Intimidation, Sec. 423 (1)(e)

I have heard some of the dumbest things of my life come from mouths of my friend group, myself included. We seem to be a free gumball-machine of idiotic ideas, that breaks open once there is more than two of us together. The proposition and resultant events told below are no exceptions to this trend. The neat thing about dumb ideas though, is that they have a really great return rate for fantastic stories.  When faced with a moronic opportunity, it's dangerous how much the potential for a great story can tip the scales.  That's why when James suggested one night that we follow other cars on the road for as long as we could, it was hard to see anything but laughs as a payoff.

Have you ever been driving in front of another car and just as you are about to take a turn, the car behind you turns his signal on too? And then he's with you for another turn? And another? You think, "is this guy following me?", and just as it's about to get suspicious, he pulls into a driveway and it's over. Or what about the other way around? You are behind a car and happen to be going where they happen to be going, it seems, at least for a few turns. Then the invasive thought comes: "what would happen if I followed this car all the way to their destination?" This line of thinking seemed to be the origin for James's proposed entertainment one evening. The four of us who heard the idea took little convincing to give it a shot.

Five of us loaded into James's minivan at around 8:30pm on a week night. We left from another friend's house and got onto a main road to find our first "leader". An innocent black sedan. We followed him for six or seven turns until we ended up at his house, where he simply got out of his car and went inside. We realized we weren't noticed. The third attempt would rectify this, because as for our second attempt, all we did was repeatedly turn our blinker on falsely before continuing to follow the driver. We were successful on our sequential attempts because we honked at the victims early in the tailing. I want to remind you, this was incredibly stupid.

There were three successful tailings. The first was the least climatic as once we realized the leader knew we were following him, he performed some quick turns in an unfamiliar neighbourhood and lost us -- good on him. The second and third were stressful events. In the second, the driver sped up to 80km/hr on a city street attempting to evade us. We matched his speed and actually ended up in the next township. He turned onto a side road and performed a U-turn, doubling back on us. As you might imagine, there was much debate happening in the van at this moment. What do we do? James's heart was pumping. "Just wait." His window was down as he yelled at us, but we left ours up. Silence in our car. He stopped to see if we would leave. "Shit, man." We followed him as he got back on the main road, before deciding to let him go. Phew.

Now the third -- incredible. After less than a minute of recognizing the tail, the driver came to a dead stop on a major street -- so we did too. "Whoa." He reversed quickly. "Reverse! Go go go!" We matched him. The road was quiet at this time of night. He came to a stop once more, and exited the vehicle. "Jesus!" someone said in the car. He was screaming at us. There was nervous laughter from all of us. We did nothing. He sped off and we followed once more. He entered a plaza parking lot and actually got behind us. This was very smart, as we were already tense, and now we were actually being followed. So we fled. "Fuck this." He left us be after only a couple turns, and that was the night. "Yeah, we're not doing that again." Good idea. It was ridiculous. A creative way to entertain ourselves, but in all the wrong ways.

I have since learned that what we did that night is called Intimidation, and it is illegal -- to no one's surprise.

You're welcome (and sorry),

B.F. Greenough, aka,
Chief Hanky,  The Dumb Driver

The Cushion Competition

Like most people, I appreciate a challenge. In fact, for me, I sometimes only step up when I'm challenged on something. And sometimes, because of being challenged, I take it too far. During the summer of 2013, four of my friends on the swim team and myself challenged each other to a weight gaining competition during the two month training hiatus of July and August. We wanted the challenge to be fair so we weighed in after the last swim practice and weren't allowed to weigh ourselves again until September.  Not only that, but the calculations were based off percent gained not gross poundage.  We didn't see each other as much during the summer months at that time so we also relied on the honour system to see the competition through.

I started in at 142.6 lbs.  I was 16 at the time, so this weight was pretty average for my height, build, and exercise level. But from there it got fun. Looking back, it is only with the freedoms of youth that I was able to do what I did for the next two months.  Two of my fellow competitors chose the strategy of weight lifting and bulking to achieve their heaviest self.  The rest of us chose the dangerous but tantalizing route of lethargy. Much like the routine I imagine a method actor would use to prepare for a particularly obese role, I employed the tactics of purposely avoiding activity, and consuming considerable amounts of pie. I remember it as quite heavenly.

