course to pass us. I handed my guitar over to mike. I walked past the kid, Turned around and got next to him. I looked right at him and said "hey" He had headphones in so he didnt hear my but he did notice that i was looking at him. He took off his headphones and said "what?" I pointed to my little brother and said "do you know this kid" Thats when he realized he had trouble. He immediately replied "oh you wana go to the bathroom?" Implying he wanted to fight without interruption.

Pause

So this kid is a senior, About six foot one. Black. He took his backpack off and put it on the ground. He was ready to fight. I knew we wouldnt have any problem getting this kid to swing first. Everybody would see it.

Continuing, The kid didnt know who to address. He started touching my little brothers stomach threatening to "shank" him and "imma bust you with my 338" We both have seen people like this kid throw out big statements like that. Thinking they are some kind of big time gangster. No just no. So hes getting in my brothers face and my little brother wasn't backing down. The kid balled up his fist and swung but my little brother saw it and blocked it. he then bear hugged the kid and threw him up against the lockers. I put down by bag and reached my hands in and grabbed the kid by the neck. I popped him twice in the side of the face.

School security and police were involved within 15 seconds of the altercation.

I wasnt locked in tight with the kid like my little brother was. I got tackled by the school cop. He told me to stay down and then he tried to get my little brother off this kid. They separated my little brother and the kid. My brother disappeared into the crowd. The police put the other kids face into the ground and handcuffed him. He was resisting like an angry bull. How was it that after that my little brother and i could just walk away while the other kid gets handcuffed? Two reasons:

1. Were white
2. He swung first.

At the end of the day we pressed charges on the kid for assault. He couldnt talk about us having weed in the bathroom because that would only bring trouble on himself. We just ended up with a ten day out of school suspension after our christmas break.

TLDR: My little brother and I sold drugs, Got drugs stolen from us, Got the kid who stole from us arrested

Whew, ok. Let me just say Im sort of glad that this happened, as I finally have some good material to share that is truly crazy.

I never really believed in really crazy people that talk to themselves or hallucinate etc. I thought it was Hollywood exaggeration. Well, I have a complicated relationship with my Mom, Dad, and Step Mom, Step Mom and Dad are divorced but still live together and Mother divorced, obviously and living elsewhere. I go to visit my dad occasionally, we have a pretty good relationship now. My step mom moved to a new neighbor hood that I am still relatively new to. As I was going with my father and two sisters to CVS and another store, walking (No, not dirt poor and can't afford stuff, just in walking distance and we like to stay active)

I noticed some off things, including one off looking guy riding his bicycle non stop around the block. As we passed the row of houses my mother is in, and walked past the houses behind my Mom's house, my dad pointed to this guy outside of his house, (presumably his house) and told me it was some crazy asian guy who is outside all the time in his underwear in the neighborhood. He was just standing there not really looking at anything but I couldn't see as I was atleast 50 yards away. I thought he was joking with me, although he was in his underwear.

As we are walking back, I see this guy clearer (and the weird bike guy) and he really is in his underwear, and this time he is talking to the air. Moving his hands as one does when trying to express something to a person. And talking. I couldnt hear him, still too far, but, he was talking. I dont know much about this guy but he does seem odd if not crazy. Im going to try to get a picture for you guys, but I can't promise anything. If anyone has any idea what might be wrong with him let me know. Im curious.

When i was in the fourth grade, at the second school I attended, me and the other kids of my class had a thing going on under the jungle gym. We had others elsewhere in the playground to draw the attention of the monitors away, and some playing in areas that blocked the rest of the way from view. Under the cover of all this, we would gather under the jungle gym and "play" with each other, I don't think I need to go into further detain than that. There was a slide that opened out under it where we were. It was a tube slide so we had a kind of bragging rights game going on with it. we would take all our clothes off and climb up it bragging about how "oh I crawled three things up the slide butt naked". One day I went and did it, but I had done it before and gotten up to the top almost, so I was dared to stay in it like that until school was over. And i intended to. Now, being a little kid this next part didn't come anywhere close to crossing my mind, but we were the only class that did this, so when someone tried to use it than saw me curled up like a newborn in there, first thing they do is say "i'm telling!" and run off to the monitors. I don't know how i did it, but i got my clothes on fast enough and ran into the school without getting caught. I did get in trouble for skipping three classes though.

Okay, okay, this one isnt so much crazy as just pure luck or proof someone is looking out for us from above. Anyways, where Im from I actually like my baseball team because its associated with my favorite MLB team, the Astros, as the Development League Team. Anyways, It was a awesome game, but, I didn't catch any foul/fly balls. There were rarely any my way. We left early, as we didn't want to get into traffic. As Im walking out, I say something along the lines of "Dang I wish I would have caught a ball today" as I never have and wished one came to me. Well, luck would have it, as I said that (save 2-3 secs) a ball came FLYING from the stadium (Where we were,it was right behind where the batter hits, in other words, the home plate and peak of the diamond) and a ball comes from above. Thinking about it, maybe it was someone on the roof throwing down the balls that went on the roof (There are, ALOT of balls on the roof) Anyways, I raced some grown man with sneakers while I was in slides (nike slides) and grabbed the ball. First time I have ever got a ball from a baseball game.

This happened about 7? years ago. I figure it was time to put it in writing.

I graduated college somewhere around 2006. I was working at a company that specialized in industrial automation doing mechanical design engineering. Although this was a lucrative and glamorous job (hah), I decided to try and follow my passion which is motorsport. I put together a resume and started trolling for race mechanic and engineering jobs in various race series in the US. I ended up being hired sight unseen by a team in an open wheel race car series here in the states. A couple weeks later I attached a U-haul trailer to my VW Golf and drove from Rhode Island to Indianapolis. Nothing to do with the main point of the story, but U-Haul reserves the right to substitute your reservation with a truck/trailer of equal or greater size. This would be fine if you weren’t pulling it with a hatchback. In winter. In the snow. Naturally they gave me a trailer that was bigger than my car.

900 white knuckled miles later, I moved into the apartment I also rented sight unseen. All in all, not a bad place. It took all of 2 hours to move my meager possessions into my new place, return the trailer, and go to Kroger for some necessities. One of which was naturally some fried chicken, which is delicious. More on that later.

I had the weekend to explore around a little bit and get settled. I showed up to work Monday morning, toolboxes in hand. I should mention at this point that the owner of this team (who I had never met) was less than reputable. After this story ends he was up to his eyes in law suits for various shady dealings, all behind the guise of a devout catholic (he had an overweight unattractive wife and 6 kids to back up the image). Needless to say, when I walked in nobody had a clue who the fuck I was. No biggie. The team was a small tight knit group, and turned out to be some of the best people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Blocka. and JP. Two Aussie’s with accents and looks that could charm the pants off of most women, and probably most men. Two of the funniest bastards I’ve ever met.

Slim Shady. We’ll call him this because mentally, he thought he was. Having been born a thousand miles from 8 mile, in a wealthy affluent area of CT, didn’t seem to register with him. He was probably about 23 years old at this time, and when not at work, dressed like a 4th grader on picture day. He may be the whitest kit I’ve ever met. He would also carry around a folded piece of paper and pen, so he could jot down rhymes when inspiration struck. He had quite good attention to detail at work, but was very absent minded at times. At this time, Slim lived with the two Aussies and they all share a house together in a village in Indy called Broadripple.

Just to give you an idea of Slims absent mindedness, this was one of the many incidents I witnessed:

One day at the shop he went to the kitchen to get a coffee. There were no cups left, but he managed to find some styrofoam bowls. No problem, he can just pretend it’s a big latte. He cautiously brings the bowl of coffee out to his bay in the workshop, walking slowly and highly focused so as not to spill a drop. I watch him take a sip. As the disappointing look crosses his face, he realizes it’s not hot enough. Instead of carefully walking all the way back to where the microwave is, he looks around for alternative methods of imparting heat into a liquid. Aha! a propane torch. As I watched him carefully place his styrofoam bowl down and pick up the torch, I bite my tongue. He sparks the torch and aims it at the coffee. 2.3 seconds later the bowl has melted and distributed his coffee all over the bench and floor. He looks around to see who saw, and regards me with sheepish grin. Nice one, Slim.

A month or so goes by and I am well integrated in to the team. I’ve become good friends with the two Aussies thanks to our drinking prowess. At this point in my young life, I/we drank a lot. I should mention that Indianapolis, for those that have not visited the thriving metropolis, is wicked fucking cold in the winter. It’s probably around the middle of February at this point, and a week at the shop is drawing to a close. Slim comes up with the idea of pre-gaming at the house, and then heading into Broadripple. Broadripple is a strip of basically nothing but bars and clubs with some decent sushi restaurants thrown in. There is a bike path that connects their house with the center of town, and is only about a mile walk. There were only a couple reported instances of rape or robbery on the bike path, so when traveling it late at night, I’m sure the odds were in your favor.

This Friday evening was probably the second time I had been to their house, and was still very new to the area. I head home after work and clean up a bit, then drive over to their place. This evening is where Slim really shows his true colors. Shortly after I arrive, Slim gets home with literally a full case of Colt 45, and 50 fucking pieces of Church’s Fried Chicken. To this day, I have no idea what he was thinking. Seriously, Church’s chicken is gross. There were 4 of us, which means that there was enough fried chicken for us to each have a meager 12 pieces. With 2 leftover drumsticks for anyone not fully satiated. Being that I still looked upon Slim with pity at this point, and I was a guest (lets not be rude here), I forced down what I could of both the malt liquor and chicken. This was not an ideal way to kick off the evening, which still had so much hope and promise. I believe we watched the movie ‘Human Traffic’ before we went out, which has a line in it about how being black is a state of mind. This was Slim’s creedo, and I believe favorite movie.

