:o :o I’m an idiot
Several noteworthy incidents involving drug paraphernalia:
While in high school, my mom washed my jean jacket – yes, the one that had my pipe in the pocket. Got a good lecture, etc. out of that.
While in college, my mom decided to clean out my old room. Yes, she found the homemade bong - made out of a peanut butter jar, an aquarium tube and a socket-wrench socket for a bowl - under my bed. Another lecture.
While driving from home to college, I was pulled over for speeding. Unluckily, I had previously hidden my pipe and lighter in the ashtray along with the registration and proof of insurance. Fumbling the paperwork out of the ashtray, with the cop standing right outside my window, I dropped something on the floor of the car.
- CLUNK *
Me (shitting bricks): (please let that be the lighter, please let that be the lighter…)
Cop: What do you use that pipe for?
Me (SB): Uh, uh, nothing.
Cop: Any drugs in the car?
M(SB): No. (truthfully)
Cop: OK, I’ll be back.
While he went to the car, I frantically, but surreptitiously, stuffed the pipe down under the handbrake, hoping it would fall down under the car into a pothole; and pictured the cop calling for backup, drug-sniffing dogs, and the ATF.
Cop: Here is a ticket for speeding.
Me (SB): Thank you!
That was the most happy I’ve ever been to receive a speeding ticket!
BCE
It’s the 70’s. I am in high school. I begin to smoke dope in my room at my parent’s house very clandestinely…for a while; but as time goes on, I become stupidly bolder. One day it’s okay to take a hit before going downstairs for dinner, as long as the door is locked, and all the windows open, but eventually I am just too casual; no locking the door, no opening the window, no panicky check to see where the 'rents are, and I don’t even realize how loose I have let myself get.
I bought a big silly bong from the head shop downtown. It’s made out of a beaker used in laboratory experiments. It has a green, five fingered dope leaf printed on it, and, showing incredible ingenuity, I find a great place to hide it in my room–between the bed and the wall.
One day I decide to get high, just before I head outside. I fill the bowl, torch it and the bong fills with smoke. I am standing in the middle of the room, lighter flaming over the bowl of weed, sucking air through the mouthpiece, oblivious to all else but the crackle of the dope and the impending rush. Just as I let my index finger free from the hole, thereby releasing the dopesmoke into my lungs, my mother opens the door and enters my room. She has a laundry basket.
There we are face to face, me with a big obvious bong-full of smoke going into my brain, my mother holding a stack of my clean underwear, ready to put it away for me. She looks horrified. She says, “Well, isn’t that just GREAT!!” , drops the laundry basket and stalks downstairs as I exhale a cloud of smoke.
I took the bong with me as I slunk out of the house, and never smoked at their house again.
The phone rings, it’s for my mother but I notice a ‘tone’ in the person calling so while I anounced to her that she was wanted on the phone and she picked up the one in her bedroom, I stay on the line using the cordless in my bedroom. I listen for a handfull of seconds and relize this is about a friend of the family that has recently commited sucide. I feel to guilty to continue, but, you know I cant just hang up now or they will hear the ‘click’ and know I’v been listening… so I just leave the phone on and put it in my bathroom, planing on hanging up after I know their convorsation is over. Maybe 40 min. later my b/f and I start fooling around and decide to get-it-on, yes, in my bathroom. He has me bent over the sink which puts me right at mouth level with the phone which I have compleetly forgoten about while I moan and wimper and talk dirty.
I’ll never forget this one, it’s so embarrassing.
When I was about 7, my 6 year old sister Katie and I found a box of my dad’s old Penthouse magazines up in the attic. We led pretty sheltered lives and at that age we were interested in naked people and such. So we surreptitiously went through them all, giggling and pointing.
One thing led to another, and eventually Katie and I started cutting out the pictures that made us giggle the most–the naked lady with the big snake, the guy with two naked ladies and you could see his willy, etc. And we pasted them into my photo album.
Well, it wasn’t long before we were showing these funny naked pictures to other kids, too. We showed them to our 5 year old sister Libby, who thought they were the coolest and most uproariously funny thing she’d ever seen. She used to beg us to look at them. We didn’t tell our youngest sister, though. At age 3, Mary was the biggest tattletale in the whole world.
One night, I had my best friend Caitlin over for a sleepover, and we decided to show her “our pictures.” Unfortunately, Mary was in the room at the time, but we swore her to secrecy. She promised not to tell, cross her heart, hope to die, stick a needle in her eye.