Sadly, I did not document the competition closely, so I am relying only on my memory and a couple scarce posts in our still-standing Facebook group. What I do remember, and want to point out is that it was not easy. For example, at a typical, pleasant family-and-guests weekend dinner at our cottage, when dessert was served, I made it clear I had my eyes on the prize. I would get seconds or thirds of strawberry rhubarb crisp and ice-cream before passing out on the couch from what I can only imagine was digestive exhaustion. I would watch my progress in the mirror, barred from the scale, and notice little change on a daily bases. This was to my downfall — or advantage, I guess — as much like a increasingly heavy dose of "medication", it takes some time for the impact to reveal itself. So I would go back to the kitchen and consume, baby, consume.

By the time we were supposed to get back in the water that fall, a couple of my friends must have disregarded the competition, because they appeared unchanged. Turning to me, on the other hand, you were looking at a plump boy. I specifically remember at the first practice of the season, I walked onto the pool deck in my newly tight fitting jammer bathing suit and was welcomed by my new coach, as he learnt about the challenge, with disbelief, disgust, and the words "Get in the water, you are fat." Hahaha.. Good times.

I won. I moved from 142.6 to 154.8. Twelve point two pounds. In hindsight, perhaps not that impressive, but as I proudly put it then...



(For reference, as of today I only managed 152.4 lbs.)

You're welcome,

B.F. Greenough, aka,
Chief Hanky,  One Padded Lad

Facebook Poke to Facebook Burn

I would like to think that, if I focus on it, I can be quite proficient in the spelling and grammar used in my writing.  I don't think people like grammar nazis that much.  If they do, they gave them a twisted title of endearment.  When it comes down to it, I might be a bit of a grammar nazi, even if it's just in my own head. I recently remembered a traumatic experience that may have set me on my path as a strict language critic.

Like many of my blog-worthy stories, romance returns as a driving factor. Let me set the scene:
Grade 9. Climbing the hill to manhood. Ready for some real romance. Enough hugging and hand holding. Grade 10 girl thinks I'm cute? I'll poke her. On facebook. Like a real man... Right? That's all I really had -- Erica took it from there. She messaged me saying that I had to take her on a date. I was all hers at that point. An older woman with confidence and experience was all I needed to make foolish decisions.  It turns out that "experience" was with my friend just days after our first date.  It was too late, I was already foolish.  We stayed together for a couple months at that time, she taught me a lot.  High school was going to be a complicated place.  When she broke it off with me she was pretty straight forward about it.  I appreciated that.  Still, I was a little heart-fractured.  Where did I turn?  Where it all started.  Facebook.
One dramatic expression to encompass my feelings. One post. One word:
"Dam."


Dam?

A couple hours later, I had a message in the chatroom.  Erica.  Returning for my affection after seeing what she'd done to me no doubt.

"It's spelt 'damn'."

I deleted the post.  I have never misspelt the word since. Probably.

You're welcome,

B.F. Greenough, aka,
Chief Hanky,  The Dang Dumpee

Exactly 100 Percent Crazy

Some people partially crack when they are out from the pressures of their parents, there's no doubt about it.  It's not that something breaks, but more that something that was always there surfaces when the ideals of their parents and home life goes suddenly absent.  The first year of university is a doozy and a friend of mine was recently on the receiving end of the madness it sometimes brings.  He had effectively survived the barrage that is year one and was into his second, but the young woman who stars in this tale was just getting started.

Bert (my friend) and the girl (lets call her Bradley) met at a house party near campus in September.  They apparently had a fun evening chatting and connecting over common ground of being from the same town.  I think when you are new to the environment you feel a strong presence of the hierarchy of years, whether it exists or not.  Much like high school, this hierarchy is most strongly facilitated by the second years or grade tens, who think they are so much better than first years, but once you get to the upper years you don't really care who is around or how old anyone is.  Bradley fell strongly for Bert in only the one casual evening they had together. I think the seeming authority of sophomore to freshman played a role in how she felt, as I hope you will see.  The evening did not become physical but they did exchange numbers and held the hope of hanging out in the near future.

Bert was excited at the prospect of this flirty first year as well.  It was not just one way.  He had heard of her back in Barrie before their meeting and was certainly curious, but Bert is Bert.  In his Bert nature, during their scattered communication, he also became increasingly friendly with a would-be fling from the summer just past.  There was still time for Bradley -- she lived right there on campus after all.  The two met a few times during September and October.  Bert assures me they did not hook up but instead just chatted. He sometimes helped her with her chemistry homework.  That was all.  Things stopped with Bradley when Bert texted her saying things had gotten serious with Summer girl and he wouldn't see her anymore.

Of course things did not truly stop with Bradley though, or we wouldn't have a story.  She seemed alright with the news at first, but not long after she texted Bert asking if he wanted to come over for homework again — no funny business.  Bert ignored this because he is a smart man with girlfriend.  Bradley followed up with “Never mind”, then “I’m going out tonight.”  Bert didn’t think too much of it beyond being a little odd after closing the door on their solely flirtatious relationship.