At this point we all had a healthily glow on and decided to head out. Slim was dragging his feet, and being that he lived there and apparently knew where we were going, we left him and began walking down the bike path. Being that we are headed to a club, and we’re men, and idiots, meant that nobody wore a jacket. There’s 2 inches of fresh snow on the ground, and it’s dark and far below freezing. I’m stumbling down the bike path with Blocka and JP, the heavy malt liquor doing it’s part to simulate warmth. I glance back and I see an outline of a person about 1/2 mile back and I assume it’s Slim.

“You guys want to wait up for him?”

“Nah, he knows where we’re going, ROCK LOBSTAH!”

This was the last time I would see slim that evening.

We made it into town and headed to the bar. It’s dead. Seriously, there were only 2 girls there at the bar, which was unfortunate for them as they received the full brunt of our pathetic drunken flirtation attempts. Blocka is on stage with a scotch dancing by himself like an idiot, JP is at the bar probably doing well with the girls and his stupid charming accent. Slim is nowhere in sight. We’re there for what I can only recall as 5 minutes before Blocka walks up to me, put his drink on the counted, and proclaims:

“I’m going home, I’m fucked!” - I would later realize that he was the smart one out of our group that evening.

The rest of the evening is somewhat foggy, as I’m now 30 years old writing this.

The bar begins to rapidly fill up. It goes from being totally dead to DJ douchebag spinning ‘boots and pants and boots and pants’ and people slamming vodka red bulls. At this point I’m proper drunk and am well aware of it. I’m still mulling around with JP when the urge to return some of that rented Colt 45 strikes. I head to the bathroom and relieve myself. When I emerge, JP is nowhere to be found. Fuck. I do a couple of laps around this place to no avail. With the room beginning to spin, the urge to get rid of some of that greasy disgusting chicken strikes. But out the way it came in. I make a dash outside, and with time being of the essence, I don’t get stamped. I go outside and head behind the building, doing my best to keep my composure and maintain some dignity. I find a nice flower box thing to sit on, and throw up violently. I take a few minutes to compose myself and notice the calm river behind the building meandering by. Lovely.

I go back to the bar and am required to pay cover, which is $5. I go in and take another lap or two looking for JP.

Burp. Ut-oh.

Sprint back outside, naturally forgetting to get stamped, again. Return to my spot and throw up, equally as violent as before. Drunk logic makes it seem like the 3rd time is a charm. I’m sure to find him this time! lets try to find JP again. Return to the club, and pay cover yet again. Idiot. Make one last attempt to locate him, when for a 3rd time, I sprint for the door, making it about 5 steps out of the club before throwing up in front of a group of people. No stamp, again, but fuck it, I’m not going back in. I’m thoroughly regretting the chicken and malt liquor at this point.

I stumble off in some of the roughest shape I’ve ever been in. By the grace of God I found the bike path and stumbled back to their place, without being raped or robbed (always a silver lining!). As I’m stumbling across the lawn of their house, theres JP, trying to get a key in the door. What impeccable timing I have. Nothing needs to be said, and as soon as the door is open, I take two steps inside and pass out on the floor. I awake a 6 am, shivering uncontrollably, since you have to pay for heat, and race mechanics can’t afford luxuries like that. I get into my car, drive to my apartment, and crawl into my warm bed. I awake for the second time that day to my phone ringing. A very rough sounding JP is on the other end out it.

“Hey Mate”

“Hey” I reply

“Do you, uh, remember anything about last night?”

“Bits and pieces, you?”

“Same…Same………Did you see Slim at all?”

“Last time I saw him he was about a 1/2 mile back when we were walking into town.”

“huh….well….a taxi just dropped him off”

At this point I’m thinking, ah, good man, he got laid.

“He’s was in a hospital gown holding his clothes. He went straight into his room and closed the door”

At this point I’m thinking, oh, maybe not…

There were no details to be had, and we all just let him be. He slept for basically two full days. The following week at work, the only details we could get were that he ended up in that lovely river I saw, and had a B.A.C of a very impressive .386 . Way to raise the bar. He couldn’t remember a single thing about the night, and just woke up in the hospital.

Time went by and Indianapolis began to thaw out. Slim had taken a hiatus from drinking for several months after this incident. It was a bit of a sore subject so we didn’t give him too much of a hard time. It was like the big elephant in the room whenever partying or drinking came into question. After about 4 months he begins to get back on the horse and drink socially again. One day slim comes into work and mentions that he was out for a bicycle ride, and thinks he rode past an establishment that he was at on that legendary evening. We all agree to investigate further, because we’re a team. One evening that week we head out. It’s a much nicer evening this time, with warm fresh air and lingering summer daylight. We duck off the main strip and cross a bridge over the river that Slim had found himself in, and we walk down the sidewalk towards this Irish bar that he thinks he visited. The path up to the door of this place is about 40 feet long. We come around the corner of the building and begin walking to the door. There’s a bouncer and police officer standing outside, casually shooting the shit. They both glance up at our group, and an expression of shock and awe washes over them.

The bouncer lifts his hand and points at Slim, exclaiming:

“HOLY SHIT! It’s the kid from the river! And he’s alive!”

We sprint up to them, with Slim sheepishly following in tow. Finally, the missing pieces to the puzzle.

Both the bouncer and officer were there in that very same spot the fateful evening months prior. Slim had somehow ended up at this bar, and gotten mixed in with a bachelor party. Something about him going to the same school as one of the guys in the group gave him license to drink his face off. This was obviously after more than 80 fluid ounces of Colt 45. He apparently began to get a little out of control. Which we all found very hard to believe, given his demeanor. When the bouncer told the group to get ahold of their friend, they were quick to mention they had never met him before. The bouncer promptly ejected him from the bar. He stumbled down the walkway and fell down the embankment into the frigid moving waters of the river. A group walking to the bar told the officer and bouncer that some idiot had fallen in the river. They both sprinted over, with the officer radioing for an ambulance while the bouncer pulled his ass out of the water. To give you an idea of the water/air temp, he had icicles hanging from his eyebrows within seconds.

The ambulance showed up moments later, stabilizing him and taking him to the hospital. The amazing thing about this is, that had he not fallen in the river in that exact spot at that exact time, he most likely would be dead from either the water, from alcohol poisoning, or passing out in the freezing cold outside. No way would he have made it home. Someone was certainly looking out for him.

No idea where Slim is now since the team ended up shutting down after the owner fucked over a whole bunch of employees and drivers. Everyone went their separate ways.

Post Scrip from Blocka and JP's input:

Apparently when I was searching for JP at the bar, he had bounced and went….South. He ended up on 10th street. This is what we can affectionately call ‘the hood’ and most likely the geographic region where Slim sourced the case of 45 and chicken. To put this in perspective, Broad Ripple is on 65th street. Thankfully they’re small blocks, but still a distance of 6 miles as the crow flies. So that means while I was busy throwing up and paying cover charges, JP had walked/ran 6 miles, realized something was wrong, turned around, and walked/ran 6 miles back, proceeding to meet me at the front door of a house that neither of us should have been able to navigate to, at exactly the same time.

The MB element- MB was the dry humored, quick witted, Brit that managed the team. This role was not MB’s first paper route, and he knew that this team was basically a bunch of high functioning alcoholics financed by a con-artist. He had a lot on his plate. As anyone in a leadership role should, he had some good words of wisdom. One thing he mentioned that has seemed to stick with me “The_Chap would be a great race mechanic if he could show up sober.” I naturally took this as flattery. When we showed up to the shop on Monday after the ‘incident’, MB already knew the story, although he didn’t know the story. How you may ask? Well MB’s wife was a nurse at the hospital that the ambulance dropped Slim off at. Apparently before he was totally passed out, Slim was off his rocker enough to try and fight the nurses that were trying to save his life. This resulted in Slim having to be restrained on the hospital bed. When he woke in the morning he ripped the IV out of his arm spilling blood everywhere. We gave him the account of the weekend, and being the smart bloke he was, he put 2 and 2 together came up with the fact that the kid his wife was dealing with at the hospital was actually his employee. Small world, eh?

Blocka's own account:

"Its also the night were I had accepted my fate of freezing to death on our doorstep. As I lie there freezing I went over my life and contemplated all I had done and accepted all that I would never get to do, this must have been my time. And when your numbers up your numbers up. But being the stubborn arse that I am I thought not getting this one today so I mustered all my strength and with one last effort I managed to fumble the key and somehow managed to get it into the lock. Hurrah for I was inside. the reaper would have to wait another time for this soul"

Well I was driving to walmart and all of a sudden I see a few cars stop. So I look around to see why.

I see a few deers trying to run across the road, luckily no one hit one but ...

Yeah a deer wasn't paying attention and slammed right into the passenger side of a car. It's stumbled a little and went back to running across the road. The car had a huge dent in the door.

I remember making eye contact with a different drive and we both smiled and made a "laugh wtf" gesture.

