Water Balloon Carwash

A cool breeze swirled around Hopatcong, carrying the smell of summer wherever it went. We sat on old wooden deck chairs, which were in need of a new coat of stain, staring out across the lake. It was the largest manmade lake in New Jersey and Hopatcong's claim to fame during the outset of the 1900s. During the summer, the town would be a magnet for movie stars and other social elites. Nevertheless, those days are long gone. The town is now only a shell of its former self. Poorly built summer homes were converted to year round dwellings. Roads were haphazardly pieced together, creating a labyrinth sure to consume the composure of any outsider trying to navigate their way through the town. And the social elites might own overpriced homes on the lake, but the town is no longer a choice vacation spot for that upper 1% of society.

Instead, the town serves as societal Petri dish in the sense that the culture of the town is fairly unique. It has areas of extreme poverty yet if one were to drive a couple minutes the other way, million dollar homes and their yuppie owners could be located. And then there were those in the middle like myself and my friend Mark, who were picking our 15-year-old brains, trying to figure out what do in a town that lacked in the activity department-at least organized ones.

"Do you want to go swimming at the dock?" Mark asked.

"Na, my dad was telling me there was a bunch of septic runoff into the lake. I'm not really looking to swim in water that is filled with shit and gasoline."

"Ah, just take a shower," he said.

"I'll go to Bear Pond, but I don't know if you want to make the bike ride."

"Yea, not today. Too hot."

We sat there with blank expressions for another fifteen minutes before it finally came to us.

"You down for throwing some water balloons at cars?" asked Mark.

"Of course. When has that ever failed us?"

After a quick bike ride to the center of town to acquire some water balloons, we spent an hour or so filling them up and storing them in a bright red bucket. Our arsenal was impressive as it was heavy, but we managed to get it through the woods to our perch that overlooked Lakeside Blvd. High up on a hill like the Grinch, we could see the cars, but they couldn't see us. They were clueless to the evil we would bring down on them. And in our defense, it wasn't nearly as bad as trying ruin Christmas for an entire town. We refrained from throwing things that could damage a car such as eggs or rocks. Hell, even some of the balloons had soap in them so we were doing these unsuspecting souls a friendly service.

The first couple of balloons served to help us get a feel for the wind and the speed of the cars, but ten minutes in and we were wreaking havoc on any car that came into our strike range. We were ripped on adrenalin, laughing like crazed maniacs, but it was now us who would be unaware of what was about to happen next. A rusty Ford pickup rumbled down the road with the paint job chipping away every couple of feet. Our eyes widened, our arms cocked in anticipation, and when the truck reached the spot that indicated it was time to throw, we unloaded.

Time seemed to slow down as me and Mark stood motionless, smiling for what was about to come. WHAP! SPLASH! Both balloons struck the open driver side window, but one managed to sneak inside. It was equilvalent to winning the lottery twice. Hitting the windshield was one thing, but the driver side window was a spot that rarely got hit; and for a balloon to actually get inside the cab was simply incredible.

The pickup came to a violent halt, with the front end crossing the double yellow line. We watched from our spot way up on the hill as the driver emerged from his vehicle. His bangs were soaking wet and covered his Neanderthal-esque brow. He was wearing a sleeveless confederate flag t-shirt, torn blue jeans, boots, and was holding what looked like a knife in his hand. As he searched the area for us, we noticed a glorious black mullet on the other side of his head.

"I'm going to kill you motherfuckers!" he yelled, which caused us to laugh loud enough for him to locate us. He looked in our direction, flipped his wet bangs back, exposing lunatic eyes, and then charged the hill with surprising speed. Mark bolted back towards his house. I turned around and banged my knee viciously on an old stone wall, causing me to fall over it. Barely able to stand, I ran as hard as I could, but had to dive behind a tree and hope the insane mullet man didn't see me. My leg was useless, overrun by pain at the wrong time, leaving me wounded and stranded as a furious hillbilly was determined to gut some mischievous kids. I watched as he made his way to our spot, seemingly out of breath from cursing as he sprinted up a hill composed of loose dirt.

He kicked over our bucket of water balloons causing them to pop as they tumbled down the hill. His search didn't last long as he soon realized he left his truck running in the middle of the street. The rage that had drove the man to pull out a knife and run crazily into the woods seemed to subside as he turned around and returned to his truck. After a few minutes, I got up and hobbled back to Mark's where we sat on the porch and tried to figure out what to do next. And after another hour, we settled on the plan to return to our perch to continue our water balloon carwash.