Over the past 10 years, the following story has been told so many times that I feel as if I must finally put the official account down on paper before it takes on a life of its own. No matter how many times I tell it, it never ceases to amaze even me. However, the most remarkable thing about the story itself, is that it is completely and utterly true…
In August of 1992 my family was relocated to Hawaii, courtesy of the United States Marine Corps. The move was welcome as far as I was concerned, as I was coming off a rather rocky and awkward couple of years in Virginia. Puberty had been less that kind to me during my tenure at First Colonial High School in Virginia Beach, and I was anxious to make a fresh start in a new place. When my family told me that we would be moving to Hawaii I couldn’t believe my luck. I couldn’t possibly have dreamt up a better place to spend my last two years of high school.
It took almost a month for my parents to find suitable housing on the island. Real Estate on Oahu is expensive and scarce. In addition to it being hard to find, most of it is also somewhat unacceptable. Due to the casual nature of most of its inhabitants, many homes were not kept up incredibly well. Since neither of my parents wanted their family living in a rundown shack, the search for a decent place to live took quite a while. While my parents were searching for a place to live, the USMC put us up in a hotel on Waikiki Beach. For about a month, my family and I resided quite comfortably at The Hale Koa Hotel. My siblings and I spent the majority of our days sitting by the pool, eating fresh tropical fruits, learning to surf, and (in my case) flirting with the hot Hawaiian lifeguards that worked at the hotel. By the time we moved to Kailua, I was quite content with island life. Kailua was (and is) a sleepy little town on the west side of the island of Oahu. It was a mere 20 minutes from the bustling tourist attraction of Waikiki, but it felt light years away. The beaches were gorgeous and uncrowded, and the people friendly and welcoming. I kept my fingers crossed that this blissful life would continue as I entered into what would be my eighth school since I began kindergarten so many years ago. Clearly being the “new kid” was not a foreign thing to me, but I was still rather nervous. I knew that I would be finishing up my High School career in Hawaii and, more than anything, I really wanted to make a good impression.
I started my Junior year at Kalaheo High School two weeks before my 16th birthday. I was slightly upset that I was going to have to celebrate such a momentous occasion so early in my days at the high school. I knew I would be hard pressed to make a lot of progress in the friend-making department during my first week at the school, and no doubt my birthday celebration would be a quiet, family-type thing as a result. Thankfully, the transition was much easier than I expected and, though the majority of the people I met were boys (hot surfer boys at that), I considered my first week at school a success…So much so in fact that I asked my mother if I could throw a birthday party at our home for my big “Sweet Sixteen.” She agreed immediately, happy that I was making friends with such ease, and we set the date for that Friday night.
During lunchtime on the day of the party I was talking to several of my new friends who would be in attendance that evening. After expressing some concern that not enough people might show up, I was asked a question that seemed pretty innocuous at the time. “Dude,” they asked, “Do you want us to make it RAGE??” Not knowing the full implications of what I was about to get myself into, I answered… “Yeah, sure. I guess.”
I went promptly home after school that afternoon. Several of my new friends came over to help set up for the party. My parents had purchased a ton of juice, soda, and potato chips for the revelers to enjoy. We put the chips in bowls, cut up some veggies, and put the drinks on ice. I told everyone that the party would start promptly at 7 pm, and as the hour approached I began to get more and more nervous that no one would show up. My parents sensed how anxious I was getting, and decided that they would assuage my nervousness a bit by leaving for a couple of hours. They decided to take my brother and sister out to a movie so the party could get rolling without parental units in attendance. When they returned home a few hours later and found that they couldn’t get down the street due to the fact that it was packed with cars and teenagers as far as the eye could see, they quickly realized how big of a mistake they had made.
In those short two hours in which my parents were away, approximately 200 people had shown up at my home. Just about the time that I was absolutely convinced that no one was going to show up, people started gradually trickling in. Then, really without any warning at all, my entire backyard, front yard, and the surrounding area on the street, was filled with people, most of whom I had never set eyes on before. I have never been so overwhelmed or scared in my life. In the blink of an eye, my innocent little 16th birthday party had been transformed into a scene from Animal House. I had never really been a “partier” while living in Virginia Beach. My social agenda had previously consisted mostly of dance practice and study groups. Therefore, the event that was unfolding before my eyes was somewhat of a shock to my system. I was in a state of disbelief as I walked around the party. I was having a hard enough time just taking it all in, figuring out what I was going to do was another thing altogether. Most of all, for the life of me, I could not even begin to guess how 200 strangers could have possibly ended up at my home. I was completely baffled.
