Stuff you're amazed you got away with.

In My Humble Opinion
1

Inspired by remembering the story I just told in this post. The concept of this thread is pretty self-explanatory, really.

Other stuff I’m amazed I got away with include a lot of high school high jinks, like one time in my senior year: I had sweet-talked a certain freshman girl into ditching school with me to participate in an afternoon of first-class debauchery, and I was in my car blasting Hieroglyphics with said freshman-ette, a prodigious chronic stash, multiple smoking implements, a veritable armory of condoms and a fresh bag of Bogota bullion in tow. I looked left, looked right, and pounced on my opportunity to make the escape. I just got out of the parking lot when I saw the biology teacher bringing her class back from a field trip. I knew this could have disastrous implications–the same teacher had caught me lying in the back of my car with a girl in my class and a box of whippits during her class not long before, though she didn’t see the whippits and probably assumed we were going to have sex (what do you say to that? “No, ma’am, no sex here, we’re just taking drugs!”). At this point it was pretty damn unlikely that I could get any further away from the school without getting noticed, and I didn’t want to risk sitting right outside the parking lot. So I quickly endeavored to sneak back in without being seen and save the party for another day.

But…you know how sometimes, you’re so freaked out that you don’t really look in your rear view or side mirrors because you don’t want to see anything else to make it even worse? You just kind of take a leap of faith? No? Well I do, because that’s the way I thought when I was 17.

Backed right into the engineering teacher’s truck with teacher in it.

I could only imagine the myriad of ways my life would change in the next few hours. I began to mentally count the offenses I was simultaneously committing, organized by legal importance (starting with the fact that I was already high as a kite at school) and estimate both the repair costs I would be paying that teacher and the prodigious amount of sucking-up I would have to do if I had any hope of passing his class.

Finally I realized I could hide from it no more, and I got out of my car to walk a very, very nervous few yards to his car. I transformed into blubbering-idiot mode and he gave me a stern lecture about blasting my music so loud I couldn’t hear a honking horn with my windows down ( :eek: ). Next thing I knew, I was walking away from the whole ordeal having suffered no repercussions whatsoever. I’ll never know for sure whether he spotted the girl in my car, and I know he didn’t see any of the drug/sex paraphernalia, but how and why he let me off without even asking me to pay his repair bill, I can only credit to the reputation I’d gained in my first three years as a straight arrow. The story of the boy who cried wolf, cuts both ways–establishing a good rep with the teachers and staff early bought me a lot of Get-Out-of-Jail-Free cards for later use in my wilder fourth year. There were other amazing getaways during my high school career, but I’ll consider this one substantial for the purposes of opening up this thread.

So, what did you get away with that you can only look back and shake your head at now?

(Disclaimer: Drugs is bad, don’t do 'em, this is all strictly historical.)

2

I was stopped by a policeman once for running a red light - it had just changed to red, but it was not really one of those borderline cases at all - I could easily have stopped. The car I was driving at the time (my first car) was a wreck (rear shocks completely gone, tyres bald almost to the steel, rear door locks missing and the doors held shut by bungee cords to the seatbelt post, probably a couple of lamps not working at that time). I was a suspicious-looking character also; unshaven, shoulder-length hair, dressed in shabby army surplus clothing, I was almost certainly also over the legal limit for alcohol while driving.

The police officer looked me over, looked the car over, made a couple of comments about my appearance and the sticker in my rear window (which proclaimed ‘I(heart)Mushrooms’), then he let me go. I’ve never quite been able to work out why - maybe it would have been a great deal of paperwork.

3

Not really getting away with it, but curious.

When at Uni in the 1970s a friend of mine and I decided to take a weekend trip to France to visit his sister who was aupairing.

We had a great time, but cut it fine for the ferry so I put my foot down as we were getting close. The French police gave me a hard time about my insurance (which was legal, but then it was customary but not necessary to have something called a ‘green card’ - odd that).

When we got into Dover, Customs literally pulled the car apart, which was not difficult with a 1967 Triumph 13/60 Convertible. My pal and I just watched with amusement, we had not had time to stock up with booze and cigs.

One of them then turned round and said: ‘next time don’t speed in the French docks’.

The French must have rung ahead and asked them to give us a hard time - an interesting variation of the Entente Cordial.

