For me, breaking the streak wasn’t intentional. Have you heard of streaking? In 1973 my wife, three-year-old daughter, and I lived in Worcester, MA. I was the assistant manager for the downtown Indianapolis Thom McCann shoe store when they interviewed me for a position at the home office. I accepted, and we moved to Massachusetts. We rented a first-floor, two-bedroom apartment in a building that had three floors with four apartments per floor.
When we moved in, we knew nobody but my wife and I were outgoing. We made friends with Gene and Carol, who lived in our building, and they introduced us to Hank and Ann in the next building. We were all in our early twenties and would hang out after work and on weekends.
What was Streaking?
Have you ever heard of streaking? In the early seventies, streaking was a thing. “The high point of streaking’s pop culture significance was in 1974 when thousands of streaks took place around the world.” — Wikipedia
“On April 2, 1974, at the Academy Awards ceremony in Los Angeles, a naked man ran across the stage as David Niven read an introduction. Niven was shaken but recovered his customary urbanity fast enough to quip, “Just think, the only laugh that man will ever get in his life is by stripping off his clothes and showing his shortcomings.” The incident marked the high point—or low if you prefer—of a practice that vied with Pet Rocks for the coveted title of Dumbest Fad of the 1970s: streaking.” — American Heritage — streaking-fad
One night in the summer of 1973, near midnight, while the three couples played cards at Hank and Ann’s apartment, one of the wives dared the husbands to streak around the building. Hank and I took the dare. Gene was smarter.
Breaking the Streak
Hank and I disrobed, ran down the stairs, out the door, and started our run around the building. I’ve always been a fast runner, so I took off as fast as possible. Surprisingly, at least to me, Hank was slowly jogging as he sang along to some silly song in his head. I got to the front door of the building before Hank had made it around the last corner. That’s when I realized I didn’t have a key. As I stood on the front steps, under the lights, uncomfortably covering my genitals with my hands, a family came up behind me. It was a lovely Indian family, Mom, Dad, and two little ones. When they came into sight of me, they stopped. Dad said something to Mom in a language foreign to me, and she rushed the children in, covering their eyes and hers with her long-flowing hijab.
Dad stared at me incredulously. After several seconds that seemed like hours, I said, “So, how are things on the Ganges?” I couldn’t make this up. Alcohol may have been involved. Dad shook his head and went inside.
Hank came around the corner just in time to see Mom and the kids enter the building. He waited for Dad to follow, then came on around with the key laughing his naked ass off as he unlocked the door. I never streaked again.
And there’s a book of humor
Want to read a collection of humor pieces? Writing I Think I’m Funny: and it gets me in trouble all the time has been a labor of love. Of the 47 stories in this book, more than 30 are true tales from my days on this planet. Most of those make it clear how my warped sense of humor gets me in trouble.