I'd like to start this off that it is 1:22 am when i began this and I can't sleep because this keeps me up at nights. Brief history: mother ran away when she was 18, did drugs all her life, and had 3 kids from 3 different guys all old enough to be her father. (She is now homeless in San Francisco still addicted.) Okay, so, this started out with my sister and I. I was 3 or 4 and she was 7 or 8. We never really did anything before this, but one time, while outside playing, my sister told me to come into the backseat of the car and started to kiss me. It was only a minute at first, but it got longer and longer. Soon, she was telling me to relax and let her so all the work, but we were making out. I was still very young but I had seen some movies and had a small understanding of sex, and I was excited to do more. It never did, but there were some other things that happened later. I'll elaborate. Because I was so young, I was still allowed to take baths/showers with people, and I still retain images of every boob and vagina I have seen, including my sisters, aunts, mothers, and random people in the YMCA showers. So, having the experience with my sister, I was pretty fascinated with sex. Fast forward a bit. My house burned down and we are forced to live in a old chevy van. When playing chicken with my sister,I got hit by a car when I was 4 and ahalf, broke my femur bone and cracked my skull, and I was in a full body cast for I can't remember how long. Freshly out of the cast, my shirt caught on fire and the screen printed design melted onto my stomach. I had to have a skin graph from my back and leg and was told I would never walk straight again. (I eventually stretched the skin out and can walk fine from both the broken leg and melted stomach.) A litter farther down, my sister is living with her dad in new York, I'm just turning 6 and I have a 1 and a half year old brother. Well, because of my fascination with sex, and eavesdropping on my mother having sex multiple times, I wanted to find out more. So I went into the back seat of the van one day with my little brother and started...exploring. I wanted to compare my penis with his and see what it was like. Well, that's all that happened then, but later on, after my mother abandoned me and my brother in the van while we were in North Carolina one day, I was 6 and a half and my brother was 2, we get put into a foster home. Several actually. Well, At one if these we stayed at for awhile, it was really great. We went to school, church, and had friends we could play with on a regular basis. One of my friends was named... well, well just call him Donny. Donny was an okay kid, but one day, I don't remember how, but we got in the topic of sex or something, and I ended up tricking my little brother into sucking me in front of Donny by telling my brother it tasted like candy. Fucked up, right? Well, we got caught one day, and then shit got real. Caps was called, my grandparents were called, because they were in the middle of adopting us, and basically we were thrown out and had a rushed adoption because the Christians we lived with couldn't stand us. I was told that was the most fucked up thing that the foster father had ever seen. I was 7. Fast forward a bit. Me and my brother got adopted, but are under constant watch. We can't be alone, especially in the same room together. I'm a huge dick to my brother. Break his stuff all the time, beat him up all the time and basically treat him like shit. (This happened for years). We see a psychiatrist weekly about this, especially after i locked myself in a room with a knife ,killing my pet bird and nearly myself before my grandmother busted the door down. Well, it kind of dies down after 2 years, and I start getting curious again. This time with the opposite sex. I found some stuff on the internet, and I felt like I needed to explore. At the time, I had 5 and 2 year old nieces, and i babysat them while my grandmother did work in her office. We would really just watch movies and I made sure they didn't fight too much. Here's where I become a fucking monster. I talked the 5 year old in taking off her pants and I penetrated her, but didn't do anything more. I then gave oral sex to the two year old to see what it was like. This went in for a few months of us just doing stuff like taking pieces of clothing off, or touching places before the 5 year old, in a car ride to my grandmothers office said out loud one day "anon made me naked.". I was in the very backseat and froze. My grandmother and aunt freaked out and took each kid in and interviewed us seperately. I got found out and my life became hell. I was punished for 2 years, never left alone or out of sight of an adult. If I HAD to leave the room without one, I had to sing or explain ever action I was doing as loudly as I could. The adults never told anyone, but I was threatened with going to jail several times throughout my life, up to about 8 months ago. Well, I'm now 13 and we lost another house to a fire due to a fire chute not being properly closed and burning ashes fell into our garage. Nobody got hurt, but we lost our house. We all moved in with my sister. 11 people in one house including children and I barely ever left my grandmothers room. Then one day, they ask me if I want to visit my grandfather who was divorced with my grandmother around the time we just got adopted. in California. I say of course, because I want to get out of the house and live a little.(all of us were homeschooled). California. It was great. Nobody threatening me with jail, I had my own room, and I could learn to be a kid. I find a local climbing gym, and get plugged in there and its great. I make my first real friends. And start to feel normal. But shit like that doesn't leave you alone. I met this girl online when I was nearly 16 and she was gorgeous, and also older. She had just turned 18 and had a pretty sexual early life as well. Well, one thing led to another, and we exchanged nudes. No big deal, we ended up not talking to each other, but its something that happened and I felt like I needed to include. Now, I'm 16 and can't stop looking at porn and masturbating. I get caught a few times, get computers taken away, blablabla. No big deal. Now, my grandfather gets his house foreclosed upon. He moves to North Carolina and has fixed things with my grandmother and we move back. Works out for awhile, but they start telling me I need to start getting a job. Well, one day, my grandmother and I were fighting, and were yelling, and I start packing my bags to go to a friends. I don't know. I'm pissed. So she is mad and grabs my hair And pulls me away from my suitcase. So I get mad and flip us both over the couch and put her in a choke hold. She says I could of killed her, and its kind of true. I stopped applying force when she stopped fighting me. Now, we had fought physically when I was much younger, but she always overpowered me and would just restrain me until I calmed down. Well this time, I was stronger. I ended up trying to leave again, and she tried to stop me again , but she called the police first. As we are telling on the front lawn, my little brother, who was silently watching the whole fight not knowing what to do, pulls up a garden chair and sits in it like he's watching a show. Fuck this, I thought. " I know I can't hurt you, but I can hurt him!" I yell and grab the metal chain around my brothers neck he liked to wear and physically drag him into the living room and throw him. I then grab my grandmothers hair and do the same with her. I slam the door, grab my suitcase and start walking the 5 miles to my friends.Not even halfway down the small street of my house, a police officer stops me and tells me to walk back home asking me the normal questions. Where am I going, how old am I, ect. This is what he said after we got back to my house. " son, the only reason you aren't in jail right now is because I didn't see any marks on your grandmother." Well, one fight after another, I'm living in a small hut outside of the house, walking to find a job, with nothing to my name and no personal time. Life sucks. So I sneak a few phone calls in late at night to my friends in California when everyone is asleep or out of the house and talk to them about my problems, until one day, one of my friends who worked at the climbing gym, after her I told her the shit I did when I was younger, offered to fly me out there, put me in school (because I hadn't done school in 5 years ever since our house burned down.), and have her parents house me and get me on my feet. At that point, I was working at papa johns and was paying 250 a month to stay in that hut with no possessions. 250 was my whole paycheck working at papa johns part time due to labor laws. Well, it took a lot of convincing for my grandmother to sign a paper letting me fly out to California, but it happened. I have been living out here for 8 months now, am working on my high school diploma, go to church regularly, and work at my climbing gym. So here's the point to this. People think I'm a good kid, but I can't handle most of my problems. I still masturbate. Frequently. I have a short temper, suffer from depression occasionally, can't handle my money ( I spend it on useless shit like virtual money online), have trouble finding motivation to work, and have no car or place if residence to my name. I turn 18 January 30th, and I'm scared what will happen when I finish this school year and don't have enough money to support myself. I don't know what to do right now and feel just running away or just ending it due to pressure.

Hey guys! Here's a story I've been wanting to tell on Reddit for awhile, but never quite found the appropriate sub or thread. The background in this story is important this time.

The long version: Once again this takes place in my all boys' school where I grew up in the middle east. This country has a huge proportion of very wealthy people from very wealthy families. Historically, these wealthy families had a tendency (and still do, to an extent) to have a lot of children. Because my school was all boys', and because it's frowned upon on these rich families for girls and boys to mingle, my school was actually fairly popular for sons of these royal families to attend.

So basically, there are two things you need to know.

• There were a lot of wealthy kids in my school.
• A lot of these wealthy kids were obliquely related. i.e. cousins, second cousins, different wealthy family but related through some marriage. etc.

Okay! On with the story!

So we were sitting in Mr. Stephens' math class one day (That's right, the same Mr. Stephens that starred here ). As usual, Philip wasn't in class. Philip, was from a royal family, so his attendance wasn't particularly enforced. The principal might occasionally call him into the office and say "Ahh Philip. If you just run along to class every now and then, I'll give you this chocolate bar." But that was pretty much as far as the principal could take it. A lot of the royals didn't bother coming to class anyway, so no point in picking on Phil.

Now, today Philip had decided that he was hungry, so he wouldn't bother going into class. Instead he'd head to the cafeteria and get this messy (but tasty) arabic salad called Tabouleh. Now Philip was actually a pretty cool kid. He just had that casual, easygoing attitude to authority that comes with obscene amounts of money. However, he was thin, scrawny, and had a pretty severe stutter, which meant that people from other royal families might pick on him from time to time (especially considering this is an all boys' school. It's every man for himself in those places). For the most part though, he didn't have to worry. He was also from a royal family, so he had his own fair share of connections and friends.

So he was walking the halls of the school, tabouleh in hand, casually munching away. He was planning to come into the class 40 minutes late. As he nears Mr. Stephens' room, another royal (call him Brad) and his posse turned the corner ahead of him, walking straight towards him.

Phil decides to just avoid eye contact and slip quietly into Mr Stephens' room. Suddenly, he collides with Brad. Spilling all that messy tabouleh all over him.
His reaction.

His posse grabs Phil, and Brad starts walking menacingly towards him. The group is yelling profanities at him in Arabic. Brad is closing in on him...

Suddenly, other royals who evidently heard the commotion run out from the other empty classrooms and corridors. Led to the scene both by the sound of the commotion, and the scent of an oncoming fight. A sense honed by years in an all boys' school.

Before you know it there's close to 100 boys, who have chosen their alliance, rushing to the scene from each end of the corridor like this.

The groups clash, and the corridor is in chaos. Fists are flying, shirts are ripped, and salad flies everywhere (evidently, Phil wasn't the only one who was hungry).

Now this was happening just outside Mr Stephens' class, where I was sitting. Now in the previous story I told you about his strange quirks. One that I failed to mention was that when he is trying to lecture someone, or is going to shout, he prefaces it by repeating a weird noise. He makes a really short, sharp "DAB" sound. For example, if he was shouting at me, before he started he would get our attention by going "DAB!!... DAB!!.... RICE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!.