Hmm… I’ve just thought of a time I really did get away from a serious charge, possessing an offensive weopon - the ironic thing was that later the same evening we saved some old boy from what looked like a serious (and professional) mugging - and ribbed the same policeman that we had got there first.

4

My friend and I snuck out of the house one night. I left the screen off the window and the chair outside when we returned.

So my mom finds it and asked me why these items were out of place. I told her we were practicing exit routes should the house start on fire.

She believed me.

5

I recently recalled the strangest thing I got away with. I was driving to work along a moderately busy road. The set of lights I was approaching turned red and I was in a hurry, there were no cars waiting at the cross road, so I just went through the red light. As I crossed the intersection I glanced in the rearview mirror to see a police car behind me. The two cops in the car were talking and they just pulled up at the lights and ignored me. Off I drove.

6

Two for me:

In high school we had a cast/crew party after dress rehearsal of the school musical at my friend’s house (because her parents were out of town.) Of course my mother wouldn’t have swallowed that one, so I just told her I was sleeping over at friends house and neglected to mention the party bit.

Some amount of underage drinking ensued, of course, and at one point someone arrived and mentioned that they had a bottle of Jack Daniels in the trunk. I, and several other people, ran outside to fetch it, and I somehow fell off a 4 inch curb in such a way as to tear four of the ligaments of my right foot.

Everyone panicked a bit at the thought of the hospital/mom calls which were obviously now required. Until someone came up with the idea of just getting me drunk enough so it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Blackberry brandy. Ugh. To this day, I can’t stand even the smell of it. (Hey! This is the first time it ever ocurred to me: what the hell happened to the Jack?)

Anyhow, next morning, I’m hung over as all get-out. My friend gets her (older) boyfriend to drive me home, foot swollen to the size of a beachball. I somehow convinced my mother that my friend and I took her dog for a walk last night and I tripped on a tree branch that was on the ground.

Oh, and remember the musical? Turns out that with enough pain killers and wrapping your ankle really tight between scenes, you CAN dance with only one ligament holding your foot onto your ankle.

The second wasn’t a discrete event, but a technique. My mom had a phone by her bed, and there was an extension in the basement, which I would often answer late at night. When I was out late, I’d call home. When Mom picked up, I’d say, “OH, It’s OK, Mom. I’ve got it.” She’d hang up, thinking I had answered the extension and was therefore home safe. I can’t believe I got away with that one, multiple times!

7

When I was about 15, Dad came home with an E-Type Jaguar that belonged to a business client-friend of his. I was car crazy at the time, dying to drive any and everything I could get my hands on and they’d caught me sneaking out cars before and were royally pissed. Still, when he and Mom went out with friends that night I grabbed the keys, called a friend and went out 100 mph plus joy riding, the E was just waaay too tempting for any punishment to deter me. I hadn’t even had drivers ed yet.

We I got back home, I parked it perfectly in the driveway where I’d previously marked the tire locations, but was worried that the hood was so hot. Stupidly, we turned the hose on it to cool it down, so then we’ve got huge clouds of steam coursing into the air just screaming “Your son’s been hauling ass in me!” Fortunately, they were late getting home and none the wiser.

I did a lot of crazy shit in HS and much later told my Dad about some of it. This though, I still don’t think he’d want to hear.

8

A simple one…

When I was in high school, a friend of mine was eating a cake. He was Italian, and always had good home cookin’. When I saw the cake, I had been about to go and buy an orange juice from the school canteen. So suddenly that I even surprised myself, I gave him the price of the OJ and said, “If you let me have that cake, I’ll let you go to the canteen and buy an orange juice for me.” And he did.

Twenty years later, I related the story to an adult friend of mine who said, “Hmm. Maybe he had a very, very dry sense of humour.” I guess I’ll never know.

9

:eek:

Alright, I consider myself warned. I just hope I remember that one until my as-yet theoretical children are teenagers.

10

Turning off the lights in a bank.

I just wanted to cash a very small check. They had me there forever. I could see them doing a million other things and not taking care of my stupid litlle check. I complained (nicely) and you know exactly what good it did. In the end, it was over 40 minutes for less amount of dollars. On my way out, I see a row of light swtiches right by the door (who the heck puts light switches by the door of a bank?). I just hit the whole row on my way out. Absolute chaos ensued. I just kept walking. A guard called me but I didn’t even bother to look back. (This was in Venezuela, where guards are clowns)

Mind you that my mom had met me at the door and totally panicked at my action and my total lack of remorse at it. Oh well.

