The Time I Kidnapped and Murdered Someone: A True Story. (pt. 2)

I started out the day in Communications' class with some friends, planning out what to shoot for one of their skateboarding videos; a mishmash of trick footage and guerilla-style tomfoolery in the vain of CKY (which had just come out). Since some of us were not as interested in the skate aspect, yet all of us were interested in fucking off to go pick up lunch somewhere.. we decided upon a mock kidnapping at a major intersection in downtown Collingwood for our scene.

- C'wood Town Hall, with Second St. traffic lights in the distance.

Wearing balaclavas and gripping fake plastic clubs while parked behind a nearby TD bank, we laughed about someone spotting us and calling the cops.

There were five of us. A cameraman, a driver, two goons and myself; elected victim despite my Tempo being the getaway vehicle. This meant an explanation on my part about the sensitivity of the brakes, and why, when popping the trunk, you couldn't just hit the button (because it was broken and nothing would happen). Instead, you had to put the car in park, turn off the engine and physically get up and out of the car to go around and turn the only key I had in the keyhole, if you wanted in.

We made plans on how the shit would go down, finished our Wendy's Jr. Burgers and pulled out of there. When we were a block away from our location, I got out with our cameraman and started walking...

As I approached the crosswalk at Hurontario and Second St, I heard the engine accelerate and then.. ‘SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!!’

The car had pulled in fast and stopped in way of traffic. The ‘kidnappers’ jumped out masked and swinging their plastic clubs to attack.

They were on me in seconds.

I screamed out as ridiculous and over-the-top as I could while they kicked and batted at me (tenderly). I pretended to struggle and whine as they dragged me over and into the trunk of my car; and I thumped once they slammed it shut again and shuffled to their doors.*

*On the tape (which I lost a long time ago) you could actually hear an old lady scream and then, absolutely petrified, ask: "Why are you doing this? What's going on?"

The car sped away.

Five minutes later the car stopped, my friends let me out, and we returned to class; just in time for the lunch bell.

* * *

When I pulled into the parking lot of my afternoon co-op, I was very much surprised to find two police cruisers already awaiting my arrive.

'Awww.. fuck!' and other swear words were said, ..but all I could do was park and face whatever driving infractions were coming my way. I thought maybe 'Disturbing the Peace' might get tossed around, but I was still just 17, so 'whatever' right!? I was more afraid that my mom was going to have my balls for it.*

*She was always psycho-scary when it came to being angry!

I walked into Roger's Television with an 'OH FUCK?!' look on my face; but totally sweet and pure and Honour Role otherwise. This was my plan.

A couple of cops were chatting up my employer because they knew one another. Doug spots me and then a smirk forms on his face. The officers are still talking, but he stops them mid-sentence to announce me (and to his credit, rather cordially*).

*He tells me later that something like 15 cruisers sped in there earlier, and officers were coming up to his front door with their hands on their holsters. He felt the need to step outside and explain that 'there must be some mistake... ' and so thankfully, I only had to deal with these two dripping in butter(ed).

I learn that these cops - and cops from three other counties (don't ask me which ones?) - had been driving everywhere that morning searching for my car, but couldn't find me because they were looking for a blue Ford Taurus instead of my Tempo. The detail was slight, but enough.

Several witnesses had read the plates and reported us (one of them from when we were parked behind the bank). How any of these people failed to see our cameraman and just how stupid and obviously fake our stunt was, is still beyond me?!*

* I think maybe we just blew their small town minds..

..AND AS FOR THE POLICE?!?!?!


Well... it seemed in the end that all the hullabaloo and detail put in investigation would have less to do with these institutions' inability to take a prank, and more to do with our performance's parallel to events that had happened the night before in the GTA.

Having not read the Toronto Sun earlier in the day, neither my friends or I knew that a teenager named Matty Baronofsky had been assaulted and killed by a group of teenagers in G. Rossland Park the night before. Or that the perpetrators had worn balaclavas and used small clubs and baseball bats in his beating-death.

