The Zac Files

Am I Making It Up or Did This Actually Happen? Reflections on Memories That Could Go Either Way March 17, 2013

Three Guys and a Camera

I have very little doubt about this story, as video evidence of it still exists. The timestamp shows it happened eleven years ago this week, in fact; Spring break 2002.

My Junior and Senior years of high school were all about performance. I joined Drama Club. I took over the morning announcements. I started to come out of my shell, becoming louder and more visible. I wasn’t whispering a joke at the back of the class anymore, I was up in front delivering it. Whatever the performance, you could be sure Trent and Aaron were also involved.

They were my partners in crime. My funny friends. We were the Three Amigos, sans sombreros. All for one, unless we got caught, in which case blame Trent. We were experimenting with comedy, learning what was funny and, probably more often, what wasn’t. And we were provided with instant replay for all our attempts thanks to a home video camera my dad had purchased, and which I promptly claimed as my own. For whatever reason, we video taped everything we did together. A little younger and we wouldn’t have dared; a little older, we would’ve known better.

A favorite game of ours was to improv interviews and stunts, kind of like a more sophisticated Jackass. Some of these included the ex-lax challenge: each of us chugging a glass of soda, one of them filled with ex-lax, followed by the most terrifying thirty minutes you’ve ever experienced as we waited to find out who had the magic cup. Two of us would regularly sneak into the other’s house and video taped them while they slept, do something to prove we had been there (Trent and I once successfully shaved Aaron’s leg), or sometimes leaving the tape behind for them to find in the morning. Our favorite though was the spontaneous interview. We would go into grocery stores, interview people about their selections of soup, thank them and move on. It was always respectful, never with the intent to embarrass, but always for the performance. And sometimes, we would just get in the car and find something to do. This night in March was one of those times.

Aaron picked Trent and I up. “Grab your camera,” he said. I never questioned the order. Inevitably, one of us always ended up being the cameraman while the other two were talent. Tonight, that duty fell to me. Aaron gave the word, “Start recording.” He always liked to document the process of coming up with the idea. “How much money do you have?” he said to Trent. I never had any money.

Trent knew exactly how much he had. “I just got paid $50 for doing yard work for my folks.” He pulled the crisp fifty dollar bill from his wallet.

“That’s perfect!” Aaron said, an idea starting to grow. He hit the brakes and pulled into the first driveway he saw.

We all got out. I framed Aaron in the shot, waiting for the game plan. “I’m going to knock on the door and ask people if I can take a shower.” The decision had already been made. He didn’t look for Trent or me for any feedback. This was it. We were doing it. Now, this is where hindsight kicks in and says ‘hey, Southern Ohio countryside, 9:30 at night, visiting random houses… maybe not the smartest idea. …or the most socially acceptable thing to do.’ But none of that crossed our minds. We were truly innocent. We were only thinking about the comedy.

Aaron knocked. I panned the camera to Trent, who looked back with the same ‘I wonder how this will go?’ look that I was giving on the opposite side of the lens. A few seconds later, the door opens, and a 50 year old woman greets us. Aaron, the best BS-artist I’ve ever met in my life, starts right in: “Hey hi, my name’s Aaron. I was wondering if you can help me out.” His voice conveyed playful urgency. “My friend here said he’d pay me fifty dollars if I took a shower in a stranger’s house.” The game was set.

“Show her!” Trent obeyed and pulled the fifty from his wallet and displayed it. I panned back to the woman, who was genuinely laughing as Aaron continued his pitch. “It’ll take, like, two minutes. I have my own towels. Please.”

The woman considered it for a few seconds, fully aware we were documenting the whole thing, then shook her head with a smile. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” Aaron didn’t force the issue. He politely bowed and gave a little wave. “Hey, no problem. I understand. Thanks for talking to us.” As we walked away, the woman called out, “Good luck! Have fun!” We got in the car and headed for the next house.

As we went door-to-door, we were greeted with more of the same. Laughter. Smiles. Consideration. But ultimately, no dice. Sometimes nobody answered the door. Sometimes couples would answer it together. Sometimes the people from the house we just visited would peek out their window, see us trying again with their neighbors and laugh one more time.

We were four or five houses down with no luck and quickly approaching our self-imposed 10pm deadline (it’d be weird to knock on people’s doors and ask for a shower after 10pm, we thought). And I had another complication. “I only have about 5 minutes of battery left,” I informed them.

“Well turn it off! Save it!” Aaron said. “Okay, let’s do one more.” We were all a little glum our adventure was going to be cut short and without an ending. But we were about to get it.

Trent surveyed the area. “Hey, doesn’t Tiffany live around here?” Tiffany was the hot girl that had moved to the school that year and either hadn’t figured out yet that we were huge nerds, or didn’t care. We always assumed the latter and liked her for that. She was our friend.

I looked around, not sure myself. I pointed to a group of houses. “I think it’s one of those, but I’m not sure which.” It was enough for Aaron. He picked one and committed to it. We bailed out and quickly ran up to the house. Waiting until the last possible second, I raised the camera and pressed record.

