You cannot deny the
convenience presented by the large size of vans. Built to carry a large
family (those
wacky Wayans come to mind), not to mention large objects that would not fit in your standard
sedan. This could be the reason why vans are one of the most floundering types of
vehicles today. You see them
everywhere, mother
in the driver's seat, flock of
screaming kids holding their own version of
the LA riots in the back. This
wholesome scene I have depicted is what typically comes to mind when we think of vans. The truth of the matter is, vans can be used for
evil as well. Yes, you heard me correctly,
pure evil.
I don't know the concept was arrived at, but our four devious sixteen year old minds certainly played a part in fleshing out our plan for mass destruction and world domination. This master plan centered around two tangible objects, a van and a microwave. We had the van. It was a forest green 1995 Dodge Caravan. It had room for seven people to sit, with trunk space to spare. The trunk space would be the most important piece of this puzzle. It would house our microwave.
We had chosen the perfect microwave. Chris and Brian were instructed to wait a block away, because the microwave was by Chris' mom's house and she'd get mad, while Dylan and myself were to make the pick-up. The microwave was resting beside three metallic trash cans in the backyard of a fellow citizen's homestead. After breaking the microwave free from its muddy shell, we pilfered the cooking apparatus from the hungry earth.
The microwave contained a dirty liquid that was clearly in cahoots with the earth. It did its best to fling itself upon our undefiled clothing and deter us from completing our task. We said no dice mudwater, and hauled it to the van. After quickly analyzing how best to fit the microwave into the not-so-sizeable trunk, we finally deciding setting it in there and pushing hard was the best method. We all took our positions in the van, and began to discuss the best dropoff point. Our mission had been carried out without a hitch thus far.
Finally, it was determined the best location for our attack would be a low-lit road. In retrospect, that was probably our biggest mistake, but I'll touch base on that later. We turned onto the road and began to pick up speed. At about forty miles per hour, the hatch was released, the microwave poised carry out its orders. As we hit sixty, with one light push, the microwave was freed from the van.
It dropped with a loud thud as we zoomed away. It rolled, it spinned, it jerked, and finally, it stopped. I desperately reached for the hatch, so it would not tear away from the van and meet the same fate as the microwave it once held securely in place. I was risking my life in a futile attempt to retrieve the hatch, so I gave up until the van came to a complete stop. At that point, we made yet another foolish move.
Like the true criminals we were, we just had to return to the scene of the crime. We had to bask in our greatest achievement, too proud to even consider the consequences. We turned around and made our way to the microwave. We came upon it, mangled on the road. Pieces once attached to the microwave were now intermittently dispersed across the dark avenue. We cheered with gay joyousness. What a site it was. A true testament to our visceral entertainment. We drove on, satisfied with the Friday's events, leaving the microwave in peace, to allow the earth to do what it would.
Or did we?
No, we didn't. We had to turn around for yet another pass. This was truly shaping up to be a scene from America's Most Stupid Criminals. It especially felt that way when we saw what was waiting for us. Flashlights! People! Lots of them! They had heard the boisterous noise caused by the microwave's impact, and had let curiousity get the best of them. Their flashlights were all pointed towards the microwave, as if it was some foreign object, fallen from the heavens. Then we approached. Their flashlights all turned towards us, blinding us with their intense beams. It was a scary feeling, like we were escaping from incarceration, only to be spotted by the guard operating the spotlight. But then, relief set in.
They waved us past. They were totally oblivious to the fact that we were the ones who had partaken in this heinous act of violence. They assumed that we were the nonethewiser about the location of this large clump of metal. We drove by, feigning that pathetic "I'm innocent" look that has "guilty as charged" written all over it. The van was kept at a casual speed, so as to avoid attracting that nonexistant suspicion.
In hindsight, a road lacking streetlights was the last place we should have dropped the microwave. Our complete naivete could have been the downfall of some unsuspecting person speeding down the road as foolishly as we had. Thank the curiousity of humanity that the microwave was safely dealt with in a manner that would not allow it to cause harm. God bless America.