Not too long later, from Bradley, a couple more random texts: “Do you have my glasses?” Of course he didn’t. Did she even have glasses? Then “I just aced my midterm!” Good for you, but still Bert ignored her.  The big pitch that put her in a new realm deemed “Crazy” was also early on.  She had some reason to believe she still had a chance with Bert but it was squashed by reality. She said something along the lines:

“I was going to have sex with you.”

“You missed your chance.”

“Don’t try getting with me again.”  

Bert still gave no response and by this time he was telling his friends about it.  One on particular night while Bert was with Summer, his phone buzzed a rapid eight times in a row.  Although he had explained the circumstance to Summer, she still was no less bothered by this obsessive younger girl.  

Over the next six months, Bradley would reach ONE HUNDRED CONSECUTIVE TEXTS to Bert with no response.  She went through the entire spectrum, ranging from "Come over and fuck me" to "Never text me again" but they were usually closer to the former.  Mostly it was long periods of silence with bursts of messages related to her mood or random statements about her life.  She even generously sprinkled photos throughout. It became quite the topic amongst close friends;  we would frequently ask for the updated count and Bert would share the most recent outburst.

Come the spring, Bert’s relationship with Summer has run its course and ended bittersweet.  It was around the time of exams at this point.  Almost summer once more. And remember, Bert is Bert.  He was looking for prospects.  Among the finalists, no one looked as promising as multiple sexy pictures and constant attachment, plus there was still that initial curiosity.  When the mandatory Summer grieving period was over (two weeks), Bert finally texted Bradley back.

From mid-April to mid-August, Bert and Bradley maintained a vigorous, strictly sexual relationship.  For if you dig yourself a hundred texts deep, you don’t stand in much of a position to negotiate: you’re either interested or you’re not.  I’m not saying I condone this perspective but it’s the one Bert held.  The poor girl was consenting her own deprecation.  She would text late at night: “Come pick me up and we can do it quickly in your truck” and the like.  Bert wouldn’t let her call him babe.  They didn't meet each-other’s parents.  Who knows what she wanted but that is what she got.  It was unhealthy.  Bert knew it.  He heard it from his friends, and from his head— I mean brain.  He had to cut it off one day after a final roll in the hay, but we can all guess how Bradley took it; the most famous of her responses at this point:  “Come over one more time. I won’t even talk.”  

When their communication was truly over and the dust had settled what did we learn from the situation?  I honestly don’t know.  I learnt that men can sometimes hold equal power over women that they certainly hold over us.  I learnt that girls can be truly insane (and likely are).  Bert learnt that he had a lot of sex.  He learnt he had a good story.  Sadly, Bradley learnt that if you harass someone in a form that reaches a least three digits, you can get what you want.  I guess she learnt patience and hopefully something about her damaged soul.  I don’t know why she saw Bert the way she did.  He’s a great guy, but I really want to learn more about her perspective.  Was it because he is older?  Or had she just passed the line and had nothing to lose at some point?  Maybe she was just massively immature and troubled.

Wear protection out there.

You’re welcome,

B.F. Greenough, aka,

Chief Hanky,  Persistent Pooch (witness)

Appendix - Verbatim

Of the 100:

"My dog has cancer :((("

During the Summer:

"Today I decided to ride my bike and I got hit by a car like 20 feet from my house on the rare chance i was pregnant I’m definitely not now so theres a positive lol"

"My parents are gone for the night, come fuck me for 1 final and last time?"

$2.92 Per Hour

Three years ago, in the summer of 2014, I was deeply infatuated.  Infatuation is a dangerous affliction as it can lead to some irrational and unadvisable decisions.  The source of my bewitchment was a woman.  Let's call her Charlotte.  I viewed her for the longest time with only futile idolization.  Like a boy views his female camp counsellor or swim instructor.  It was a "if only I was older" situation.  That was, until she showed reciprocating behaviour.  I heard she was jealous of the girl I was with at the time. I tried my best to use this information to my advantage, but like I said -- unadvisable decisions followed.  What I should have done was kept my cool, felt out the situation, and proceeded with caution.  But like a well trained dog, I came running at the slightest whistle, leaving a nice girl in my tracks and dust.  That is what infatuation does.  You do not expect your camp counsellor to return years later and take your hand, but if they do, you drop everything and let them lead the way.  It is not what you should do, but you will.

Believe it or not, this story is not about Charlotte.  This story is about Thomas and myself.  Thomas is the genius mentioned in two stories prior.  You see, at this time, my friend Thomas was extremely unemployed and as a result, extremely desperate for money.