Tiffany greeted us at the door, having seen us pull up. “Hey guys!” she said. She was one of those people who looked put together any time of the day, either because she made sure she always looked good or because she never needed to. Aaron wasted no time, perhaps knowing we only had three minutes of battery left, or maybe just trying to raise the urgency. “I need to use your shower. I will win fifty dollars. Where’s it at?”

Trent shook his head as he pulled out the cash. Tiffany laughed and rolled her eyes. “Fifty dollars?”

“Yeah, I just need it for two minutes. I promise—” We all stopped and turned at a face that appeared in the living room window, Tiffany’s 8 year old brother, with the most confused, scared, speechless look on his face. We exploded in unique but definite cackles.

“Fifty dollars if he takes a shower,” Tiffany relayed to her brother, shaking her head.

“I’ll be quick!”

She finally shrugged. “Okay.”

“Really?!” we all said in unison. We hadn’t expected a positive response and clearly hadn’t thought that far ahead in the plan.

Tiffany herself didn’t seem to believe she had said it either. Maybe she felt it was the reward owed for the evening’s entertainment, or maybe she too was curious to see where this would go. She took a step back and motioned for us to come inside. “It’s downstairs.”

“Awesome! Thank you so much! It’ll just take two minutes.” Aaron said, following her through the door and immediately down the basement stairs. Trent and I trailed close behind, trying to stay with the action, smiles from ear to ear. We were laughing so much that we didn’t immediately process the events that were playing out behind us as we descended the stairs.

The tape later helped me clarify what exactly I’d heard. A deep voice demanding to know “What the hell’s going on?” A younger voice, her brother, answering as best he could, “Some guy said he’d get a fifty dollar bill if Tiffany took him to the shower…”

We rounded the corner and followed them to the bathroom. Aaron and Tiffany’s chatter became inaudible as I began putting the pieces together of the situation that was unfolding upstairs, and feeling my internal threat level color elevate. Once shown the bathroom, Aaron immediately gestured for privacy from all. “Okay, you all stay on this side,” he said as he closed the door.

I turned to Tiffany and started to speak but was immediately cut off by Trent, who it seemed had also caught wind of the heated, damning conversation taking place above, and who made no efforts to hide his alarm.

“Who was that guy?”

“Who?”

“There was a guy. He seemed angry.”

Tiffany thought a second, curiously, then calmly answered, “I’ll go see.” She no sooner turned around to head upstairs when a booming voice called out, “TIFFANY!”

Trent looked directly into the camera, his eyes and mouth wide in panic. The camera immediately went dark; the battery dead.

I dropped it to my side and answered Trent’s petrified look with a helpless one of my own. Without articulating it, we both assumed the worst: her dad is here, he thinks we came to violate his daughter, and he is going to murder us.

Then, time seemed to stand still. We suddenly moved at lightning speed as instinct took over, flight response first. Find an exit! The basement had no doors. The one half-window at the far end was dark, perhaps covered up on the outside, but it didn’t matter. It was blocked from reach by stacks of boxes. It was like a tomb. Hide! Certainly not. This was his territory. I briefly considered hiding in the tanning bed we passed on the way down, but that seemed like the first place he’d look. Nothing here was going to help us, and any chance of reasoning with him by showing the video died with the camera’s battery. It was now useless to me, except as maybe a weapon. I’d save it as a last resort.

Upstairs, we heard Tiffany talking with the voice. I couldn’t make out what was being said, but it sounded almost like pleading; pleading for her friends’ lives!

Trent came to his senses first. “We’ve gotta get Aaron.” Right! Aaron! Had it been only me, I completely would’ve left him to die in a stranger’s shower. Trent threw open the door. Aaron was standing in his boxers, his pants folded neatly and hanging on a rack. He stared quizzically at the shower knobs. “I can’t figure out how to turn–”

Trent didn’t give him time to finish. “We’ve gotta go. Her dad’s here, and he’s pissed!”

Aaron needed no further explanation. He immediately grabbed his pants and started to throw them on. Trent took charge, looking up at the stairs. “Okay. We’re bolting for the front door.” We looked at each other and nodded in acceptance of the new plan.

We waited for the cue.

“Go!”

I think I just imagined the battle cries. We took off in a single-file sprint up the stairs; Trent, then me, then Aaron, pulling the last of his shirt over his head. Tiffany and the scary man stood on opposite sides of the door calmly talking to each other. By the time they noticed us, we were blowing past them with quick offers of gratitude.

“Got it!”

“Thanks!”

“Seeya Monday!”

It was unspoken, but if one of us fell, we were to be left for dead. We winced in anticipation of being drug back in by the hair, but it never came. Suddenly, we were back in the car. “GO!GO!GO!”

“I think I left one of my shirts.”

“There’s no time! Leave it!”

Only when we were finally in motion did we look back. Tiffany and her dad were standing in the same spot, watching as these terrified teenage boys fled the scene. They looked at each other. The last thing I saw was Tiffany’s dad give sort of a cocked-head chuckle, as if saying to her, “These are your friends?”