Just posted one of my shorts in GD, which is apparently full of a bunch of illiterate knuckle draggers who can't think past a meme. Trying a new one here.  This one is supposed to funny. It's also unedited.

The mystery of the missing window
by Troy Frost

This is a true story but the names have been changed to protect the innocent... except for mine, because I'm guilty as fuck.

My first ‘real’ job was working as a cook for a diner two towns over.  I started there as a bus boy and worked my way up to what we called "butt cook".  In the diner world in Indiana, there are two ways to cook food - a grill, and a stove.  The good food is prepared on a grill, and the stuff that nobody else wants to cook is prepared on the stove in the back of the kitchen, between the two grills and the walk-in refrigerator. The grills and cooler were important muscles in the kitchen animal, and the stove was where all the shit came out, hence 'butt cook'.
Two older girls manned the grills.  Both of them were attractive and the prospect of hanging around older women all day made the job a little less intolerable, not to mention I got to watch them walk away from me in both directions. I wore an extra thick apron because of that.  I was just about seventeen at the time and they were both around 18 years old.  One in particular really caught my fancy.

I had a massive crush on Jess for years, even since before working at that diner. She was about my height, brown hair, kind of a hippy but in a cool way.  I thought she was as hot as she was hilarious.  We would flirt constantly while on the job, it was a bit excessive. Every time she walked past me, I'd feel what I hoped was her hand brush against my crotch, or my ass, or whatever appendage was an available target to her. Imagine spatulas going places they shouldn't... in a place where food is prepared. So obvious was the sexual tension between us that the owner of the restaurant would often tell us to ‘get a room’, and we even got in real trouble for it a few times.

We were both relatively moral people, or about as moral as teenagers can be, and one of us always seemed to be in a relationship while the other was single.  We respected those boundaries so we never had the opportunity to release all of that pent up tension that had built up over the years. Until one day our luck changed when we both found ourselves single.  It was pretty obvious to us what had to be done.  There was just one problem, we had no place to go and no way to get there.

Sensing that this opportunity was bout to slip away from me, I hatched a plan that would make an elaborate bank heist look like a game of checkers against a lobotomized chimpanzee. I needed wheels, booze, and a venue.  Little did I know that plan would completely backfire.
The house I grew up in was two stories tall.  In a move of brilliant strategy, I had chosen the room above our garage and front door, alerting me to everyone coming into and out of our home. We lived in what I refer to as a rural suburb, a sparsely populated suburban neighborhood that was less than a block away from endless corn fields. There was a church kitty corner to our house and our neighbors' house was located opposite ours on the edge of a small culldesac.

My plan was to sneak out under cover of darkness, steal my dad's van, take Jess to a secluded space, and hit it like a caveman on crack cocaine.  I would then drop Jess off at home, return my dad's van and sneak back into the house and into my bed without anyone being the wiser.  It was a flawless plan.  There was just one catch... it was MY plan.

I waited until my parents were in bed.  My father turned in around 9:00pm to get up for work at 5:00am, so stealing his keys was a trivial matter. He'd never know that his van was gone.

My dad was not a fancy man, and his vehicles reflected his lifestyle.  At the time he drove an early eighties Chrysler minivan with brown interior and external ‘wood’ paneling that I'm sure won the "most number of miles than can be put on a single vehicle in a single lifetime" award. My dad was a chain smoker and his van was a rolling ash tray.  There was a gap between two front seats where a center console should be but instead was a pile of discarded cigarette butts.  The back seats reeked of axle grease and motor oil, and the driver's seat discharged a subtle but pungent fragrance of old man ass crack that would tickle your gag reflex.  I know, not the flyest whip around but it was the best I could do at the time.

I checked the watch that I synchronized with myself earlier.

"It's time" I thought.

I opened my bedroom window and climbed onto the roof above the garage.  There was a large electrical conduit on the side of our house, just within reach from the roof where I now stood.  I shimmied down the conduit and into the utility area of the fence that encompassed our property. I jumped the last few feet onto the top of our air conditioner, leaving two obvious footprints in the intake fins on the top of it.

"That's circumstantial evidence" I reassured myself, "nothing conclusive".

Turning my attention back to the heist. I felt around for the side access door to our garage.  I left the door unlocked earlier that day, granting me access to precious transportation.  The only remaining obstacle was figuring out how to get the van out of the garage without alerting my parents to the crime. For a moment I thought that maybe they just wouldn't hear me open the garage door, but there was booty on the line, and it has a way of making young men either very risk accepting or very risk averse.  I couldn't risk blowing this, I had to find another way.
I sat there in the pitch black garage. I could feel my risk tolerance starting to increase at the prospect of not nailing Jess.

"Fuck it", I said as I reached for the garage door opener, and right before my hormone-filled finger triggered an alarm that would've certainly doomed my whole plan... it dawned on me.  I knew how to get the van out without making a sound.  I snatched my finger back from that hot stove and began feeling my way to the back of the garage until I heard a distinct 'thud'. That was the sound of my head hitting the garage door, a small but painful annoyance, but at least I knew where I was now.  After gaining my bearings I raised both arms and began to paw overhead. My right hand connected with a length of rope.
"Success!" I thought, as I give the rope a stiff jerk, releasing the garage door from it's motorized track.  I was now able to manually lift the garage door without starting the muffler-free diesel motor that we mistook for a garage door opener.  That thing was soo old I was certain it was at one point powered by either a water wheel or slavery.  