With our ‘kidnapping’ having happened so soon after, and the plates of my (grandma’s) car being traced back to Toronto, for some two or three hours I was a prime murder suspect and, simultaneously, my own next victim.*

*They had got in touch with my grandma and mom (how they found out where I'd be), and both didn't know which one I was either.

If they had rolled up on me during lunch, I feel like they probably would've thrown me hard onto the cruiser and beaten me down...


...but thankfully, no such thing happened.

The encounter would take over the remainder of my day, though no hostile infraction on my liberties resulted from it. No suspension. No jail time. Only a small amount of notoriety and pride for having pulled a rather absurd affront to a couple of institutions – the O.P.P and the Simcoe County District School Board – deemed ‘oppressive’ by my then Anarcho-Socialist political perspective. Heck, we even got in the paper!*

*...BUT HOLY-FUCKING-SHIT DID I EVER HAVE TO TALK MY ASS OFF LIKE NEVER BEFORE (OR SINCE)!!!

* * *

NOTE: This happened 10 years ago this month... and I still find it totally hilarious.*

*..So thanks again for kidnapping me Sid, Tyler, Jesse, and Mike!

The Time I Kidnapped and Murdered Someone: A True Story. (pt. 1)

'What did you do today?' is a question my mom might ask me... short, civil and only as familiar as I (the respondent) want it to be. For most people who've at least met before, it's an easy attempt to get to know one another. A conversation builder. Something to open up the sharing of one-self or point of view.. on the everyday things we all share. It (the question) can lead to more involved topics or deeper analysis and critique of what went on, or - as is the case for my mom and I - something to end in a few words of disinterested answer; so both parties can move on with their days, but also feign polite.

The same question, however, when posed from across a long wooden table by a couple of strangers in police uniforms - who may or may not suspect you of kidnapping and murder – sounds out in a tone that has you take a slightly more considerate approach in response.*

*The details of which, apparently of actual interest to these officers (or at least enough so as the three of us can sit together and scrutinize them for potentially many hours to come).


I am 17 years old and guilty; but only somewhat...

* * *

FACT #1.
Wasaga Beach is a place that, at the superficial glance of a summer weekender, seems either a kitschy leftover of 1950s car culture or a place for shit-bags to drink and fuck lots-and-lots. Either observation is a perfectly valid one. And it is, in many ways, these two things that separates this place where I once lived from the countless other small and monotonous towns in-and-around the Georgian Triangle of Southern Ontario.


FACT #2.

The 1987 Ford Tempo is a great American automobile.


Mine was navy blue, and very much the piece-of-shit-hand-me-down-on-its-last-legs you might expect it was. It smelled, it screeched and it broke down; but it was a car. It meant not having to ride the bus to school everyday.

One of the back windows would never roll up all the way, but that was fine, because exhaust fumes leaked into the back seat constantly, most likely from the trunk (which was apparently unbearable to be in for long periods); so the fresh air was appreciated.

The power steering was busted - a surprisingly useful feature when making hairpin turns in suburban streets - and the automatic transmission would sometimes hiccup during shifts - which did a disservice to the Steve McQueen-in-'Bullitt' kind of vibe I'd be going for when chasing down 'runners.'

One time I ran over Tyler Brown in it, but the tires didn't have enough pressure in them to do any serious damage. I thought I had run over his head... but instead he got up with only a few scrapes and tread marks on his arm, and then punched me in the face.*

*He was a bit of a dickhead.

* * *

The '87 Tempo was my grandma’s car really, and I only had it because she was suddenly too old to drive and I needed something to get to-and-from my co-op in; at a Roger's television station somewhere between where I lived and where I went to high school (Collingwood). But it was also an escape from small towns...

Despite all the mechanical issues, it got me to all-ages punk shows.. to proper movie theatres.. to friend's houses.. to more food choices, extracurricular activities and less boredom.

I loved that shitty car!*

*Without it however, I wouldn't be sitting at a long wooden table with the PO-lice and shittting myself trying to figure out just how much they know.

[to be continued..]