Of course, Mary then excused herself to go to the bathroom and ran downstairs to tell our mother exactly what we were doing. Mom came upstairs, but we heard her and stashed the porn magazines and the photo album in our pillowcases. Nevertheless, she told us to fork it over. Katie gave her the magazines, but Mom didn’t think to look in my photo album, so she took the mags and left.
Mary then told her about the pictures in the photo album.
At that point, Mom got a lot more upset. She’d thought we’d just found Dad’s magazines that night. Then she realized that her daughters had been cutting out pictures of naked women and putting them in a photo album for several weeks.
Fortunately, my parents are cool about that sort of thing. They figured we were just curious. Dad tossed the magazines and Mom purged my photo album. Katie and I were incredibly embarrassed, but to their credit, the folks haven’t ever mentioned it again.
Mary is now 20 and is still living down her rep as the worst tattletale who ever lived.
It’s my senior year in high school, 3 months to graduation. I drive my 2 best friends downtown during lunch to get something to eat. They light up a joint, and offer me some. I say no thanks, oddly enough. We get back to school, me and one of my friends head to class. A girl narks on us to the teacher and says we smell like weed. We get sent to the office, and of course, I tell them I wont pass a piss test, even though I hadn’t smoked that day and wasn’t high. I had to go to narcotics anonymous meetings and get piss tested every week until graduation. But at least they didn’t kick me out.
Oh man, this next one is really aweful. I’ve only told one person this story, and I’ll get to that in a second. Heh. I must have been 8 or so. We lived across the street from our church, and had our girl scout meetings there. So I knew how to get into the church (without a key, hey it was the 80s, and a small town). Me and my partner in crime are running around the neighborhood, looking for something to do. We think, ‘hey, let’s break into the church.’ Once inside we went to different classrooms, reaking havoc. In one room we wrote cuss words all over the chalk board. In another we stuck toothpicks into the carpet. We basically did all kinds of stupid shit. Then the pastor came in, and we ran into the bathroom. Standing on top of a toilet, trying not to freak out. He sticks his head in the bathroom door (can’t see us in the stall) and says, ‘I’ve called the police.’ Then he leaves. We took off running. Now here’s the bad part. The church and the police all blamed my brother for doing it. They revoked his communion. He was devastated. It took me 12 years to admit to him that I was the one who had done it. By then he didn’t care, but he thanked me for coming clean.
Two years ago a kid yelled some very obscene remark at me while he passed me on my way to work. I guess I was not going fast enough or some such.
Later that morning I was taking roll at my intro to psych class. It was the first day, when in walks said kid who yelled at me not 2 hours before. He knew immediately who I was.
I put the pencil down and asked his name… He was all colors of red. I had planned a good ice breaker that morning for the new freshmans, but instead…I asked this kid in a non-whispering voice…“So what does a Fucking Douche-Bag actually look like?”
That got the class rolling, and he ended the term with an B+. 
Yikes.
I got caught with my boyfriend in my room when I was about 16. We weren’t doing anything, just laying there and talking, but the door was locked and I was in my nightgown, so my dad assumed the worst, and told the boy to leave and then berated me for being a slut.
(Yeah, the same dad who brought random women home every weekend. Oh well.)
When I was about 15, I was out at a show, supporting my local music scene, and in between bands, I went off with some friends of friends to get high between bands. Well, suddenly, we see a flashlight heading toward us, and see that it’s the cops, so they leave me with the joint and head out before the cop gets there. I stick it under the tire of the car I’m standing by, and the cop comes up, shines the light on me and asks what’s going on. I told him that I was just tying my shoe, and he searched the ground, but didn’t see the joint, and told me to get back inside or leave. I was never more happy.
I got caught buying an underage girl alcohol at a bar. I was drunk, she asked me to buy her a drink and bring it back into the bathroom, I did that twice or so, and when I came out again, my friends told me that security told them that they knew what I was doing and that I was pretty much fucked, so we took off right away.
One time my dad left his pot sitting out, so I took a little, just to see what it was like. I brought it back to my mom’s house, and hid it in my desk. Well, dad found out and got mad, and he called mom up one night and told her that I was doing drugs. I got scared and hid the baggie in my pillowcase, and waited for her to come in and have “the talk.” Then, when she did, I cried and told her that I tried it and didn’t like it and that I’d never do it again…and that I’d taken it from him.