Once A Prankster

My brothers, who were older than me, had a Johnson Smith mail order catalog.  I couldn’t wait to be old enough to order items from Johnson Smith.

Exploding cigars, itching powder, dribble glasses, squirt lapel flowers, fake plastic bugs in clear plastic ice cubes.  Not to mention cold cream jars that didn’t hold cold cream --- they held coiled snakes that would spring out of the jars when they were opened by unsuspecting women.

My young imagination sizzled with all the fun I would have playing pranks on people. 

But, somehow, I never got around to ordering from the catalog when I got older.  Instead, I created my own pranks.

Some high school friends had never tried white chocolate.  I proceeded to buy some white chocolate from a candy store and broke it into little pieces.  Then I took a small bar of white hand soap, and broke it into little pieces.  I mixed everything in a brown paper bag.

The next time my friends and I got together, I brought along the bag.  “Here, reach in and try a piece of white chocolate.”  I couldn’t wait for someone to nibble on soap instead of candy.

I was sixteen years old when Hawaii joined the Union.  I decided that my high school friends should get exotic Christmas cards that year. 

I bought a bunch of plain postcards from our local post office.  On the front of each postcard I typed a friend’s address, on the back I adjusted the typewriter ribbon to red and typed: “Hope your Christmas is a red-letter day!” and added a typewritten signature: Hester Prynne (the main character in The Scarlet Letter.)

I put all the postcards in a large envelope, along with a letter asking the Honolulu postmaster to mail them.  I put the envelope in the mail, and crossed my fingers.

Lo and behold, the Honolulu postmaster did as I asked.  

I was certain because I had addressed one of the postcards to myself.  My puzzled high school friends asked me if I knew who sent them a postcard from Hawaii signed by Hester Prynne.  I took my postcard out of my pocket and said, “I have no idea; I got one, too!”

I had established my credentials as a prankster --- firmly established.

Many years after high school, I was visiting a friend in Oregon.  We drove by a motel and I was suddenly asked: "How did you do that, Doug?”  I looked at the motel, which seemed rather ordinary.  “How did I do what?”  “You know!  That sign.”  I looked at the motel sign.

The sign said “Welcome, National Pygmy Goat Association.”  My friend had assumed that I had talked the manager into putting this message on the motel sign.

I realized there was no way to convince my friend that I had not invented the NPGA.  Once a prankster; always a prankster.

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FOOTNOTE:  Pranksters will be glad to know that Johnson Smith is still in business, and you can still get fake plastic bugs in clear plastic ice cubes ---  http://www.johnsonsmith.com

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NOTE: Doug's best stories have been collected into a book: Puppy Out Of Breath.  Price = $11.  You can purchase a copy at  http://www.puppyoutofbreath.com