It was a Friday evening I believe.  I was going to a party, and Thomas was going to a party.  They were two separate parties but we were together before hand.  I looked Thomas in the eyes and I told him who was at this party and why I was going.  I said "Thomas, I have work in the morning and I will not get enough sleep tonight.  Charlotte is at the party and I know I will stay too late."  That is the irrational bit coming through.  But I knew Thomas.  I knew his situation, and his desperation.  "If I text you at midnight, and give the word, can you leave your party early, get some sleep and drive me in the morning?"  Of course he would -- for the right price... and because he's a good friend.  He understood the curse I was under.

So I arrived, and I'd guess it was around 10:00pm.  Thomas was at his party and Charlotte was there at mine.  Gorgeous.  It was my time.  Foolishly obvious in my admiration, I was practically drooling from the get-go.  Charlotte was one of my only contacts at this party and that didn't make my situation easier.  There was no backup plan, so I talked with her.  When she left I would find someone random to pass enough time until I could speak to her again.  Idiot.  It was midnight and from an outsider's perspective, it was time to pack my bags and go home.  But from my eyes, it was still Charlotte.  It was the impossible in front of me, so I sent Thomas the word.  I'd pay him to drive me to work in the morning.  Two more amazing hours with Charlotte.  She talked and I stared.  She laughed and I dreamed.  2:00 am came and it was time to go home.  She was still there, but my sleep was less than three hours now.  Few battles are won in a night.

Thomas was at my house asleep.  I slumped in bed for the remaining time until our alarm.  Exhausted,  and with nothing to show for my time, I was stupidly still optimistic.  We awoke at 4:45, and got in my car.  Thomas drove so I could sleep in the passenger seat.  Why was I sleeping on my way to work?  Because the drive was over two hours long, to a small town in the North.  Thomas was a champ.

I worked like a zombie in the air conditioned produce section of the grocery store and checked on him after three hours of being in the parking lot.  There he was, reading and waiting.  It was hot on the tarmac.  At lunch I returned to him naked and sweating as the high sun had heated my van to frying temperatures.  He told me he was going to go swim in the pond across the street.  When I was done my shift, his hair was wet and his underwear was hanging in the back. He said it was great.

In the end, that man waited eight and a half hours for me to work a minimum wage shift in a grocery store.  He drove me home, completing a twelve hour favour, and happily took his $35.  You are a legend, I am a sucker, and we are both fools.

I ended up with Charlotte because of my blind love and dedication?  No.  Despite my pursuit, which holds many other stories, all reciprocation fizzled quickly.  Fixation pushes people away like a fanatic screaming on the street corner.

As always, you're welcome,

B.F. Greenough, aka,

Chief Hanky, The Reckless Romantic

School Runnings

It’s been a while since I wrote a blog post but I was recently reminded of a story from a couple years ago.  My friend Nick paid me a visit and told me about the time he and James went exploring in our high school after hours.

They were out for a late night bike cruise when they decided to go see if they could get on top of our high school, to take some pictures.  After leaving the bikes at the back of the school, a quick fence climb and small jump seemed to be all it took to get onto the lower rooftop.  

They climbed the various ladders and pathways to get to the side of the school that overlooked the downtown Barrie night scape.  They stood on the edge of the rooftop and watched the cars drive by.  They looked down at all the parking lots to see that they were empty before exploring the rest of the rooftops.  For a seemingly simple layout of hallways on the inside —a double-decker square with a courtyard in the middle — the rooftops were multileveled and complex. 

At one corner of the school, there was a railing wrapped around a large trapdoor.  And because the roof was mostly unexciting in itself, this door warranted further investigation.  It was a thick slab of metal with a slender handle to one side.  There was a limb of the handle made to hold a padlock but the slot was empty.  Now that was interesting.  Very promising for Nick and James.  At first it seemed it didn’t have a padlock because the handle was so stiff to move anyways.  The boys wondered if it had been welded shut, but a couple hard pulls and kicks turned this night from a bird’s eye photoshoot of downtown, to a real crouch in the dark adventure.