Now, Mr. Stephens rushed to the door to clear the commotion. As he opened the door, people literally fell over each other and spilled into the classroom. That just shows how tightly packed the mob was. The class is in awe, wondering how Mr. Stephens will deal with the situation.

DAB!.. fighting continues
...DAB!!! still no changes
DABDABDABDABDABDABDABDABDAB!!!!!!! His arms were flailing and pushing people aside as he tried to get into the middle of the mob.

The class broke out into hysterical laughter as he dismantled the mob. In the middle of the (now stationary) crowd he finds Brad and Phil, bloodied and their uniforms in tatters.

Both of them got suspended. When they got back they were actually on good terms, I saw them talking to one another a few times. But that's how it is in all boys' schools. You're sworn enemies one moment, and after a good scrap, the best of mates.

TL;DR: Spilled salad. Blood feud.

My family (on my dads side) is gang related. Live the gang life. The gang originated from Compton, California. I'd rather not state the name of the gang.

I have many stories from my childhood like this. This is only one of many.

I'm not very good at story telling or describing things that well, so I apologize if my story isn't that great.

Note: I am not part of the gang in any way whatsoever. When I say "we" it is only for sake of telling the story in an easy way.

OK, story time!

##The day my cousin burned down a house.

Well as you know my family (or most of it) is in a gang.

This all started as a nice bomb fire party at my house, with booze and drugs of different kinds.

We have been having a rival with another gang and things are getting a little out of hand. With random people getting jumped and threatening to shoot up house.

Well at the bomb fire part. My cousin decided to make a Molotov cocktail. Next thing you know my brother and my cousin are out doing a "mission." They return after about an hour. Moments later I hear firetruck sirens.

Guess what they did? Yup, they threw the cocktail in a window of a rival gang members house and burned it to the ground.

This is a story from me, Words Cannot, and it happened last year. It is still crazy to think about how close a call this was.

At my school, there was not much protection compared to my old one. On one day, we ended up going on lockdown for half the day, atleast. Of course nobody complained, and after I found out that someone at another high school had brought a Ak47, 9 inch knife, and more in his backpack and hidden in a trashcan. I dont remember exactly but he was planning something supposedly because he was "mad at a teacher". He had ran away before and his parents prevented it because they noticed the guns were missing. This is still crazy to me...extremely crazy. Imagine if his parents hadn't found out. News Story Even though the story said he was making demands, different sources of news here said different things. My school is extremely close to that one, and I think we were on lockdown longer because the news hadnt come out yet that he was caught, so for all we knew this was still going on. I doubt Ill get any, but if I get any questions...Ill answer them. Craziest part for me was the fact that we still went on with school and how bad this could have turned

Written by RedBoxChiliPepper on January 25, 1995. Last revision on January 29, 1995 this story is from /u/rbcp not by me. Link to story is here

Here’s what happened when I took beige boxing just a little too far while living in Celina, Ohio (population 8000). I started out like most people, just finding a telco box or a neighbor’s box on the side of their house, plugging in my phone and dialing away at the 900 numbers and harassing operators. But that got really old after awhile. So I set up sort of a permanent beige box on my next door neighbor’s line. I hooked a line into their box, ran it under the siding to make it invisible, down next to a basement window and into the ground. From there I dug a trench in the ground about 3 inches deep from their box to my box and hooked the wire into my box, to the yellow and black wires.

Now I could use their line to call bbses around the world for free! I decided not to make any direct long distance calls so they wouldn’t start investigating and find the extra line going into the ground. So I only third-number billed and used calling cards from their line and tried as best as I could not to annoy the operators too bad.

So you see, it started out sort of innocently, but then I began to eavesdrop on a lot of my neighbors’ conversations. After awhile the conversations got sort of boring so I hooked up my two-line phone to both of the lines and started conferencing total strangers onto their line while they were in the middle of a conversation, which caused quite a bit of confusion, especially when I hooked them up to overseas people. Then to make things worse, I’d pop in and say in a deep voice, “Please deposit 25 cents!”

Pretty soon, my neighbors got to be too boring for me. I mean, they reacted to my pranks on their line the exact same way every time and their conversations without me were totally boring, hardly worth listening to. So I went to my other next door neighbor’s house one night to check out the possibilities on their line and ended up doing the same thing to their line only running the line in my basement window and upstairs to the spare bedroom where the other two lines were hooked up.

Since I only had one conference phone that didn’t work very well to begin with, I decided to build a simple switchboard on top of my desk. It ended up being a piece of sheet metal with five 2-position switches on it. Switch 1 was my own phone line, switch 2 was the first neighbor’s line and switch 3 was the other neighbor’s line. Also, each switch had a light above it to indicate In-Use. Normally, the switches would be in the “off” position. If I wanted to use a line, I flipped it on and hit the speakerphone button on my desk phone or used my official Bell operator headset. (Actually, one of those cheap headsets that you buy from Radio Shack but hey, I drew a Bell symbol on it!)

So now with their two lines and my own three-way calling line, I had a total of four phone lines to play with. The new neighbor’s calls proved to be much more interesting that the others. They had a son and teen-aged daughter who liked to talk on the phone alot. And when their conversations did get a little boring, I helped them out by patching my Sound Blaster card directly into my switchboard so I could add sound effects, movie clips and rude noises to their conversation. Lemme tell you, their reaction to this was fantasic. Each kid would blame it on the other and when I did it to either of the parents, they would yell at their kids to quit playing around on the phone.

Now I’m happy and have plenty of things to do with my spare time which I have a lot of. I’d been using various calling cards from both of their lines late at night to call bulletin boards for about a month and a half and still Telco Security hadn’t called them up questioning them about anything. I thought maybe they were just trying to build a case against them and were holding out for more fraud. In any case, I decided to keep close tabs on their phone calls in case AT&T called them questioning anything so I’d have advance warning to sneak back over and disconnect their lines. To help with this I bought a few of those cool Radio Shack deals that automatically records all incomming and outgoing calls on your lines so I could keep up with their phone calls while I was at work.

Then something horrible happened. Most of my favorite phone companies around the United States figured out that they were being ripped off big time by people who order calling cards with personalized pin numbers for other people. This security flaw was my major source of calling cards and now they had set it up so if you wanted to do this you needed the victim’s social security number. Getting their social security number isn’t a super hard task but it sure was a pain in the ass to have to do that every time I wanted a new calling card. They were making things hard for me. I only had about twenty cards left and my cards went dead pretty quick lately because of my extensive international calling. I could third-number bill everything but if you’ve ever tried to do that for a bbs call you know that it’s a pain in the ass to get it right.

That’s when I went over to the window and looked across the street. I saw a little shop with a pay phone next to it and a guy in a suit talking on the pay phone. Since car phones aren’t a big thing yet in this little town, the few yuppies that there are usually stop by this phone to make their important phone calls. And of course they prefer credit cards to pocket change. A plan started to form in my head. Of course I couldn’t run a phone wire underneath the street because I just might be noticed using a jackhammer on the concrete. So…

That night at 3:00 a.m. I got on my cellular phone and dialed the direct line to the Celina police. I explained to them that I had just seen a few kids jump the fence to the boat yard and break into the office. I listened in on my scanner as the dispatcher sent all available units to the boat yard. (All two of them, eh?) I was ready when I heard that and I ran across the street to the pay phone. I had done this a million times before but usually it was in a secluded area and there wasn’t such time pressure.

I pulled out my specially cut alan wrench and opened the bottom panel of the pay phone. I set the base unit of my cordless phone there in the bottom and clipped the wires into the pay phone line. Then I plugged the AC cord into the receptacle. (Most phones have these in the bottom panel to power the light on top of the phone.) I wrapped a garbage bag around the phone to protect it from water damage and the evil GTE linemen and put the panel back on. The whole thing took less than four minutes. Meanwhile, the brutal Celina police force are crawling around the boat yard with flashlights, looking underneath all the boats for these hardended criminal kids. They never found them, though.

I went back home and picked up my cordless handset. I turned it on and dialed the local Wal-Mart. A recording came on, telling me to deposit twenty-five cents. So I called a number a little further away. I called Mann’s Chinese Theater in Hollywood, California and was asked to deposit $2.25. I tried red boxing the coins in but I think the reception was screwing it up. I ended up going through a live operator who put the call through for me.

I decided I’d better get this fixed. I didn’t need GTE dropping a trouble card on my pay phone and discovering my cordless base unit in there. So I took the handset apart and hard-wired it into my switchboard. I replaced the rechargable batteries with an AC line and built a red box on the switchboard that was hooked diectly into the cordless phone’s microphone. Then I boosted the antenna by hooking it to the old T.V. antenna on top of my house. This was getting to be pretty fun!

The next morning I had the alarm set for 10:00 a.m. so I could sit at my window and wait for yuppies to use my pay phone. My first customer came at 10:18, a little kid who used a copper slug. Damn him, I should call his parents for this. Anyway, I came on and impersonated the operator, telling him he was in big trouble and if he didn’t put in a real fifty cents immediately I would come over there and rip that St. Louis Cardinals hat right off his head and hit him with it. He hung up, looked nervously around and quickly disappeared into the alley.

At 10:57, while I was in the middle of my Frosted Flakes breakfast, the neighborhood mailman stopped by to use the phone. I looked through my binoculars and saw him punch a “zero” first. I was so happy, milk came out of my nose. When he tried to enter his calling card number, I interferred by hitting some extra numbers. He tried it again and I messed him up again. Then I heard the AT&T recording, “Please hold for operator assisstance.” An operator came on and asked for his card number. He read it off as I wrote it down. I was so grateful to him that I didn’t even harrass him during his call.