At first, I focused all my energy in preventing people from getting inside my house. I figured that if I could at least keep people away from my parent’s most valuable possessions, I could alleviate a lot of damage that I was sure was going to take place. Thank god I was mostly successful. Though several people had managed to sneak in, they seemed to be causing very little trouble. I found several people smoking pot in my younger brother’s room, and there were various couples making out all over the place, but relatively speaking it seemed rather tame. I had actually managed to calm myself down a bit until one of my friends from the soccer team came running in and said, “Jen, you should come outside. Now.” I made my way back outside, and quickly realized that what was going on inside the house was child’s play in comparison to the scene that laid before me. Someone had dumped out the trashcan full of sodas and juices and replaced it with a giant keg of beer. The chips and veggies that I had so lovingly placed on the bar appeared as if they had been ravaged by a pack of wild animals. All of the windows in the outdoor bar had somehow been knocked out of their panes and were lying discarded and broken on the deck. With tears in my eyes, I continued to survey the situation. It appeared that a small reggae band had set up shop in the corner of the yard, and there were people dancing, laughing, and having a grand ole’ time. Someone had taken the cover off our broken hot tub and, after realizing that it was in fact NOT filled with water, decided to sit in it anyway. A small group seemed to be having a lovely time sitting casually in the dry tub. As I continued to walk across the deck a body whizzed by me from above. People were jumping off the roof into the pool. Every few minutes a large splash would drench any poor soul who happened to be standing too close to the edge. It was complete and utter mayhem. I had no clue what to do. I knew that my parents would be home fairly soon, and in all honesty, I was sort of glad. I had no clue how to control the crowd, and was certain that if things continued to progress in this manner, it was entirely possible that my home be taken over by unruly high school kids.
At that very moment my parents were parking their car at the end of our street and making their way toward the house. I was in the backyard trying to break up a fight when they arrived. A friend of mine tapped me on the shoulder and informed me that my Mom and Dad had returned and were waiting for me inside. I walked toward their room, and dejectedly opened the door. I have to say for the record that I am quite lucky that my parents are such reasonable people. They expressed confusion as to how so many people had ended up at their home. I informed them that I was equally as perplexed. They assured me that they knew that the situation could not have possibly been entirely my fault. They realized that though they did know that I was certainly a likable person, they also knew that there was no way in hell that I could have made 200 friends in the span of 10 days. In an effort to help me save face, they allowed me to attempt to remedy the situation on my own. They told me to tell my “guests” that the party was over, and to try to get them to leave peacefully. I did just as they said, and was completely unsuccessful. My announcement that the party was over was met with a lot blank stares and quite a bit of laughter. I informed my father that I had failed at my task, and he proceeded out into the party.
My father was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marine Corps at the time. He is a man that had commanded thousands of troops to victory on the battlefield, a man who is highly respected by his superiors, and revered by his colleagues. Unfortunately, none of these attributes helped him in his efforts to remove 200 disorderly teenagers from his home. He did manage to get them out of the backyard and, for the most part, off his property. They would not however leave the street. The party may have ended at Casa de Stephan, but it continued to rage on the street outside. Scared that their new neighbors might not appreciate such a raucous neighborhood party being thrown without their permission, my parents trekked outside to face the music. Upon going outside, they realized that most of the neighborhood had gathered on their lawns to watch the spectacle that was going on at our house. Many neighbors had even brought out lawn chairs and coolers and, for the most part, appeared to be having a pretty decent time. My parents went across the street to speak to a family that had lived in Hawaii all their lives. After explaining to the neighbors what had happened, and expressing their disbelief that it COULD have happened, they were then told about how things work in the land of paradise. Apparently the news of a party can spread like wildfire on the island of Oahu. There’s some sort of “coconut” information line that can inform an entire island about a party in the span of a couple of hours. In the hours after lunchtime on that fated day, word had been passed from person to person and from high school to high school, until virtually the entire Island of Oahu had been informed of my little shindig. I know this sounds absolutely unbelievable, but it’s the unqualified truth. If you want to have a quiet party on the island, you have to keep it VERY, VERY quiet.
“Okay then,” my Mother replied to the neighbor with skepticism. “I think I understand, but what do we do now?”
“Call the cops,” he answered.
So…with a heavy heart, my father dialed 911. Upon the arrival of the policemen, the crowd quickly began to disperse. My parents, happy that the situation had been contained, approached the officers to express their gratitude. “You know,” one of the Policemen said, “It’s illegal to serve alcohol to minors. You could be fined for this.” “EXCUSE ME??” My father bellowed. “I called YOU. These people are trespassing on MY property. Do you think I planned this??” The cop had a difficult time processing the concept that someone had called the cops to break up their OWN party, but eventually he nodded and went on his way. Gradually most of the kids left and we returned back into the house, thinking that the worst was behind us. Scared to even look my parents in the eye at that point, I went immediately to the backyard to begin cleaning up the mess. As I was cleaning up the debris left behind by the partygoers, I heard my mother yell.
