Bethanyisms (Stranger From the Past... part 3)

You thought I forgot to finish my story, didn’t you? Ha! Not so! I was just building some literary suspense. So much, in fact, that you’re probably baffled as to which story I am referring.

Yup, I’m that good.

Go refresh your memory here and here. Then, pour yourself a glass of Dr. Pepper and meet me back here in a couple minutes. I’ll be waiting…


So… yeah… freeze outs. My girls and I had just YMCA’d ourselves silly at the Stake Dance and had to stop at the pump to re-gas before truckin’ it home for the night. Don’t you worry now; we hadn’t started the freeze out yet. We were young women of scruples, remember.

A truck full of guys pulled in at the pump beside us. They were strangers. They were cute. We made googly-eyes at them and they at us. Two of the guys went inside the 7eleven to get Slurpies while their buddy, we’ll call him Chet, stayed outside to flirt with us through our unrolled window. Our tank full and our curfews impending, we blew the handsome chap a farewell kiss and pulled out of the gas station.

I’m not sure who had the idea—certainly not me… no, certainly not—but someone proposed that we begin our freeze out immediately. We were far enough from the gas station that no one could see into our car, but close enough that the boys would know we were up to some mischief. We pulled off our shirts and waved them out the windows like hankies—giggling like crazy, knowing that the guys would NEVER be able to catch up with us.

I learned an important lesson that night… about teenage boys. In one fluid movement, Chet knocked the gas-hose from his car, popped his keys in the ignition and, VRRRROOOOOOMMMM, skidded onto the main road.

We shrieked with terror and delight as Chet gained on us. “Faster, faster!!!” we coaxed our driver, but her car was no match for the willpower of a warm-blooded 16-year-old male. He veered into the lane beside us and rolled down his window—both cars traveling at an unpardonable speed.

“Wooooh!” He yelled, leaning his head out of the driver’s window and revealing that he had somehow, while racing to catch up with us, also removed his shirt.

“Ahhhh!” we replied.

Next thing we knew, Chet had pulled off his trousers as was swinging them out his car window like he was fixin’ to lasso himself some dinner. “Woooooohweeee!” he hollered. I still don’t understand how his was able to do this while keeping his foot on the gas and eye on the road… but it is what it is.

Now, us girls, we continued shrieking and wailing as though our innocence was being vacuumed from us in the most deplorable manner (though, admittedly, this was the most interesting and exhilarating thing that had happened to us in quite some time). We did our best at covering ourselves and made a quick-thinking turn onto the highway, thereby losing Chet, in all his pantless glory, forever.

“This is not a story to tell our parents,” I said as we made our way down C-470, our heartbeats beginning to settle. “Not ever.” And everyone agreed.




…but back to the service line at Gandolfos, nearly five years later.

“Don’t I know you?” the handsome, scruffy customer asked.

Hmmm. “I… don’t… think so?”

“No, I swear. You look very familiar to me. Do you go to UVSC?”

The line of customers behind him began to grumble. My boss gave me the move-it-along-woman look so I gestured to the next customer. “Welcome to Gandolfo’s. What can I do for…”

“Now I remember!” the scruffy customer gave his finger a satisfied snap. “You’re that girl! You know, the one without a shirt!”

I felt the blood drain from my face because I knew exactly what he was talking about. He was Chet. All of the thirty customers in line fell silent and gaped at me.

“Bethany?” my boss asked, a concerned furl to his brow. As long as he’d known me, I had always seemed so innocent, so virtuous. How on earth was I going to explain myself out of this one?

Especially after what I said next...

“Oooooh yeah!” I accused Chet loudly. “Well you didn’t have any pants!!!!”