I got three calling card numbers that day. The next day I got a little more creative. I got on the pay phone line and dialed a phone company number that just sat there, blank. When a guy picked up the phone, I played a recording of a dial tone into the phone. When he began dialing I stopped the recording and when he finished dialing I played the recording, “AT&T! Please enter your calling card number now…” He began to enter his calling card and I came on and talked to him in a really annoying nasal voice.

ME: “AT&T, What seems to be the problem?” HIM:”I’m just using my calling card.” ME: “Okay, what’s your calling card number?” HIM: Gives me his number. ME: “That card’s not going through here. Do you have another card?” HIM:”Uh…yeah, I have my AT&T calling card.” ME: “Okay, let’s try that one.” HIM: Gives me his number. ME: “Okay…Yep, that one’s okay. Here’s your call and fuck you for using AT&T”

I had no idea what number he had dialed in the first place so I got an old recording of Tina, the fone sex operator and put it on the line. “Hi, this is Tina…Are you ready for a hot time?…” The poor guy tried to talk to her and finally realized that it was a recording and hung up. I watched him walk down the street and use the phone booth a few blocks away.

A few days later I bought one of those touch tone decoders. It had a LCD display that showed me exactly what digits were being dialed on any line I hooked it up to. I hooked this into my switchboard and not only was it easier for me to get calling cards, I could see exactly who my neighbors were calling. I started keeping files on the neighbors and who they called. Oh, did I mention that I have no life. You may have figured that out already.

Two months later not much had changed. I still had the same setup and was working on expanding it. I added 10 more switches to it for extra lines and started wandering around my neighbors’ yards late at night, looking for new possibilities. I also hooked an old bulky cellular phone into my setup so I could connect neighbors to the cellular roaming network and I added another phone so I could listen in on more that one line at a time without them hearing each other.

The little green telco box on our block is very well secluded. It sits near some bushes in the alley behind my house, about three houses over. The only problem with it is that it’s sitting right underneath a bright street light. I eventually took care of the street light with my pump pellet rifle. It took an hours worth of patience to finally hit it just right, but I finally turned it off. That being accomplished, I went to the hardware store and bought a cable. This nifty little cable had fifty separate wires inside of it, enough to hook twenty-five phones to.

When dark finally came, I grabbed my back pack and hiked over to the telco box. I opened it and started hooking my phone, dialing 1-800-MY-ANI-IS on every set of terminals in there and taking notes of what was what. I was going to go for choice and pick my least favorite neighbors but decided that would take forever so I hooked up to the first fifty terminals (on the backside, so telco wouldn’t notice) and put the box back together. I hoped I hadn’t hooked up one of my neighbor’s that I already had hooked to my house ’cause it’d suck to waste a whole line like that.

Now the hard part. I dug a trench a few inches deep from the telco box, down the alley, into my own back yard, then through the yard and into that little hole underneath my basement window. It took me over three hours to complete all this but when I was finished there wasn’t a trace that anything strange was going on. I had to cut a hole in the floor to get the cable upstairs to my switchboard and found myself hoping that my land lord wouldn’t drop by anytime soon. He gets testy when I drill holes in his property. So I got that far and went to bed. I couldn’t really do much more ’cause I needed to go to Radio Shack and buy some more switches and a larger piece of sheet metal.

Another month passes. I’ve dicovered that I’ve got access to the phones in random houses as far away as two blocks and another pay phone. I’ve hooked about every sound device I own into the switchboard, including my computer’s Sound Blaster, tape deck, CD player, voice changer and echo machine. I have the ability to hook twenty-eight lines up to a single phone, creating a monster party line of confused people and my calling card list has reached almost 100 numbers. That’s the most I’ve ever had all at once.

Then on Friday the power bill arrived. It was an outrageous amount, probably because I have a habit of turning on heaters while opening windows, leaving lights on all day, my computer, etc. It didn’t seem fair that I should have to pay so much to them, especially since I stopped going to work as often so I could sit at home and play operator. My neighbors have a receptacle on their deck that they use to plug in the bug lamp and sometimes a radio. I figure if they’re not using it all that much, I’ll take advantage of that.

That night I dig down about a foot where the plug is and cut open a section of the plastic pipe to expose their wires. Carefully using rubber gloves and pliers, I managed to splice my orange 100 foot extension cord into their line. I ran that under ground to my basement window and start plugging my large appliances in. The refrigerator, space heater, microwave and electric oven. So I walk over to their power meter and peer in to the glass bubble and notice the disk is spinning quite rapidly. Oh, well. They own a pool and deck. Obviously they can afford a little more electricity.

I figure that if they’re rich, they can probably afford cable T.V. and I notice that their cable line is conveinently located next to their phone box. So the day after that I get free cable. A few weeks later, free cable alone just isn’t enough for me. I want to be able to control what my neighbors watch. So I hook up sort of a loop so that their cable line is comming to my house before it gets to them. Then I build this little switchboard next to my phone switchboard that consists of a few T.V. monitors, a VCR, a video camera and some video mixing devices.

By the time I’m through hooking it all up, I have the power to change their channels, make them watch my home video collection or wipe their T.V. show off the air with a variety of 37 different wiping techniques! I also have a monitor set up showing me exactly what they’re seeing in their house. By now you’re probably wondering what these neighbors did to me to make me want to be so mean spirited to them. Well, nothing. They just lived at the wrong house at the wrong time.

I tune in to their phone and T.V. The old lady is talking to Gertrude while watching The Price Is Right and her husband is out in back, trying to figure out the problems they’ve been having with their bug zapper light. I leave her T.V. picture on but mute the sound so I can talk over Bob Barker. Using my voice changer, I make the following announcement:

“Greetings, Earthling Mildred. I am alien visitor Q359-Kriegsmitzelpapshmeer. I come in peace. Take me to your leader, Bob Barker or I will disentigrate your house. Oh, and I also want a Metallica box CD set and I want to know what a vaccum cleaner is…”

I left them alone completely until Mildred got back from the hospital. While they were gone, I bought some heavy duty wire and tapped in to their circuit breaker box, giving me complete control. I also ran their water line through my house so I could leech and control that. When they got home Mildred got in the shower and Herb sat down to watch Tammy Faye Bakker (whatever) on T.V. I walked over to my “Department of Water” switchboard and turned a valve. This valve released the five gallon tank of washing machine Blue (dye) into their water lines. Then I popped in the porno video “Edward Penishands” and sent that into their living room T.V. set. Herb was so engrossed in his show that he didn’t even hear Mildred screaming something about alien invasions.

A few months later after spending the day mowing my neighbor’s lawn while they were gone (I mowed the words “WE COME IN PEACE”), it’s 2:30 in the morning and I grab my backpack and sprint over the the Celina Power & Light building. I begin to dig a trench from their building to my basement window…

I think I’ve been using a few too many illegal substances or something. Actually, I made this whole thing up. I was bored, okay? Anyone that believed any of it even for a second needs to have their head checked out. So the story is probably full of holes although I really did live in Celina, Ohio for a few months and ran up quite a hefty phone bill. It was my own bill, though. I really hope this file is an inspiration to all and hope that the Celina Police will stop looking for those kids in the boat yard after they read this.

Free Cable, Power and Phone What’s a PLA file without an instructional part? If you live in an apartment, doing all of this is super easy because you don’t have to run around the neighborhood digging holes and the chances of getting caught are practically nothing.

Power Find a wall in your apartment that is also the wall of the person living next door. About a foot from the floor cut a small hole in the wall. Using a flash- light and maybe a mirror, look around in there to see if you can find the neighbor’s recepticle. If you can’t, cut a hole a couple feet over and try again.

Once you find one, splice open the outer covering to the wires, exposing two more wires. Splice those open, keeping in mind that these are live wires so be careful unless you consider afro hairstyles to be “in.” If you don’t want to work with the live wires you can either cross the two wires with a screwdriver or something, tripping the breaker or find their power box and shutting their power off. If you can’t do this, then continue carefully.

So hook up your own extension cord or whatever into their line and tape up all the exposed stuff with electrical tape so you don’t burn down your apartment. Plug in all your appliances that suck up a lot of juice into their line. Space heaters and the fridge is a good place to start.

Cable & Phone Use pretty much the same method to obtain free cable and phone. Start punching holes in the walls until you find their cable and phone lines and splice your own hookups into theirs. The chances of them ever finding any of this are pretty slim ’cause when a big power bill arrives, the man of the house does not generally start knocking holes in the walls, looking for the source of the problem. It’s a good idea to not make any direct long distance calls from the phone. Besides, if you start dialing a bunch of 900 numbers, his poor kids are gonna get grounded.

Another way to get the phone line is to find the main phone box on the outside of the apartment. Each customer should have four terminals, a green, red, yellow and black. So find out which terminals are yours. Now pick your neighbor’s red and green terminals and hook them to your black and yellow. If you don’t have a legitimate phone to begin with, you can hook them to your red and green or find another neighbor’s line and hook that to your red and green so you’ll have two “pirate” lines. Remember, if funny things start happening to them, it won’t be too hard for the phone company to look in the box and see that you’re responsible.

Now I sure hope that your good at patching up holes in the walls because when your apartment manager sees all the holes, you’ll probably be evicted. If you’re not bright enough to patch the holes, trying lowering the pictures on the walls to cover them. I’m sure that won’t look suspicious. Or get your little brother to stick his head in the hole and tell him never to move.

