Eventually hurt feelings and wrongdoings were forgotten and the bullies backed off. It got to be so that we merely narrowed our eyes when we ran into each other in the neighbourhood. I was all right with the situation; I’ve got a pretty good scowl.
However, eventually hurt feelings and wrongdoings were remembered and I decided that I had to exact my revenge. I remember the summer it happened. Dorian just got his first car – it was a piece of shit, but he thought it was the shit. It was an older Chevy Cavalier (considering this story takes place in 1993, it was a very old Cavalier), yet he was always outside, diligently, washing, waxing and ogling his car.
Ironically enough, my first real car was also an older model Chevy Cavalier, so I know how much of a piece they are. I, however, never tricked myself into thinking it was anything but that.
Being in (very early) high school at the time, me & K decided the best way to knock him down a peg would be to attack his car. I wish we meant figuratively. We did a lot of things to his car just on the legal side of vandalism.
However, TP-ing and egging quickly proved to be an inadequate method of expressing ourselves. We had to do something that was not only an inconvenience, but also nasty as hell. We also wanted to walk by the next day and watch him clean it up.
One night, we started emptying the contents of my fridge into a juice jug: ketchup, horse radish, salad dressing, syrup; you name it, it was in there. It was disgusting.
We started out strong, but by the time the concoction was prepared, the noxious fumes had gotten the better of us.
We went outside to throw the mixture on his car, not only as punishment, but also to get out of the god forsaken house. The cloud of grossness had certainly engulfed the house by that point.
Even after two wrongs made a right, the fumes would be too much and we would be left sitting out on my front porch, while every window and door was open to (hopefully) air out the house. It was the concoction’s way of punishing us for creating it.
We’d often have to spend the better part of the night on the stoop before the house was aired out enough to go back in and sleep in it. By the time we got out of bed the following morning, the mess was long cleaned up and we didn’t get the satisfaction of watching Dorian suffer.
Dorian, however, got the satisfaction of watching us suffer through our Horse Radish Hangover, although he probably didn’t know what caused us to be under the weather. On the other hand, he probably did.
The concoction was a double-edged sword.