Tuesday, August 03, 2010


Today I have a really funny story for you, courtesy of my teenage years.

My house got rolled a few times in high school. It was the basketball team same crew of boys every time. You might think, “oh, they were just flirting!” Well of course they were, but not with me – with my dad. It drove him CRAZY and 90% of why they would do it is to get a reaction from him. He chased them in his car; ran up the street in his boxers in the middle of the night after one straggler; one time he found a receipt in the bushes, showing all the toilet paper bought at Winn-Dixie the night before, and called the house where I knew they all were spending the night because the kid’s parents weren’t home. He threatened to go review security tapes at Winn Dixie and press charges if they didn’t wake up, come back, and pick up every square. Twenty minutes later, a van with six tired boys pulled up to our house. It was a windy morning, so there was TP all up the street and in our neighbor’s yards too. They had their work cut out for them. One guy thought he could burn the toilet paper out of the tree, which seemed like a good idea in theory, until it feel onto the dead winter grass and caught part of our yard on fire. Oops.

My mom didn’t mind the toilet paper. What she hated the most was the ringing of the doorbell in the middle of the night. My grandfather used to work in law enforcement and she said every time the doorbell rang, it made her think someone was coming to deliver bad news. Please also keep in mind that my and my sister’s bedrooms were upstairs and I am a very heavy sleeper. Every night the doorbell rang and chaos ensued, I slept through it. Every single time!

Except this time. This particular stunt was targeted at me and the ironic part is that I wasn’t even home the night it was executed. Jury’s still out on where I was (it’s been a decade!) but I wasn’t at home.

One peaceful summer night, my parents awoke to the frantic RINGADINGADINGADINGADINGADING of the doorbell and orange flashing lights. They looked out their bedroom window and found a 7-foot, 300-lb man wearing a huge hat, holding a large shovel, and planted firmly at our front door. There was also a road barricade or two in the front yard. Mom called the cops while Dad thundered to the front door. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?” he kept yelling. “WHO ARE YOU and WHAT DO YOU WANT?” The man would not answer. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?!?!?"

Mom said the police were telling her to stay calm and not open the door. “He’s going to kill us with that shovel!” “Are you sure it’s a shovel?”

We have bay windows on either side of our front door and if you’re really stealthy you can peek through the blinds and get a good look at who… or what… is standing on the stoop. Still on the phone, Mom quietly tiptoed up to the window, peered through a crack in the blinds, and in the darkness of night recognized this guy:
I think he used to be smiling, now he just looks stunned. He probably went from smiling to stunned that very night. If you’re not from Birmingham then you may not recognize the statue. This portly chef has been welcoming customers to Edgar’s Bakery for years. He used to stand outside the store but for obvious reasons, now he remains locked up inside after hours. He’s cute in the daytime, but in the middle of the night on your front porch, not so much. See his right hand? It used to hold that very sign, turned horizontally and stuck on a pole that came up to his shoulders. AKA, a shovel.

The next day when they were moving the chef, my parents noticed that the pranksters had scratched or carved YEARBOOKS? into his "shovel"/sign. I was the yearbook editor my senior year, and due to circumstances out of my control, the books were later than normal arriving. We all got them, I just think we seniors were already out of finals if not graduated before they arrived, with nothing better to do than steal statues I guess.

Mom called Edgar’s that morning to let them know we had their chef and they were so grateful to come get him. I’m not sure that anyone ever got punished or caught for the Grand Theft Statue. I feel like at the time we figured it out but I can’t think of who it was. Or where I was the night this all went down.

I bet you’ll never eat at Edgar’s without thinking of this story. Next time you see that guy, tell him my family says hi. He should remember us – after all, he did spend the night at my house!


  1. Rolling on the floor laughing!! One of my favorite stories of all time! Glad I slept through it!

  2. Hilarious!!! You still don't know who did it? That is so wild, they stole it from Birmingham!

  3. I'm not saying we didn't know who did it... I've just forgotten since then. And I grew up in Birmingham, so they didn't have far to haul him :)

  4. Reward to anyone who fesses up or to anyone who rats on the perpetrator. I need to make sure his (I'm quite sure a guy did it) children hear this story one day!

  5. I wonder if Trey knows? I'll ask him... hopefully he wasn't in on any of it! I would seriousy doubt it=)

  6. I needed a laugh and knew just where to find it. Almost a year later and still just as funny as the day you posted it!


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