Attack of the Drunken Caterer!
One morning, when I was a lad, I came downstairs in the morning to find a very confused young man standing in our kitchen. I retrieved what I had come down for and, on my way back upstairs to my room to get ready for school, casually informed my mother of our guest. She was a bit more concerned than I and went down to find out what the hell was going on. I followed shortly, to find her interrogating him and feeding him coffee.

As it happens, he and a bunch of his catering buddies had gotten hammered after a job the previous night and his "friends", thinking it would be a lark, dropped him at our house telling him it was the site of the night's work. He didn't remember much but the forensic evidence spoke volumes. The bottom panel of the back door was kicked in, the folded laundry on the dining room table was slept on, and his missing shoe was found in the tack room of our barn. While coffee helped to take the edge off his intoxication, I think what sobered him up more was my mother informing him that the cop living next door likely would have shot him if he'd caught him kicking down his front door.

At any rate, the most amusing part of the whole story is that my mother bred Shih-Tzus. Our dogs barked at every small noise, every visitor (no matter how well-known), every little disturbance. But a drunk kid kicks down the back door into the kitchen where they slept? Not a peep. Useless rag-mop bastards!
(bergec is filled with inertia, Wed 22 Sep 2010, 18:26, Reply)