Face, Meet Sidewalk

Dave gets revenge

Posted on: October 22, 2011

Dave was over one Saturday afternoon helping Violet clean up the yard. Or rather, Dave was raking up leaves while Violet supervised from the comfort of an Adirondack chair on the deck with a mug of tea in her hand and a blanket on her lap. Dave had insisted; somehow he’d gotten it into his head that she was fragile, so he refused to let her help with the yard work. He told her it was fun (she didn’t believe him). She felt guilty, though, and considered it the least she could do to keep him company. And even though he was not doing it exactly as she would have, she was grateful for his help and proud of her self-restraint in not directing him too much.

It was a beautiful autumn day. The air was a little chillier than it had been the last few weeks, but the sun was brilliant and there was no wind. Dave leaned his rake against the fence and stuffed another orange garbage bag full of leaves before tying it up and hauling it over to join the dozen others at the side of the house.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, ambled over to the deck where Violet sat, and cracked one of the beers she had brought out. He threw his work gloves on the table and dumped the contents of his jeans pockets next to them.  Three colourful bouncy balls rolled across the table and dropped to the deck, bouncing happily to the edge and disappearing into the grass.

“Why do you have a pocket full of little balls?” Violet asked, amused by the toys that seemed childishly out of place for the burly bartender.

Dave chuckled. “I joined a hockey team last week,” he said. “They decided to initiate me.”

He took another long swallow of his beer.

“Is that so?” Violet leaned forward in her chair. She didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good.

He reached down and fished a ball out of the lawn. “Yeah. A couple of the guys got about four thousand of these and filled up my locker with them. When I opened it, balls went everywhere.”

Violet laughed at the image. “What a mess!” she declared.

“Yeah,” Dave agreed. “I keep finding them everywhere.”

Dave was smirking in a way that told Violet that she hadn’t heard the end of the story. “So what are you going to do to get them back?”

“Oh, Violet, you know me well,” Dave chuckled again, looking a little sheepish. “I already did.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I waited until they were all in the shower after the game, then slipped out and turned off all the hot water at the tank. They all squealed like little girls.”

Violet chortled again. “And how did that go over?”

“Well,” Dave said, with a hangdog expression. “That wasn’t the end of it. I also flicked off the lights as I left. It was pitch dark in the locker room. Left a bunch of soapy, cold naked guys groping around for the taps. They were pretty mad.”

“You’d better watch your back, young man,” Violet advised, chuckling. “They’re going to want revenge.”

He nodded. “You should have seen them. They were running around in the dark, looking for light switches and slipping on bouncy balls, it was beautiful. I just wish I’d had a camera.”

They chatted for a few more minutes before Dave decided it was time to get back to work. He gathered a few more bags of leaves and lined them all up at the curb. Just watching him, Violet found herself laughing quietly every time she imagined the state of that locker room after Dave had exacted his vengeance.

Late that night, Violet woke to voices in the street out front of her house. She hauled herself out of bed and got to the window just in time to see three young men in hooded sweatshirts hooting and laughing as they ran down the street. Dave’s car was parked at the curb, as it usually was, but it looked strange in the unnatural orange light from the streetlight. Something about the texture just didn’t look right. But as far as she could tell, all four tires were still round, and the windows were intact. She shrugged and headed back to bed, seeing nothing worth calling the police over.

Early the next morning, Violet went out to get the newspaper, and looked over at Dave’s car again. It was still sitting in the same spot and still looked, somehow, odd. Risking a chat with Gus, she picked her way carefully down the steps and across the lawn to get a closer look.

It wasn’t until she was right next to it that she saw what the problem was. It was covered from stem to stern in what looked like Saran wrap. Under, over and all around, the car had been sealed shut with rolls and rolls of plastic (The little hoodlums had left the boxes lying on Gus’s lawn. He’d be thrilled about that, she thought, but left them there, figuring it might be fun to watch Gus go apoplectic when he saw them there.). She hurried back in the house to call Dave.

She hated to wake him so early but this was important. Dave loved that car. He was going to be devastated when he heard it had been vandalized. She dialed his number quickly, her heart fluttering anxiously in her chest. Dave answered on the second ring.

“Violet, is everything ok?” he asked, his voice anxious, but coarse with sleep. She always found it disconcerting when he knew she was calling. It made her think he had some special powers, even though she knew it was just Call Display.

“Yes,” she said. “Well, I’m fine. There’s something wrong with your car, though.”

“What?” Dave practically shouted, now quite awake. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, it’s all wrapped in plastic,” Violet replied, cringing a little in anticipation of the outburst.

There was silence on the other end of the line, then, tersely: “I’ll be right there.”

The line clicked and was silent. Nervously, Violet replaced the receiver and hurried to her bedroom to put on some decent clothes. By the time she was changed and back outside, Dave was standing beside his car, shaking his head in disbelief.

At first, she thought he was angry, then realized his shoulders were shaking with laughter.

“Those bastards!” he said, slapping his thigh.

“What?” Violet asked, confused.

Dave was laughing so hard, it took him a full minute before he gathered enough control to reply. “My hockey team,” he stuttered between chuckles. “I guess they got me back.”

When Violet realized why he was laughing so hard, she dissolved into a fit of giggles as well.

“Now that is what I call fun,” she guffawed. She settled onto her front stoop to keep Dave company and he started peeling the miles of plastic film off his car.


1 Response to "Dave gets revenge"

Good one!

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