TP-ing: The ultimate minister-sanctioned prank

I hereby renounce the following practice from my past. I confess that throwing toilet paper all over someone’s house and yard (known as TP-ing) is a socially and environmentally reprehensible thing to do; not to mention a profligate waste of an essential product in pursuit of the childish rush of a cheap practical joke.

WAWO GOES CUCKOO

I was about halfway through my long tenure at First Baptist Church of Morganton as Associate Minister. My pious, angelic persona and carefully cultivated image as “the wise and wondrous one” (WAWO for short) was about to succumb to the dark side of sophomoric tomfoolery.

I enlisted the assistance of several conspirators in this diabolical deed. First among them was the longtime Christian Education Secretary Barbara “Boogie” Lambert, who was always up for some mischief.

Other participants in the dastardly undertaking were Boogie’s 6’4” tall son, Mark, the Church Administrative Assistant Cathy, and her six-year-old granddaughter Lauren, along with me and my pre-adolescent son, Tal. (Don’t tell my wife about this.)

We decided to bestow a special present on the Food Service Director Suzette Pendleton for her birthday and as recognition for having endured another year of church staff shenanigans.

SQUEEZING THE CHARMIN

It was a dark, moonless, rainy night. The only light piercing the darkness came from street lights shrouded in fog and the occasional car making its way down Bethel Street.

We had “intelligence” that Suzette had gone to Hickory to dine out with friends. (Actually, “intelligence” had nothing to do with it. She just told us that was her plan for the evening.)A single car pulled into the driveway of her lovely bungalow. Out of the mist, several figures in dark clothing emerged into the yard loaded with boxes of toilet paper “ammunition.”

In our excitement, the “stealthy six” were definitely “squeezing the Charmin” as we set to work in our diabolical decorating. Most of us were running around throwing rolls into the air over the roof, over the trees, even tossing a few on top of the garage.Meanwhile, Boogie was delicately arranging tissue on the front porch furniture as if she was setting out doilies for a Women’s Missionary Union tea party.When Mark saw what his mother was doing he cracked up laughing. He then broke the cautious silence with a loud, “Mom! We don’t have time for that! We’re not trying to balance her Fung Shui! Throw that stuff around!”

Boogie was startled back into reality and jammed the entire rest of the roll in Suzette’s mailbox.

The wannabe-Seal Team 6 TP “special op” took a moment to gaze in wonder at our devastating handiwork, then loaded up and were on our way before nosey neighbors interceded and called public safety, or the hapless victim herself arrived home from her birthday revels to catch us in the act.

Suzette remembers, “When I got home, I was shell-shocked and speechless for about a minute. It looked like bad taste backwoods wedding décor gone wild! Then I started laughing hysterically. I realized whoever did this (and I had my strong suspicions who the culprits were) cared enough about me to give me one of the most surprising memories of my life.”

She adds, “Clean up was a different story altogether.”

BREAKING NEWS OF SUMMER 'SNOW'

If the attack on Chef Pendleton’s house was a “special op,” another TP incident was more like a massive D-Day mobilization.

Way back before WBTV’s John Carter became a bigtime News Anchor, he used to be the Western Bureau (which was based in Morganton) chief for the station. He was a member of our church and was a great helper with the youth ministry.

After one Sunday night youth group “Super Session,” as I was waiting with teens for their parents to pick them up, one youth made a random suggestion that we should TP John’s house as a kind of “welcome” from the youth group.

I laughed, but discouraged the idea immediately. It was hard enough to find youth ministry helpers. It was also difficult to figure out how to consider a TP-attack of someone’s house as any form of “ministry.”

But, alas, the idea grew on me. It was to become a realization of the rueful saying, “No good deed goes unpunished.”

One evening we loaded up vans of youth and gave each teen two rolls of toilet paper. Destination: the John Carter abode in Council Oaks subdivision. Unfortunately, John was home at the time.

Part of the contingency plan was that I would drive separately and, should he be there, my job was to ring the doorbell and go inside to distract him while the others stayed out of sight. Once inside, the youth group would do their worst, uh…in all “Christian love.”

John and I were sitting at his kitchen table “shooting the breeze” and all was going well. Just then a roll of toilet paper descended from his back porch. One athletic high schooler at the front of the house had thrown a roll like he was throwing a football over the roof.

It cleared the house and dropped into the back yard. In mid-conversation, John did a classic double take and, just for a split second, had a perplexed look on his face. Then it dawned on him what disaster was being visited upon him. He paused long enough to shoot me a look of threatening menace as he realized my betrayal.

Mr. Carter jumped up from his chair and bolted outside to confront the offending youth and behold the blizzard of snowy tissue blanketing his house, car, and yard. I thought he was going to explode, but instead let out his hearty laugh in good-natured astonishment.

He took some photos, invited the kids in for refreshments, and listened in charitable good humor as the kids recounted their various TP distribution techniques.

The adventure concluded with the group dutifully going back outside to clean up before departing. John enthusiastically blessed our exit. I imagine it was a different kind of “blessing” he muttered after we left.

DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT

I know what you’re thinking: Ol’ Fred deserves a long overdue dose of his own medicine, but I wouldn’t TP my house if I were you.

Should you try such a foolish venture, I give you this warning: if you don’t become enmeshed in my over-aggressive crop of kudzu, then my attack posse of feral cats won’t leave a scrap on your vindictive bones.