“JENNIFER!! GET IN THE BATHROOM NOW!!”
Shit.
No…really. I mean SHIT. There was poop everywhere. Someone had smeared his or her poop all over our hall bathroom. It was all over the place. On the floor, on the walls, on the shower curtain…it was appalling. I didn’t know what to say. I mean, what exactly CAN you say at that point? I was ashamed enough at what had already happened. Hell. I was having a hard enough time coming up with a way to explain how 200 people ended up at our home. I had NO idea how to explain a bathroom smeared with poo. So…I really didn’t say anything. My Mother told me to get away from her, let me know that she would take care of it, and then asked me not to speak to her for a little while. I agreed, and ran off to continue picking up the mess that my “guests” caused.
My mother woke me up the next morning at about 6am, handed me a box of garbage bags, and told me to go pick up every beer bottle and piece of trash that had been left in our neighborhood. I obeyed without a word. I was still waiting for my the other shoe to drop. I was positive that my punishment was going to be quite bad. It had to be. I threw a rager and someone spread poo all over my Mom’s bathroom. That had to qualify me for some MAJOR punishment. I was sure that they were just trying to dream up something suitable enough to fit the crime. I returned inside after filling countless garbage bags with cans and bottles. Upon entering the house, I found my parents scratching their heads (and holding their noses) trying to solve quite a conundrum. My Mom had cleaned and cleaned, and yet the bathroom STILL smelled like poop. They could not for the life of them figure out what was causing the smell. After doing some searching, we found that the perpetrator of the poop-smearing incident had left behind a little present. Under the sink we found his poop covered socks and underwear. They were disposed of immediately, and it was quite some time before I could mention the bathroom incident to my mother.
The aftermath of the party was not as horrible as I thought it might be. As I mentioned before, my parents were and are incredibly reasonable people. They knew that the cause of the party was largely not my fault, so my punishment was relatively simple: I was not allowed to attend any parties in the town of Kailua for quite some time…and understandably so. My parents had seen firsthand EXACTLY what went down at these functions, and could not in good conscience let their daughter attend such debaucherous events. A couple days later I found out via the grapevine who had been the cause of the bathroom incident. I decided to confront him at school during lunchtime. I was slightly intimidated, as he was perhaps the largest Samoan teenager that I had ever seen. Regardless, I put aside my fears, and I forged ahead. I felt it to be completely necessary that he know that what he did would not go unchecked. I didn’t make a huge scene. I simply walked up to him while he was eating lunch with his friends, and informed him that if he happened to be missing any dirty socks or underwear, he could find them at my house. I let him know that he was free to pick them up at anytime. From that point on he took to running the other direction when he would see me in the hall.
For the next two years while we lived at that house, we were constantly reminded of the infamous party. Randomly, during the weekends, kids would stop by our house to see if there just happened to be another party going on that night. We were also pegged by the police as a potential “party house,” and would often see police cruisers rolling by on Friday and Saturday nights just to see if I was up to my old tricks. I would also frequently find bottle caps and beer cans hidden in the strangest of places. When I did, I would point them out to my parents, and we would all laugh and recount the story of that night. As time put a greater distance between the party and our day-to-day lives, we were all able to make light of the incident more and more. The 16th Birthday Party Story has become a rather famous one in our circle of family and friends. To this day, I am constantly teased and ridiculed about what happened that night. Almost everyone I know knows all about it, and each time it is told it is met with the same disbelief. In all honesty, if I didn’t see it with my own two eyes, I don’t know that I would believe it either.
thanks go cecily at silvershoe.com, i found this story. cecily and i both think you should submit this story to the fray. i enjoyed it so much, and it's written *perfectly*. thanks!
Wow...Thank you for the compliment! I'm glad you enjoyed it! I've been telling that story for the past 10 years, and I finally put it down on paper. (Or in this case, the internet..)
Thanks again!
Born n raised Kailua and threw many ragers but never had that luck, sounds shitty!! Ha!
Same thing happened at my sweet sixteen......minus the poo
Toooo Funny. I grew up in Kailua, and went to Kalaheo high. That is exactly how it is, or atleast used to be. I wonder what year all this went down. I probably was there. Haaaaa
Jen,
This is a classic story!!! so detailed it makes me wonder if it was one of the thousand or so ragers I went to as I was growing up in Kailua, especially when you say you've been telling this story for like ten years. Can't recall the poo though! Later
I was at that party. I was humping the cat. The pussy was kind of small.
When I typed in Kailua, that was the last thing I expected to read! You wrote it so well, it made me miss those endless party days...minus the nastiness. Sorry you had to deal with that, but thanks for the hub...Peace, Liana
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After I was done with the cat, I gave some random guy a blumpkin in the bathroom! I was sooooooooooo wasted, omigod!!
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