So this happened when I was about seven and has since been entered into the Family History Hivemind, to be used at family gatherings, long car rides, and when ever my father needs an ego check.
It was like any other day, Dad was being all manly and decided to fix a border fence instead of just calling someone. He was a "concrete constructor" though so we where all pretty sure he could handle it. This fence has been rotting and falling over itself for years and will pretty much crumble in your hands. So Dad decides to just completely demolish it with his Standard Issue, Sledgehammer of Manliness. He gets about halfway through when he notices something. About two feet back in a section he had already torn was buzzing starts. He goes to investigate, like the slightly dim man he is, and immediately regrets it. A swarm of yellow jackets rise up like unholy avengers of this poor fence. Two minutes later we see him running past the front windows screaming bloody murder, "THERE ARE BEES IN MY PANTS!" We just kind of sit there in shock for a bit till he comes running back, this time pantsless but still screaming. A few go arounds later he's buck naked and is banging on the door, begging to be let in. We, reasonably, decline because there's a GIANT FUCKING SWARM OF WASPS FOLLOWING HIM. He runs around for another five minutes before grabbing the hose and spraying himself off. Poor man wouldn't talk to us for weeks.

As part of a university course, I was able to travel to Cuba for a week with about 20 or so of my classmates. Being American it is very rare to get an opportunity to go to Cuba, so all of us were extremely excited and anxious to go on this trip. Plus, being that we were 18 or 19 year old college students, we knew we could finally buy alcohol legally, and for cheap.

So the trip included many tours and meetings with somewhat Cuban government officials, but by about 4 or 5, we got the rest of the day to do as we pleased. However, we were having trouble finding a nice club or bar that was not sketchy or creepy. But by the fifth night, we found an awesome club, named Shangri La. But before we went, being American college students, we pregamed pretty hard in the hotel rooms, so we would not have to buy as many drinks at the club.

So everyone on the trip decided to go to the club, and we took about 4 or 5 sketchy taxis to get there. When we arrive, everyone has a pretty nice buzz, and the club is bumping. I find these beautiful Uruguayan girls who took a liking towards me, and dance and talk to them for a bit. They didn't speak English at all, and I spoke a little Spanish, but when I named some Uruguayan soccer players, they lost it and immediately loved me. So this goes on for about two hours, dancing, talking, drinking, and more drinking.

So I eventually meet up with my classmates again to find about 6 or 7 of them blacked out. There's broken shot glasses everywhere, a broken Tequila bottle, chairs and tables flipped over, you name it and it was broken. Now at this point I sobered up and am ready to help these kids out. But as soon as I start doing so, I get a firm tap on the shoulder, and I turn around. One of the club security guards, a very large man to say the least, starts shrieking at me and yelling at me in Spanish so fast that I could not keep up with him. I look at him blankly for about 10 seconds and shrug my shoulders, which prompted him to grab the collar of my shirt and point to the door. So I go and tell the coherent people in my group that we need to get out of here, and we gather the blacked out kids and book it.

At this point we are standing outside the club trying to hail down taxis to get back to the hotel. One of my closer friends on the trip is just about ready to puke, and keep telling him to hold it in. Finally, we get a taxi, and I am sitting next to my buddy and another girl. I am in the middle, and they are both sitting in the window seats. The drive back to the hotel was probably 6 or 7 minutes, but this ride was pretty eventful.

All of a sudden, my buddy whispers to me, "I'm about the throw up this beautiful dinner" and leans out the window. Terrified that the taxi driver will get upset, I start asking the driver questions in Spanish in a really loud tone. Somehow, I distracted the driver enough that he didn't realize that the other kid in his taxi was pulling the trigger in the backset. Finally we get to the hotel and I lay my buddy down on the toilet so he can let it all out. I then go outside, and smoke the most satisfying and tastiest Cuban cigar I have ever had.

Typical night in Cuba I guess.

Well everyone we have 100 subs now! Thank you to everyone who sub on this subreddit and let there be 100 more subs on this subreddit!

Sorry, this is my first post. It is kind of long. When I was eleven/twelve I lived Northern Virginia. I lived with my mom, dad, and younger brother who is three years younger than me. At this point in my life I had dealt with the anthrax scare, the infamous snipers, and 9/11. Needless to say I was already groomed for stressful situations. My dad had worked in the Pentagon until 9/11 where he was tasked with a commanding position on a ship that was to go to Iraq. This left my mom alone with my brother and I. About a month after my dad had been deployed we started noticing a bald stranger would walk past my house every night during dinner time. We didn't find this strange at first and thought he was just a neighbor on a schedule. The stranger had a bland look to him. He wore black jeans, a short sleeved button down, and always had sun glasses on, even at night. Our dinner table was placed right in front of a big bay window that was considered one of the best amenities of the home by our real estate agent. After a while we noticed that the man would start taking a few seconds to stop and watch us eat dinner together. He probably would stay at our sidewalk for ten seconds at most. My mom was unnerved but she would just say he must be jealous of our good food. Unfortunately seconds progressed into minutes every night. My mom was frightened at the time but refused to show it so we wouldn't be scared. She had simply asked us to never engage him whenever we saw him. Conveniently we had a couple who lived next door who were both police officers. We had asked them if there was anything that could be done but they had said nothing could, due to the fact he wasn't being violent and was attempting to break in. My mom had then asked if they could look the guy up which they agreed to. Apparently he had a single criminal record, or whatever you call it, that said he had simply threatened someone once with an unloaded gun. What was creepier was the fact that he didn't even live close to our home. He lived in the city of DC. Things got creepier after two months. He didn't come by everyday now. He came about three times a week but his visits would stay to normally up 15 minutes at a time. He slowly had begun to move off the sidewalk and into the driveway. I remember the scariest night was when he was about a foot away from our window and did nothing but stare. My mom made us hide while she called our police neighbors who scared him off. He kept repeating his behavior and didn't move as close to the window anymore except for one last time. My dad had finally come back from Iraq and apparently my mom didn't tell him about the stranger because she didn't want to cause him extra stress while he was in another country. She finally told him that day what had been happening. That day just so happened to be the day the stranger got a foot away from the window again. My dad walked out that night and promptly kicked the shit out of him. The man ran away. I saw him one last time. It was in the daylight and I had been walking home from school. The man had been following me until I reached my house. I had ran home during the time. He walked by my big window and he waved. I never saw him again. Source

Just a real short one this time guys! Setting is the same all boys' school as my previous stories.
So in 9th grade, everyone had to take a mandatory year of Physics. That meant the classes were usually pretty packed, and our teacher was actually a really chilled-out guy. This meant he couldn't really control the class, and we often got up to some pretty dumb stuff in the background.
Anyway, one day, a lot of people were missing, but there was still about 15-20 people in the class. So we decide to play a little joke on him. Unfortunately, he wasn't a particularly quirky teacher, so we couldn't do anything like we did to our old teacher.
It was then that one of the guys noticed the back room. Most Physics labs have a back room where you store all sorts of stuff, but the one in our school was largely empty. So he told all of us to quickly rush in there, leaving all our bags and one guy in the classroom, just sitting there as if being on his own, with his classmates' stuff all laid out neatly at their desks was totally normal. The plan was that he wouldn't know what the hell was going on, as if all the other students had gone invisible or something. We also agreed that we would all walk out, and sit at our desks as usual without saying a word. The very image of good, eager students.
So we all pile into the back room and close the door. There was no light switch, so a few of us used the flashes on our phones as torches.
Now here's where things get a little weird.
One guy got the idea of playing really shitty, cheap, Ibiza-style, techno music on his phone. With the really dark room, flashlights moving around everywhere, and shitty techno playing it did kind of look like the most low-budget party of all time.
That sentiment was obviously shared, because one guy started fist pumping... Then another... Then another.
Suddenly, everyone had their hands in the air, spinning their lights to the beat, shouting and laughing. It was the most phenomenally idiotic, but strangely epic sights I've ever seen. One guy even took off his T-Shirt, stood on top of a rickety desk at the front of that shitty backroom, and started waving it over his head helicopter style.
Suddenly the door opened and light flooded in. The teacher stood at the door, aghast. All he managed to say was "What is going on here?"
As per the plan, we all filed out wordlessly, one by one and sat at our desks. Brian was the last to come out, only wearing a vest. He was the guy balancing on the desk helicoptering his uniform shirt.
By now everyone has noticed Brian casually sitting at his desk with no shirt on and are hissing things at him like "Brian! What the fuck!" "Put your shirt back on, you homo!"
The teacher goes to the front, and after a time just says "I really hope that wasn't what it looked like."
It was then that we realized just how dodgy that looked. Especially when you consider Brian... Fucking Brian.
TL;DR: Physics teacher thought we had a gay orgy in the back room

New story from /r/phonelosers from /u/rbcp link is here

This is an incident that happened in 1994 while I was living in Portland, Oregon. If you’ve never lived in the Northwest, you may have never heard of a department/grocery store called Fred Meyer. Fred Meyer is a large chain of stores and you can find plenty of them in Portland. Take a Wal-Mart and a very large grocery store and add a few extra things and you’ve got a Fred Meyer. They’ve got a huge grocery section, lawn & garden, a huge hardware store built in, electronics, music, software, videos, a deli, sometimes a big built-in eating area and a lot of other things that I’m probably leaving out. All in all it’s not a bad store but that didn’t stop what I did to them. During the time this incident happened, all of the employees at Fred Meyer were on some kind of union strike so there were a bunch of temporary employees working in the stores while the strikers lounged around in front of the store, holding signs. The fact that none of the regular employees were working just added to the chaos which made it even more fun for us. We always hoped that everyone would speculate that the strikers were somehow responsible for what happened.