11

In an eery parallel of Mangetous’s experience - many moons ago, two long-haired, tie-dye wearing idiots, known as me and my brother, went out to score some cannabis one night. I drove us to a friend’s house, we sampled the merchandise, got good and buzzed, I drank a can of Guinness as well, which, though I was probably still under the alcohol limit for driving, wasn’t a good idea. After a couple of hours of smoking, we set off homewards with a quarter ounce of hash each in our pockets.

As I drove up the main road towards my street, we passed a darkened gas station, in which was sitting a cop car. To my extreme dismay, the car pulled out of the forecourt and started discreetly following us. I warned my brother, who started to freak out.

I turned into the next road and sure enough, the cops followed us down, then they followed us into our street, and stopped outside the house as I pulled into the driveway. My brother, by now in a total state of panic, shoved his quarter ounce into his mouth, while I could do nothing but throw mine into the glove box.

I got out of the car and the cops got out of theirs. The effects of the hash exacerbated my nerves, and my knees were literally knocking together. The woman police constable noticed me shaking, and said “cold, tonight, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I replied, trying to hold it together. “But not as cold as Ireland!” I blurted.

“Been in Ireland, have you?” she asked. This was during the IRA bombing campaign, so possibly wasn’t the best tactic for small talk when one is trying not to appear suspicious.

“Er yes, a holiday,” I said, attempting to keep my voice from warbling. At this point I decided to shut up until spoken to.

“Well, we just pulled you over to let you know that one of your tail lights is out. Turn the lights back on and I’ll show you.”

I opened the driver’s door and caught a glimpse of my brother, face white, eyes bloodshot and wide with fear, mouth bulging slightly with lumps of hash. I turned the car lights on.

Sure enough, the rear nearside light was off. As the policewoman looked on, I tapped it.

It came on.

At this point I should have said “it must have been a loose connection. Thanks for pointing that out to me. I’ll get it fixed in the morning.”

However, my relief at the innocuous reason for our being pulled over made me forget to try to act straight. Thus, in one of the stupidest moves I’ve ever made, I pointed at the light, then stuck my hand right in the cop’s face, waggled the digits, and said, in a zany wizard voice: “Magic fingers!”

She gave a bemused look, got in the car, and they drove off. I have no idea how we got away with that, but I never drove stoned again.

12

:smiley: Brilliant work, jjimm.

13

Hehe…
Jjimm, that reminds me of a mate’s tale of driving full of pot and, more importantly, speed. They got pulled over, and the cop said, “you’re speeding.”

"NO, O GOD NOOOO!!!"

“Woah, calm down. It was just a few kilometres over the limit. I won’t fine you, but go straight home, boys.”

14

Brilliant. :smiley: I can identify with this logic.

My brother refers to the above story as “the Magic Fingers incident” and uses it when he needs to illustrate what an idiot I am, which isn’t often, as I do that all on my own; he eventually refused to get in the car with me, since I also got us pulled over for speeding while he and his mate were packing all sorts of “candy”. Twice.

15

If we’re talking about substances that we don’t mess with anymore, this happened in 1976 or 1977. I had been with some guys at the bar until closing. The bar was downstairs from street level. When you come up and outside, there’s the entrance area to a store next door. Five or six of us were standing there, saying our goodbyes, when a cop car drove by. “Geez, glad he didn’t stop.”

Well, he did stop, actually, and backed up to come investigate us. Out of all the people in our group, he chose me to search. He patted me down, missing the ounce of pot inside my pants and just behind my belt buckle. He took out my cigarette package, opened it, looked inside, threw away the foil from one side and looked in, then handed it back to me, missing the seven joints. He ran his thumb through my shirt pocket, missing the three Benzedrines and four hits of acid. Like Roseanne Roseannadanna, ah thawt ah was gonna DAH! “OK, you boys break it up now.” “All right, officer.” And that was the extent of it. Incidentally, none of the other guys was holding.

16

jjimm’s got Magic Fingers! Too funny!

