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In the summer of 2002 Camas In Our Pants moved into a house together in the Ravenna neighborhood of north Seattle. We were bass player, drummer, lead vocalist, and lead guitarist all under the same roof. 3 of us were 22 years old and Jesse the drummer was 27. Hooliganery ensued. Energy and emotions were high in the house and we were always looking for ways to blow off steam.

One warm day in late summer Jesse and I were kicking the soccer ball around in the front yard. I love all sports but soccer was the one I played well enough to earn a letter in high school. Anton’s was golf. Joe played basketball. Jesse’s sport was baseball. We all played each sport together, at one time or another. Today was a soccer day.

The volleys increased in strength as we tested each other’s reactions. Jesse started trying to protect the hedge like a goal. He lunged to block a few before they’d disappear under the bushes in front of our living room picture window. Then he’d boot it back to me, guarding the neighbors’ parallel-parked cars up and down 23rd ave.

I placed the ball near the sidewalk for my 3rd or 4th penalty kick, stepped back and squinted. He crouched, hands out like a goalkeeper. I stepped into a missile of a shot that just cleared his outstretched left hand. Unfortunately there was nothing else to stop it before meeting the front window. It punched a perfect, soccer ball-sized hole in the lower right corner of the large pane, the sound of shattering glass. What a shot! We celebrated. If this story deserved a sponsor, it would definitely be Sparks malt liquor+energy drink.

When the other roommates learned about the incident they were annoyed. How would we tell Cheng Wan, our landlord? How much was this going to cost? None of us were making good money at our respective workplaces, though we were all employed. Ah well, shit happens… But fuck this, we don’t want to pay for this…

Through the course of a drunken evening, a plan was hatched:

It was kids. Threw a rock through it. Terrors of the neighborhood. Neighbors had complained of vandalism (no they hadn’t). We must have made enemies!

A paper bag was sourced and in it we put all of the glass from the missing piece of window. We found a baseball-sized rock outside. In the bag it went. Closing and shaking the bag produced a rock covered in glass residue and shards. It went on display on the entertainment center shelf, for when Cheng came to check out the scene. One of us made the call, describing the wreckage that was “discovered.” 

Handymen came, the window was replaced. CIOP kept our hard-earned money to spend on our staples: beer, weed, and guitar strings.

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