The Scooter Heist

I had this friend when I was in my mid-teens, we’ll call her Kali. She had three brothers, which meant we had three built-in scapegoats. Kali and I were inseparable: sleepovers every weekend, endless mischief, and what I liked to call “accountability shifting.” Translation? If we messed up, we blamed one of her brothers. It was like having a built-in insurance policy, except they never read the fine print. We also pulled stunts on them that left those poor guys scratching their heads like contestants on Jeopardy who just realized the category is “Women’s Logic.”

Take her brother Phil, for example. He had this gas-run scooter—a glorified bicycle that looked like a cross between a small motorcycle and a mini dirt bike, sort of like a Harley Davidson that got shrunk in the dryer.

One day, no one was home, and Kali and I decided it was time for a joy ride. We marched into the backyard like two Bonnie-and-Clyde wannabes with zero getaway plan. But Phil had chained the scooter to a deck post. Kali said he’d never done that before—he must’ve been trying to be the Fort Knox of Scooters. The deck was about four feet high, with posts resting on cement like it was a DIY prison yard. I noticed the chain might slip off if we could tilt the scooter low enough and lift the post. So Kali, bless her, crouched under the deck and pushed up like a teenage Hulk auditioning for a Marvel reboot. She had leverage, standing like a weightlifter at the Olympics, and somehow managed to lift it just enough for me to slip the chain off. Then we went into the garage, Kali took the wheel off, to get the chain off the metal that held the wheel on. Then we prepared for our ride like two mechanics who learned everything from Looney Tunes. Kali handled the tools like a pro, while I stood there watching like a useless intern holding the flashlight wrong.

Finally, she ran into the house, grabbed the keys, we hopped on, fired it up, and like true armature daredevils, it was a total ‘Watch this—here, hold my beer’ moment! As we tore down the alleyway like two crazy Evel Knievel’s with learner’s permits! At the end of the driveway, she turned—and promptly crashed into a tree like a cartoon character whose brakes gave out. We were fine. The scooter? Not so much. The front end looked like a pretzel from Auntie Anne’s. We dragged it back, rolling it on one wheel, staring at the damage like two CSI agents who knew they were the killers.

But we weren’t done. Oh no. We decided the best course of action was to put it back exactly how we found it and play dumb. Kali unattached the wheel again, put the chain back, reattached the wheel-  lifted the deck again, and walked away like Ocean’s Eleven had just pulled off the heist of the century. Later, Phil asked about it. We swore we had no idea. We even went with him to inspect the scooter, acting like we were auditioning for a movie called Clueless: The Sequel. “How does that happen when it’s chained to a deck post?” I asked, with Oscar-worthy sincerity.

Phil shook his head. “That’s what I was wondering too!”

And then—because we were shameless—we started throwing out theories like two FBI profilers.

Me: “Maybe someone tried to steal it and wrecked the wheel?”

Phil: “But it’s chained to the deck, how did they wreck the wheel?”

Kali: “Maybe they wanted to steal it and couldn’t because it’s chained like it’s a hostage in a bad action movie—got mad and destroyed it?”

Phil: “With what?”

Me: “A sledgehammer?”

We ended it with, “Well, we’ll probably never know.” Phil eventually got the front end fixed, then made room for it in their garage, which was basically their personal junk yard. It looked like a museum exhibit titled ‘Teenage Bad Buys.’ It took him a while, but he managed it.

That’s our story, and we stuck to it like chewing gum on a hot sidewalk. And honestly? If teenage stupidity were an Olympic sport, we’d have taken home the gold, while Phil was stuck polishing the metal on his scooter.

The Takeaway:

Teenagers don’t need alcohol, money, or even common sense to get into trouble. All they need is the confidence in saying “Watch this—here, hold my beer.” The real takeaway? Mischief may dent the scooter, but it polishes the memories.

Scooter Shenanigans Scale™: How Dumb Was the Joyride?

Rating                        Description 9/10 Technically Innocent Looked at the scooter. Thought about riding it. 3/10 Chain Wiggles Got the chain off like a raccoon opening a locked trash can.   5/10 Backyard Mechanics Took the wheel off with confidence & skill . 7/10 Hold-My-Beer Fired it up with no plan. The universe whispered, “brace yourself.”   10/10 Crash & Cover-Up Slammed into the tree, rebuilt the crime scene, and won an Oscar.