The Discovery…

My girlfriend, Colleen Card, and I were walking around the Fred Meyer located at the Gateway Shopping Center and eventually got separated. Since I walked all over the store and couldn’t find her (not surprising seeing as how the store is the size of a mall) I figured I’d pick up one of the paging phones that are located on posts every few isles for employees and announce all over the store for her to meet me in a certain place. I found the phone and picked it up and looked at the HUGE list of all the different departments they have to choose from and finally found the All Store Page listed at 1800. So I dial 1800 and hear a loud click throughout the store and I announce, “Colleen Card to the toy isle. Colleen Card!” While I was waiting for her, though, the Matchbox cars got really boring by myself (Justin’s dad, the kid I met and was playing with, made him go home) so I wandered back over to the phone and noticed that all the department numbers were in the exact same format as the all store paging number. Electronics was 1296, Hardware was 1693, etc, etc. So I wrote down the two phone numbers listed on the front of that phone and put them in my pocket. Colleen arrived and we went home to a supper of Burger King Whoppers. Yeah. The First Phone Call By the time we finished eating, I had this big horrific plan in my head that I was pretty sure wouldn’t work but I knew I wouldn’t rest until I tried it. So the next morning while Colleen was at school I went back to the same Gateway Fred Meyer to test out my theory. Have you figured out what I’m planning to do yet? I went to the pay phone that’s located in a foyer entrance thing and made a call to the inside of the store. “Fred Meyers customer service, may I help you?” “Yeah, this is Dave in electronics. Could you transfer me to extension 1800? I can’t get it to work…” “Okay, just a minute, please!” I hear the funky Fred Meyers hold music for a split second and then total silence. I hit the “*” button and hear it echo inside the store… So I look around the foyer and there’s a few people inside with me so I can’t really say anything loud. Instead I start playing “Help Me Rhonda” on with the touch tones and my musical masterpiece echos throughout the entire store. I couldn’t wait any longer for the people in there to leave so in a low voice I start muttering into the phone, “Fuck you alllll…You’re all going to hell. I will kill yoooooou, I am Satan…….” Now you’ll have to excuse the total lack of creativity with my first Fred Meyers speech but I couldn’t talk very loud and besides, I was excited that this actually worked! I decided to go inside and check out the reactions so I hung up. The reactions weren’t that great when I first got inside. Walking by the photo section I heard a customer exclaim to an employee, “Did you hear that crazy guy??” But the employee wasn’t too talkative so that didn’t get anywhere. When I got to the Deli, things were considerably more active there. A guy in a suit (didn’t look like a manager, but who knows…) was talking to another important looking guy (security?) and the suit was pissed! I went over to the Deli and pretended to look at the menus so I could listen and they were talking about me. I heard a few things to the effect of, “Well, Dan’s looking around for him right now.” and “If I catch the little fucker…” It turned out that they thought some kid in the store had picked up a paging phone and done it all. Then I noticed a few guys patroling the isles with 2-way radios on their belts. Typical security dudes. So I got bored and went back home, waiting for Colleen to get home. The 20 Minute Broadcast Later that evening, around 6:00 I had already told Colleen that I’d succeeded and wanted to try it again. So we picked up the phone in her room and called Fred Meyer. Again I got the service desk, asked to be transferred to extension 1800, got hold music and then dead silence. The first thing I yelled into the phone was, “DON’T SHOP FRED MEYER!” That was the big slogan in town that the employees who were on strike were using so I thought that would liven up the whole strike thing and if nothing, make the local papers. I put on my Good Morning Vietnam CD which starts out with Robin Williams yelling, “Goooooood morning, Vietnam!” and plays the clips of all his best radio stuff, including all the foul language and bad jokes. Then I played a few good clips from The Jerky Boys’s first cassette and started paging people to different departments of the store. After about twenty minutes I hung up the phone so I could call back and make sure I was really on the paging system and not just talking to myself like an idiot. So I called back. “Fred Meyers, customer service. May I help you?” “Could I have the shoe department, please?” “Hold please!” After about a minute of waiting, I finally got the shoe department. I told the lady I was Dan from security upstairs and asked her if someone was playing with her phone there on the paging system. “Oh no, sir! That wasn’t from this phone. They think it was kids in the food isle. The security guys are looking for them right now…”

The 2 Hour Broadcast

I thanked her and hung up. Now we knew we were getting through okay so I called them back and once again asked customer service to connect me to extension 1800. By this time I guess she had figured it out because she wouldn’t connect me. I called back and asked her to connect me to Lawn & Garden. When they answered, I had them connect me to 1800 with no problems. Here’s a breakdown of what our two hour broadcast consisted of: Various type of store pages including…. “Customer Service to the sexual toys isle!” “Customer Service to the anal lubrication department!” “Customer Service to Customer Service! We don’t know what we’re doing!” “Attention K-Mart shoppers! Don’t shop Fred Meyers!” “Al, clean up on isle 5. Some stupid bitch just spilled her fucking milk all over the fucking floor, the stupid cunt!” “AT&T, Please deposit 25 cents…” “I need a price check on this vibrating cream.” “Security to isle ten. A lady is testing out the douches again.” “Security to isle seven. That little boy is stealing Froot Loops…” “Security, monitor register two. BARBARA is working again.” “Hi, my name is ROY and if you find a furry watermelon, that’s my gerbil!” “Chris Tomkinson is the bestest, coolest guy in the world! Cactus?” Colleen’s Story Time Hour. She read a bunch of children’s books and changed the wording around to make them quite demented and gross. Harmonica Hour! Together on harmonica we didn’t sound that great but that didn’t stop us…that alone probably got rid of most of the shoppers. Voiced our opinions of political issues. Told very anti-religious and racist jokes. (We’re not against religion and not racist people, we were just trying our best to offend everyone.) I played my favorite songs over the store via the local radio station, KUFO. A special announcement by RBCP: “Ladies & Gentlemen, may I have your attention please…At this moment I’d like you all to direct your attention to the individual working in Lawn & Garden. She is the very person who screwed up and allowed us to take over your paging system! Not that bright of an employee if you ask me but hey, we’re dealing with Fred Meyers, right? So ma’am, if you haven’t been fired yet…Thank You!” Colleen sang “I’m a Little Teapot” while I yelled “Fuck God!”, then she started reading off phone sex ads. Then poetry. We finally hung up out of boredom. And because we lived quite a ways from the Gateway Fred Meyer so there wasn’t any way for us to go there and see how the customers were reacting to the incident. Transferring The Call Ourselves We ended up on their paging system a few other times after the 2 hour broadcast. But after getting on it so many times, they must have put out a big-time security alert or something because no department would transfer us anymore. I just had to get on it one more time, just to show them. So Colleen and I went to Gateway Fred Meyer again and here’s what we did… We find a phone in Isle 13 and write down the extension number off of it. I stay there and Colleen runs out to the pay phone. Colleen makes a call to the store and asks customer service for extension 1625, which is where I’m standing. My phone begins to ring. I pick it up, dial TRANSFER, 1800 and hang up. I run out to the pay phone and we say a few things into the phone such as “Ha, ha! We got through! Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah!” and other assorted immature things. We get kind of bored and go home. But it WORKED! Ha! A few days later we called from home and asked to be transferred to extension 1625. A stock boy picked up the phone and we told him exactly what to press and we got on again. They’ll never win. An Exclusive Interview With Security After that night it got sort of boring. I was a little upset that none of this made the papers. And not getting any press for it kind of discouraged me from doing it anymore. Once while Colleen & her dad were in the Rockwood Fred Meyer shopping, I stayed behind at a pay phone, got on the system and made a few announcements, played a few touch tone songs, etc, but their system was messed up and they couldn’t hear me very well. So one day I’m hanging around the Portland PDX airport because I have nothing better to do. One thing has led to another and I’m sitting at a pay phone, using the fingernail clippers that I stole from the gift shop to splice open the wires to the pay phone. (The wires were just shoved up under the pay phone wall and easy to get to. I had access to three different phones, including my own.) I didn’t mean to, but instead of just stripping the outer cover off the wires, I cut it totally in half. I quickly learned which phone it was when the Japanese girl next to me looked distressed, started yelling something urgent in the phone, then hung up and went to find another phone. Whoops? So I finally get my pay phone line and the phone line next to me bridged together. I called my partner in crime, Zak, to explain to him what I’d done. Then I patched in the dial tone from the other pay phone and called Fred Meyer in Beaverton. We had no problem getting into their all store paging. We messed around for awhile on their system and got bored with it so Zak uses HIS three-way calling to call up the Gateway Fred Meyer. We asked the customer service lady for security. “Security, may I help you?” “Yes, this is Roy from the Orgonian Newspaper. I was calling in regards to your problems that I’ve been hearing about with your paging system?” “Well, sir, that’s a problem that has been taken care of. Is what was happening is some kids were dialing in from the outside…” Blah blah blah, he rattled on for awhile. After he babbled on for awhile and I asked him some more questions, I asked, “Sir, are you aware that you’re participating in a four-way phone call and right now as we speak, our voices are echoing throughout the bowels of Fred Meyer in Beaverton? Now, you say that you’re security for Gateway Fred Meyer, correct?” The line was totally silent after that, then it clicks and he’s hung up, probably frantically calling the Beaverton store to find out if it’s true. I then made an announcement, “Yes, shoppers of Fred Meyer, this is the kind of intelligent people that you’re dealing with every day, shopping here!” We hung up and Zak called the Beaverton Fred’s back to ask the lady if we were really on the system. She verified that we were so we asked to be transferred to extension 1800 again and she told us to please hold. “Security, may I help you?” “No, she must have misunderstood us. We didn’t want security, we wanted extension 1800 so we can frollic around your paging system freely!” “Well, sir, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Weeks later, another incident with security happened when I was hanging out at the Clackamas Town Center mall (The very mall that Tonya Harding used to skate in, by the way! Boy, do I feel important!) and I decided to call up Gateway Fred Meyer security. I ended up having a long conversation with the security lady. I told her I was the one responsible and she said, “I know, I have the same number on my Caller I.D. here.” which was a lie because I’d never called Fred’s from that mall. “Well, ma’am, did you think what I did was funny?” “No, not at all, actually.” “I bet you smiled, though…” “Well, yeah, until you started getting vulgar. You really upset quite a few shoppers here.” “That was my plan, though.” “Why?” “Because I have no life.”