The two boys stood above the ladder that descended between them into the pitch-black beneath.  Nick held the flashlight and James went down first.  Once they were both at the bottom it was very tight with vents and perhaps a water heater.  They had to duck and move things out of the way before finding the wall and the light switch in the cramped storage closet.  A door was next.  Unlocked, they both knew, as they were on the inside.  But it seemed very possible that there were nighttime custodial staff roaming the halls.  “Just a crack first” James reassured Nick.  They peered out to see the familiar math hall, lit only by glowing exit signs and one ceiling light at the far end. With necessary hesitation, the boys moved into the hallway and looked around.  More fluorescent ceiling bulbs lit up the perpendicular hallways but they too were empty.  The two decided to go downstairs.  They came upon a set of doors that led to the most popular cross-road at the school but it was very bright and discouraged their movement.  “I want to get a picture of the office” James said.  So they went the other way and found themselves at another set of doors.  Through the windows they could see the lobby of the school, front offices included, well lit but vacant.  “I’m staying here” said Nick.  “I’m just getting one picture” said James.  So he cracked the door open, scurried along, pulled out his phone, snapped one picture of the “Main Office” at 12:37am. At the exact same moment he captured the photo: BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP a quick repeating alarm started its warning.  James pocketed his phone and was back at the door in a flash, only to see Nick already mounting the stairs at the other end of the hall.  Nick was leaving a man behind. 

Up a flight of stairs, into the storage closet, squeeze behind the vents, hurry up the ladder, slam down the hatch, yank the handle closed, jump to the lower roof, slide down one more ladder, jump to the fence, scale back down it, bolt to the road bikes, and ride out like nothing happened.  Nick figured from “BEEP” to street, their escape took less than 100 seconds.  They lingered out of range to see if any police came in the coming minutes, but none did.

Because they didn’t get caught, it wasn’t a crime, it was just a hell of a way to start a summer. 

You’re welcome,

B.F. Greenough, aka,

Chief Hanky, The Summer Sleuth

He Gets It Now: Physics

My family has a cottage that we love to go to every summer. It’s two hours north of where we live and rests on a quite developed lake but it is still a beautiful area.  The best part of owning a cottage is being able to share the picturesque landscape and potential for activities with friends and family.  One week I had a couple of friends up, and it was a great time as usual, except of one thing.  But first I’ll have to explain.

This particular visit was especially fun for the three of us — Thomas, Ken, and myself — because we had been lent the use of a Sea-Doo.  The Sea-Doo is faster than boats by a long shot and I think it is technically a two-seater but we always rode it as three.  We rode it on both days to the more recently developed part of the lake because the cottages over there were extremely grand and exuded their wealth.  A few of them had water equipment by the shore in front of their properties. Thanks to it being in the middle of the week, many cottagers were not up at the lake, so what we decided to do was drop two of us at the equipment to play while the other had a turn to drive the Sea-Doo solo, which is much more fun.  We did this a few times, and mostly at a certain cottage that was far from any neighbours.  This cottage had a large water trampoline twenty meters from shore so it was a perfect place for our shenanigans. 

On the second day, at the one cottage we had been most fond of, using their trampoline repeatedly with the persistent worry of getting caught, we decided to head out.  Riding back to the cottage, we decided to let Thomas drive.  Now, Thomas had driven in the few previous days, so he was aware of the power, I think.  The Sea-Doo can get up to a top speed of about 90 km/h with three riders, going straight.  Thomas was driving us at a straight shot to my cottage at a speed of 50 km/h, being reserved.  If I remember correctly, I was in the middle and Ken was holding the strap at the back.  And that is when our temporary pilot, our captain for this ride, decided to turn sharply right.  Or it would have been a sharp turn to the right had the laws of physics not interrupted us…  All three bodies on the watercraft were ejected from the straddle seat and were carried on our original trajectory at original speed.  We bounced on the surface of the water only once before we bashed and halted.  Our lifejackets held us afloat after impact as we moaned some five meters part from one another, and they had also saved our torsos from much of the force we hit the water with.  I wanted to stay curled up but I quickly realized my glasses were off and reached out in the water to luckily grab them just beneath me.  After that, we slowly swam back to each other, and the Sea-Doo, amply moaning and cursing.  The Sea-Doo had shut down thanks to the safety attached to Thomas’s lifejacket, and as we reached it, a small sailboat approached us from the nearby shore.  Which means this entire ordeal had been witnessed by someone and I would have loved to heard what it looked like from his eyes.  It also meant that the scene looked bad enough that we needed help, and more embarrassingly, our recovery time was long enough for a man to launch and sail a boat out to us. 

He asked “Are you guys alright?” 

We shrugged him off, trying to downplay the accident saying we were fine, we were fine. And I cruised us back to my cottage, where we all talked about feeling the gratitude of coming out uninjured.

I think that was the time Thomas almost killed us. I think.  But assured, you’ll be hearing more about his involvement in future stories.

You’re welcome,

B.F. Greenough, aka,

Chief Hanky, The Skipping Skipper 

(As in skipping like a stone and skipper of a boat crew)