I remember the garage door being heavy as hell, and took a fair but of doing for a young man of my stature. The streetlights cast muddled beams through the drifting snowflakes.
Putting my dad’s minivan into neutral, I began to push the vehicle out into the driveway but I had overlooked one important detail.

Our driveway was on a hill.

I pushed the van just beyond the driveway door threshold and turned back to lower the large heavy door.  My eye caught a change in the shadow I was casting and I realized that dad's van was rolling down our driveway, out in the street, and potentially through our neighbor’s front door.   So I watched in terror as the van slipped out of my control. The driveway was slick, so I couldn't catch the van without risking a serious fall. I watched, heart in throat, as the vans rear tires cleared the curb and rolled out into the street. Then, a loud THUNK as the rear wheels hit the edge of the curb to my neighbor's driveway, bringing the ghost-ridden van to an abrupt for fortunate stop.  Once I realized that I was not going to jail, I grabbed a bottle of wine I had stashed in my father’s toolbox, closed the garage door, and picked Jess up a mere twenty minutes late.

We made it to the movies just in time. No I won't tell you what it was because I wasn't watching the film, I was watching Jess.  After our night out we piled into my rolling ash tray and drove to the most secluded location I could think of… the middle of a corn field behind our town’s ethanol plant. Yeah… I was quite the Don Juan back then, but this date had nothing to do with romance, and we both knew it. Jess even overlooked the fact that I forgot to bring a corkscrew for the wine, and we just got on with the show.

We were in the back seat of stinky van, next to a stinky ethanol plant, sober as a couple of judges and nobody cared. I'll spare you the steamy details but for those of you with an imagination, picture human body fluids in a food processor.  Yeah, it was that hot.
At some point I felt a draft on my backside.  And by ‘draft’ I mean a freezing cold blast of January air and by backside I mean my undulating butthole. Looking over my shoulder I noticed that the side window of my father’s van was conspicuously missing. Not broken… missing. It took me a moment to realize what happened.  While in the middle of the act, Jess had pressed her feet against the glass and had somehow managed to push the entire window assembly out of the sliding door. Fortunately there was enough snow on the ground that the glass didn’t break, and I was able to recover the window. I nearly had a stroke, which has a tendency to kill the mood so I drove Jess home, and tried to figure out how I’m going to explain this to my old man.  

I was sure I was busted, so I wasn’t as careful about getting the van back into the garage as I was getting it out. Then, as I pulled into the driveway I had the brilliant idea of super-gluing the window back into place.  Teenage boys, when faced with situations like that, don’t exactly think in rational terms. It was a hail Mary play to save my ass and it had to work, otherwise I was dead meat. To my surprise, it did work. Sort of.  

My dad kept our garage fully stocked with a year's supply of superglue, and I had a PhD in super glue science from the University of that commercial with the construction worker hanging by his helmet.
"A little dab will do ya" I said cheerfully as I placed three small dots of superglue on the 15 pound glass window.  

I rested the window back into the mini van’s sliding door like a midwife delivering a premature baby. I figured that if it withstood over a decade of use only to succumb to the abuse of the feet of a teenage girl, it must have been on it's way out anyway. I snuck back into my room, locking the side garage door behind me on my way out.  I shimmied up the conduit with no time to enjoy the erection it gave me.  Collapsing into bed I whispered "safe", before passing out.

I was awoken by the all-to-familiar sound of the garage door opening.  I glanced at my alarm clock. It was 5:30am. My senses sharpened as I awaited the ultimate test of my engineering abilities. The sound of the van’s driver side door made a solid ‘thunk’ as I held my breath in anticipation.
“No crash.” I thought, “I’m in the clear!”

The vans tires crunched the snow over the cold concrete, interrupted only by the chunky growl of the garage door.

And then.

SMASH!

You could hear every shard twinkle away into the snow. The van's driver door squeaked open. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” My dad barked at the top of his lungs.

Pretending to be half asleep I ran downstairs and out the front door to see my dad standing on our front lawn, hands on his hips, staring at the pile of broken glass on our driveway.  I almost thought that if he stood there long enough, the window would repair itself out of sheer intimidation. I was just glad that his anger wasn’t directed at me.

“What happened?” I said.

“This damn piece of shit van fucked me again!”

When my dad says ‘shit’ he doesn’t say ‘shit’, he says ‘shee-yet’ with a long southern draw that makes the word more vulgar. He was too pissed to notice that I was struggling to contain my laughter.
He never did find out that it was me who broke the window, and I’m thankful for that. He’s not the type of person to look back at stuff like this and laugh. In the end, the joke was on me.  

I had to fix the window anyway.

Northern Indiana by any chance?

South Bend, you from there?

Not what I was expecting when I recommended this little nook on the site to put some stories out, but funny read none the less.

I was a pretty mischievous kid in the 90s. I never expected to share this story with anyone but I'm glad you got a chuckle out of it.

Living in Granger just a couple hundred yards south of the MI line.  When you mentioned the ethanol plant, that made me wonder if you were talking South Bend.

Good job

Wait , what area of South Bend you grow up in?

Kensington Farms near Kern road

Oh yes, everyone knows that plant. I dated a girl in HS that lived near there, when the winds were right you could smell it miles away.

Lol , Ah , that’s where I grew up. I was off of Hampshire on the big hill.

Attached File

NO SHIT? I was across the street from that church on York Rd. I bet we may have crossed paths before.

 I've got another one like this. I'm still debating posting it