Once, many moons ago, my buddy and I stopped at a closed grocery store to roll a “cigarette”. There was a nice bright light, and my buddy was doin’ the rollin’ while I was on lookout. I saw a cop drive by in front of us, and let him know. He started to put everything up, and we somehow spilled the Yukon Jack and Sprite on my registration (that he was using to roll). The cop pulled up and says, “What are you boys doin’ here?” “Oh, just hangin’ out.” “License, registration, insurance.” Which, of course, was completely covered with pot and booze. He looked at the papers, looked at us, and said “You boys need to hang out somewhere else.” WHEW!

17

This was a long time ago, and I don’t do this kind of thing anymore.

I was driving back from the bars - WAAAAY over the legal limit. I was driving my Firebird which just screamed “follow me, I’m up to no good”. I went through an intersection and saw a police car on the perpendicular road waiting at his red light. After I had passed, he turned right and followed me. I concentrated very hard to be a good drunk driver - 2MPH over the speed limit (to not look suspicious) and straight between the lines.

He had followed me for about a mile, then put on his left turn signal and merged into the center turn lane. I thought that I had gotten away with it for sure and for some dumb ass reason, I decide to tromp on the gas.

The cop, who was paying more attention than I gave him credit, noticed this and hit the lights and sirens and came after me. I pulled over and the combination of three things got me off.

First, when he asked for my license, I handed him my military ID. I thought that I had really messed up and proved my drunkeness, but he was former military and told me that he wasn’t going to do anything he didn’t have to.

Second, when asked if I was drinking, I told him that I had had a couple. He could smell the booze on me and if I had lied, it would be obvious that I was trying to cover something up.

Third, and most important, I had several friends that were cops. One of them had just shown me the new field sobriety test. I screwed it up the first time while I was sober. But, I had practiced it to perfection.

So, anyway, he asks me to step out of the car. I had to lean against it to keep from swaying. He tells me that he is going to give me a FST and carefully explains how it is done. I followed every word, prentending I had never seen this before. Then I did my well practiced routine to perfection.

He told me that he doesn’t like to mess with military guys and that I should go right home and watch my speed on the way ( had earlier explained to him that I saw him following me and that I simply stopped paying attention to my speed when he pulled over to turn).

I couldn’t believe it when he just told me to go home. I haven’t driven drunk since that night.

18

That is pure genius - and something I’ve made a note of also :smiley: Perhaps when AdoptaTeens are grown and have kids of their own, I’ll share this with their children as a form of parental revenge :slight_smile:

19

:eek: [ol]
[li]Cutting, lining and snorting Columbian Marching Powder during Sophomore English class[/li][li]Dropping 2 hits of LSD 30 minutes before going onstage to do Death (by Woody Allen) and having to ad-lib because I forgot my lines[/li][li]Spending the night at a boyfriend’s house during my parents’ divorce – just told my dad I was staying with a girlfriend[/li][li]Sex on the steps of the Parthenon (in Nashville, not Greece) **hmmm…I could start a whole thread about my exhibitionist issues[/li][/ol]
Sometimes, I swear I am scared to death of what my (now 14 and 7) kids are going to get into – then I remember that with the sheer amount of bad stuff I have gotten away with, my kids have no chance! When my daughter experienced her first kiss – I asked her immediately. After much blushing and blubbering she admitted that she did get her first kiss and asked how I knew – I said “I’m a mom, I know everything” but the truth is, been there, done that!

On a related note – the only time my parents ever “caught” me, my mother found a case of wine coolers (hey, it was the 80’s give me a break!) under my bed – and for once, they weren’t for me and my friends. My (older) sister knew that I had the connections and had asked me to get it for her and her friends. Of course, when my mother confronted me, it was easier to say “yeh, they’re mine, don’t you know how hard this divorce is on me” than to try to convince her that my sister was capable of ever doing anything remotely bad.

20

I was the third in line at a job. Only the first and second could make bank deposits.

First Guy went on vacation. He was scheduled to come back the day Second Guy went on vacation. The day before Second Guy went on vacation, he gave me a cash deposit of $293 and told me to have First Guy deposit it when he got back, so I put it in my purse.

First Guy had a family emergency and didn’t come back until a week after his vacation was suppose to be over. Second Guy was gone for two weeks.

Three months later I was cleaning out my purse and found the cash. Nobody had asked about it, and I had worked my ass off holding down the office with the both of them gone. So I kept the money.