*I tell this little tale of teenage debauchery with the assumption that the statute of limitations has expired for said events.*
It was somewhere about 1988 or 1989, nearly the end of the greatest decade that ever was, that myself and a couple of friends who I worked with had all rented a house in one of the less-than-great neighborhoods in town. When I say less-than-great, what I mean is I’m quite confident we didn’t have any Doctors or city council members as neighbors in this location. I mean, three teenagers working at a fast food joint could rent an entire house – it wasnt exactly Park Avenue. One evening we were out cruising around because… well it was the late 80s – what else were we supposed to do?
As boredom reached its peak we come around a corner, and one of the guys had someones lawn decoration catch his eye. Not just any lawn ornament either – it was a plastic pink flamingo. You’ve all seen them I’m sure. The long-legged lawn chickens dressed up for a tropical vacation that people seem to love. “Hayden” (note, names have been changed – if the people in this story wish to out themselves that will be on them) – said “stop the car!!” and quickly jumped out, crouching low and moving like a ninja across the lawn. Looking around furtively he quickly scooped up the poor flamingo and bolted back to the car yelling “GO GO GO!!”
He dove in the backseat like he was diving onto the last chopper out of Vietnam, plastic flamingo firmly in his arms.
“Dan” (note that whole name change thing again) floored it and we were off in a blue cloud of what was surely more burning oil than tire smoke.
At this point of the story I feel it is necessary to tell you about Dan’s car so you can properly imagine the scene. It was a loud, emerald metallic green, 1960s Chevy Impala four door land yacht. I’m pretty sure it was big enough to need it’s own pilot car and oversize load signs to drive on today’s roads but back then it was fine. This car was anything but “subtle”. And here it was cruising around with three idiots laughing hysterically about the great pink flamingo heist that had just been pulled off.
Now if you think that’s the end of the story I have some good, or bad, news. We are hardly getting started. Freshen up your coffee, put away your judgement and let’s continue.
The heist was apparently too much fun, in that the discussion quickly turned to finding more hapless flamingos, the yard’s most confident and flamboyant decorations. The hunt was on.
Neighborhood after neighborhood we cruised, slowly, scanning for our next mark with all the subtlety of a marching band in a library. And somehow no one noticed. Or noticed enough to chase us with a rake. Either way, the evening ended with a successful hunt yielding an entire trunk full of pink flamingos. I still have no idea what the bag limit is or if we needed tags to hunt pink flamingos but we were rebels. This kind of fun could never be had today as this particular car burned about 16 litres of fuel per minute. It literally had raw fuel pouring out the exhaust as it idled. Driving was worse. The Rockefeller family couldn’t afford this kind of entertainment today.
Back at the rental house it was decided that the best way to use our pirated treasure was to cover the front lawn with them. Again in a testament to the subtlety we were known for, we proceeded to stick the wire legs into the ground and randomly stand the homeless birds everywhere, like a zoo that gave up on biodiversity and chose chaos instead. When we were done the yard looked like a wildlife exhibit titled: Flamingos: An Unreasonable Amount. We had a lot. I’m sure we counted at the time but the 80s were a few too many aluminum cans ago so I don’t have that stat available to you, but let’s say it was over 20.
I see now you can hire companies to come by and cover your yard in pink flamingos as a suprise for someone’s birthday. I’d like to take credit for starting that trend before anyone knew it was possible.
As typical teens with the attention span of a squirrel on it’s third double-double, we quickly moved on with our lives and kinda forgot the flamingos existed – despite walking past them every day. Winter came and with it the flamingos were reduced to unrecognizable lumps under a thick blanket of white snow. And still completely forgotten – until spring came along.
As the snow melted the first thing to pop out was just the flamingos heads, like a neon-pink periscope scanning a very wrong environment. They looked like tropical birds aggressively regretting their life choices. I’m sure people driving by were curious about a yard full of pink flamingo heads but again no one showed up with a selection of straight jackets so we were safe.
One particularly cool evening we noticed that the snow had frozen hard enough to walk on, with just the flamingo heads still protruding. A joke was made about it looking like a golf ball on a tee and the final and most horrific chapter of this tale was initiated. Digging through the closet we found one of “Dans” golf clubs (a nine iron I believe) and under the clear, cold moonlight “Flamingo-head Golf” was invented. At least I assume it was invented. If it had happened elsewhere its by sheer coincidence, and I would like to meet those people. I will let you now handle the job of forming a mental picture of how this Flamingo-head Golf went but suffice it to say, it went EXACTLY how you are imagining it. Those heads broke off cleanly and covered a considerable distance!
You might think the scene couldn’t get any worse, but you would be wrong. You see, as the days went by the snow continued to melt so at some point soon there was a lawn completely covered in headless pink flamingos. A plastic bird apocalypse, like a crime scene at a tropical mini-golf course that nobody wants to talk about. I cannot imagine what any passersby would have been thinking, but I’m sure the word “cult” would have been thrown around.
Now for some housekeeping. First, what happened to the flamingos? I cannot remember if we took them down or someone else in the neighborhood came by and cleaned up. Probably someone who was putting their house up for sale and was worried about property values.
Second, If anyone knows the laws regarding pink flamingos please advise if I need to apply for witness protection or something. Again, in the meantime I am going to assume that the statute of limitations for flamingo piracy is somewhere under 35 years.
Also, if you had a flamingo go missing from your yard in the late 80s feel free to reach out and I will make it right. I can get a 10 pack online for about $40.00 so I figure reparations should be swift and affordable.
Finally, if my kids are reading this – don’t laugh too harshly, this is where 50% of your DNA came from.
The Involved Husband 