This memory is shared by Anonymous and dates back to around 1990:
When the idea of taking a joyride on my boyfriend’s motorcycle came up, my best friend and I couldn’t resist the allure of rebellion. The promise of adventure hung in the air, whispering secrets of excitement waiting to be discovered. Our youthful spirits soared as we envisioned the freedom of riding on two wheels. With a shared glance of excitement, we eagerly accepted the invitation without hesitation.
While my boyfriend was occupied indoors, engrossed in a game of Tetris on my computer, my best friend and I were racing faster than cheetahs chasing a gazelle. When we encountered a red light, we decided to defy convention and “ride on red” as if we were characters in a Mario Kart game. But just as we were feeling triumphant, a neighbourhood traffic officer suddenly appeared.
Although he wasn’t on duty, merely out for his routine jog, he wasted no time in reprimanding us for our reckless behaviour. He cited our youth, lack of helmets, and the numerous traffic violations we had committed.
After promising to return with his ticket book, the officer vanished around the corner, leaving my friend and me to grapple with the seriousness of our situation. But we were not about to wait around. As soon as he disappeared from view, my friend and I decided to flee the scene, reminiscent of two bank robbers making their getaway.
Unfortunately, in our panic, we struggled to restart the bike, forcing us to push it all the way home. We sweated profusely, pushing the bike as if it were a shopping cart filled with gold bars.
Upon arriving home, we executed our top-secret mission of hiding the motorbike in the backyard with ninja-like stealth, ensuring it was camouflaged from any prying eyes. Then, we dashed inside, becoming nosy neighbours as we peeked through the curtains, ready to spot any sign of the dreaded traffic officer.
Our hearts played a drum solo as we waited, half-expecting the ominous sight of the traffic officer at our doorstep or the sight of my parents emerging with a lecture that could rival the length of a soap opera episode.
But when my parents eventually saw us, looking as guilty as cats caught with mouthfuls of canaries, we had no choice but to come clean. To our surprise, instead of launching into parental tirades, they burst into laughter.
Apparently, our attempt at covert ops was more comedy than criminal, and our panicked expressions were all the evidence they needed. Our panicked state showed them that we had learned our lesson, even if it was just for that day.