The End

So when I left you off, Mr. Stephens had come into the room, and he was almost brought to tears by the fate of his beloved chair.
He continued the class with great difficulty, and not after delivering a stern, heartfelt lecture to the class. However as he left, he picked up the pieces of the chair and walked out of the room with them in his arms. It was a school chair, so he could easily have just requested the old one to be taken away, and requested a new one; the chair was really old anyway. And indeed, that's what we thought he did...
The next day, Mr. Stephens walked the halls with a spring in his step. He walked into the class, wheeling in the new chair...
Except it wasn't new at all. It was his dearly beloved chair, with the same blue-faded cushion. During the class the day before, he resolved to take the chair to get it fixed, and re-inforced with steel. That chair was now impossible to break. Even in my final year at that school some years later, the chair was still there in Mr Stephen's classroom. Anyway, dear reader, I ramble.
Over the next few days, we kept messing with Mr Stephens. Sitting in his chair when he came into the classroom, inciting rage, and other childish pranks. Until one lunchtime in the classroom, a friend of mine came up with a brilliant idea. He decided to set up an obstacle course in the classroom, the prize for finishing would be his chair. I sincerely wish that we had the time to set up a full blown obstacle course, but we only had at best 5 minutes before Mr Stephens came into the classroom. So we did the best that we could... We put the chair in the corner, and piled up our chairs around it, blocking any access to it, but still visible through the legs of the chairs.
Mr Stephens came into the classroom as usual. Stepped inside, did his usual pause, looked around, and saw all of us standing trying to look non-chalant. He gave a confused look, which then intensified as he saw that his chair was missing. He said quietly, almost to himself "Where's my chair..." his eyes moving across the room until his eyes landed on the corner where the chair was.
I have never, before or since, seen rage the likes of which I saw that day. I don't even know why he was so enraged, we didn't damage is chair in any way. He flew into anger, shouting at us "Whose idea was this!? Whose idea was this!?" as we wordlessly hurried to free his beloved from her bondage.
After he had his chair, and had a few minutes, he managed to calm down enough to give us a lecture on not touching other people's things (despite the fact that the chair wasn't really his, it was the school's).
He was an odd teacher all-round, and I don't really know what happened to his chair since then. I heard he doesn't teach at that school anymore. I like to think he snuck off with the chair the night he left, and they're enjoying their time together on a beach in the Bahamas...
That concludes the story of Mr. Stephens and his chair! Hope you all enjoyed it!

Hi all! My first real post on reddit!

So I went to an American curriculum highschool where girls and boys were kept separate and the culture there was crazy. It was a chilled out place where you could get away with almost anything if you had a winning smile and good relations with the teachers. Inevitably, most students got up to some crazy mischief, especially when it came to Senior Prank Day.

No one knows when it will happen, only that it will. Teachers know about it too of course, but are almost helpless to stop it. In some cases, they even looked forward to it as much as the students, conspiratorially sharing predictions and past stories with us as an intuitive anticipation seemed to grow throughout the student body. Then the fated day arrived, and no-one but the seniors knew about it.

I was attending my 7th grade American History class in the middle of a major test. It was deadly silent and the normally hyperactive girls were so concentrated and tense that you could hear us breathing (or wheezing, like I said, the tension was intense) and the occasional hum of the air conditioning. The reason we were finding the test so difficult was because there were no Americans in my class in a manner of speaking. Sure, a halfie here and there and the occasional passport holder, but they hadn't lived there recently, meaning that there was little actual interest in the class and even less fundamental knowledge about the presidents of a country in a distant continent. But we all wanted to make the grade which meant we were willing to fry a few thousand brain cells to know our Wilsons from our Washingtons and our Boston Tea Parties from our Red Coats. Plus, we had a hard ass teacher, so we couldn't even try cheating. Therefore, we had to actually try thinking for ourselves, or else have a quiet meltdown in the corner as at least 3 girls were in the process of undertaking with much wringing of hair and nibbling of nail polish. Again, the utter silence of such a large group of adolescent girls was completely unnatural and unsettling.

Until it was suddenly broken by a piercing and truly bloodcurdling scream by the girl at the table next to mine, lets call her 'Black Hair'. Out of sheer fright, several other girls joined in a rather impressive chorus, F sharp I think, while the rest of us experienced minor vertigo as we started to freefall back into our seats.I was in the middle of a dramatic and completely realistic retelling of Wilson's (in)famous round of fisticuffs featuring his handy cane until I was interrupted thusly. Like most of the class, I turned to Black Hair in extreme annoyance, expecting it to have been a bad joke (it was very possible, crazy culture remember?). What were weren't expecting was the look of clammy horror on her face, her wide-eyed gaze fixated on the ground around my feet. When I saw where she was gaping I was immediately unsettled.

"Black Hair, what's the matter?" our teacher managed after she had finished thumping her chest in some crude form of resuscitation. Black Hair pulled a shaky hand from her face to point in my direction. "The paper on the ground moved!" All eyes snapped to the front of the classroom at the sizeable mound of artsy coloured crepe paper right between my ankle and the wall. Being an athletic tomboy at the time, I let out an altogether embarrassing squeak and practically teleported to the top of my chair, with an arm curled up to my chest and knee pulled high in the classic pose of girlish self defense. No one even laughed, we all just stared at the paper in terse silence and vague horror, as if it was going to wake up, pull out a little weenie and urinate all over our semester poster projects right next to it. Unfortunately, that's exactly what happened. Psyche. No matter how long we stared, it opted to remain motionless.

"I swear to God, it moved!" Black Hair defended as we all tutted, muttering under our breath to turn back to our tests, or go back to sleeping/melting down. After the teacher tried soothing her with mentions of stress and the early morning hours we went back to uneasy silence. I had also sat back down with as much dignity as I could muster, smiling back at the good-natured smirks and giggles as I subtly pulled my right knee to my chin, effectively keeping my foot as far away from the paper as I could.

Not even five minutes later, Black Hair shrieked again and stood abruptly, chair tipping over behind her as she backed into Pale Skin's lap behind her. " There! It moved again!" She clutched onto Pale Skin while jabbing a finger towards my vacated chair. Before she had even reached her second octave I had already skipped over the chair and went straight to the top of the table, relishing in the extra height it afforded. She was right! The paper was rustling and shivering, and so were the girls as they slowly stood up and backed into protective huddles.

Suddenly, out popped a tentative little whiskered nose, followed shortly by the rest of the adorable white mouse. We all stared at it in shocked silence, the only one breathing was the mouse itself. Before the mouse could explain itself, chaos erupted. Shrieks and cries of all volumes, keys and tones resounded and the girls abandoned all pretense of civility, scrambling over each other to clamber on top of the chairs, tables and cupboards lining the windows as far from the mouse as they could. The poor little thing was overwhelmed and fled to the teacher's desk which was promptly abandoned as the teacher plopped herself on the cupboard, shoving off two students in the process.

Myself and a couple other girls soon found themselves collapsing into gales of laughter at the comic scene and I soon went about the task of capturing the obviously tame mouse. Armed with a box lid and poster, myself and another girl, Tall Strong set about cornering it. I talked to it as I would any frightened animal, "C'mere sweetie~ I'm not gonna hurt ya. Eat you maybe, but it'll be painless~" ...Well, i always heard that it was the tone that mattered more than the words anyway. I slowly inched closer to the frozen mouse as me and Tall Strong cornered it with a box and the lid. I quickly grabbed it's tail, but at the same time it had also gone for the skin between my thumb and finger. With a pained cry, I leapt to my feet, hand and mouse swinging wildly, prompting another round of screaming and scattering as girls hopped around mindlessly or watching me in horror. I hurled my hand towards the open box Tall Strong was holding out for me some distance away. To this day, I always remember what happened next in slow motion. The momentum tore the little guy off of my hand to somersault through the air, all eyes following the arc of it's progress as it was then skillfully (and harmlessly!) basketed by Tall Strong.

No sooner had the applause died away than we heard a very familiar sound echoing down the hall. Another class of girls were screaming in terror shortly followed by yet another classroom. Doors banged open and there was a pattering and clattering of feet as girls stampeded out of classes wailing, screeching, crying, it was all there.

Long story short, the mice were all successfully captured, but that didn't stop us thinking twice before sitting next to piles of paper, opening lockers or peering into mysterious boxes. The student involved was victoriously suspended and best of all, no one ended up failing the history test.

Backstory=My grandma is in her ATLEAST late 80s. Her husband died, and she lives in the same house she has been in for a while. Its in a VERY bad neighborhood by the AT&T Center where the spurs play. Its extremely creepy, all the furniture is way outdated, and she has a army of creepy dolls including Annabelle.

Anyways, there was a family reunion and I was forced to sleep with my mother. She couldnt sleep and I have occasional insomnia, So we talked and talked until LATE. Then, we see a head pop in the door way, and move away EXTREMELY quick. Now , my grandma is old and couldn't nearly have walked that fast, without making noise.She is in good shape but usually uses a walker, and the house, as I said is old, and makes alot of noise. No noise whatsoever. My mom, who is not easily scared sees it too and dials 911, but doesnt call it. We debate on calling or not calling. We finally decide not to dial, and nothing happened.

Le End