Paul Feig - My Parents Gave My Bedroom to a Biker

BY PAUL FEIG

T his all started because I wouldnt take out the trash.

Now, before you go judging me, I just want to make it clear that Im not the kind of lazy kid whos bad or hates to be useful around the house. Ive helped my mom vacuum and my dad clean out the garage so many times I should get some kind of gold medal from the President of the United States. Ive heard them tell our relatives on several occasions that Im a good son. Im the only kid I know who actually likes broccoli and eats it at every meal. Even my teachers say Im pretty polite and responsible and always get my homework in on time. (Well, except for once when our neighbors dog escaped and attacked me when I was waiting at the bus stop with my science project and since it was a moldy bread experiment, a dog actually did eat my homework.)

So, the fact that my parents would get that upset at me about something so stupid and trivial as not taking out the garbage one time only makes them look bad, not me.

Especially when you hear about all the trouble it caused.

This whole insane episode started on this really hot day in July when it was super humid out. You know, that kind of humidity where you come out of your air-conditioned house and before you even close the door behind you, youre sweatier than some guy who just ran across a boiling desert. I had decided to avoid the heat and was comfortably lying on the living room couch watching a supercool show on TV where they blow up stuff to prove scientific theories. So, when my dad told me to take out the garbage as he was leaving to go to work, I just said okay and told myself Id do it as soon as there was a commercial break.

And then I forgot all about it.

And since my mom didnt hear my dad ask me to take the garbage out and must have assumed he did it himself and since she didnt leave the house all day and didnt see that the cans werent out front when the garbage truck came by, no one knew there were still three full cans of really smelly garbage sitting in our roasting hot garage until my dad came home and opened the garage door and got a barf-inducing whiff and flipped his lid.

You never do anything we tell you to do! he yelled at me after he burst into my room without knocking even though for all he knew I could have been in my underwear or had my finger halfway up my nose because I didnt have any warning that someone was going to barge in. You only think of yourself! Youre the most irresponsible, self-centered, lazy kid Ive ever met! And then he slammed the door and stormed off down the hallway.

A bit scared by how angry he had been, I just sat there and waited for him to come back and tell me what my punishment was going to be even though it was totally unfair of him to say such mean things to me. I figured I was probably going to get grounded or have to give up a weeks allowance or lose my TV privileges, since thats what happened the other few times Ive gotten in trouble. Making things worse, however, was the fact that I had screwed up just the day before when I accidentally broke the window on my moms china cabinet because I thought it would be a genius idea to try and hit a golf ball with a tennis racket in the living room. My folks were so mad at me about that goof-up that they hadnt even thought of a punishment severe enough to fit my crime yet. And so I had to figure that whatever double sentence was about to be handed down to me was going to be a doozy.

But no punishment came.

The only thing that happened was my mom knocked on my door and told me it was time for dinner. I came out and sat at the table and my mom brought me my side plate of broccoli (that neither of them would touch because they hate broccoli) and we all ate. Neither of them would talk to me and they kept exchanging looks with each other, but no one said anything about me being punished.

And so I did my homework, watched TV for a while, and went to bed.

The next day, I went over to my friend Brians house and we sat in his basement and played a video football game. For some reason, my brain was working pretty well because I ended up beating Brian three times in a row, which I had never done, since Brians pretty much the greatest video football player I know. The few times we had played actual football in gym class, Brian had been about the worst player in the history of the world. But when it came to pushing buttons and coming up with strategies for fake guys on the TV screen, Brian was the king.

I was feeling pretty triumphant as I walked home through the humid afternoon air and was even rehearsing an apology to my mom for all the trouble I had caused in the past couple of days, complete with a plan to use some of my secret savings to pay for a new china cabinet window.

So, you can imagine my surprise when I walked through the kitchen and down the hallway and opened the door to my bedroom and found a guy sitting on my bed.

Who are you?! I blurted out, practically pooping in my pants from the shock of seeing some strange guy sitting in my room. He looked to be in his thirties and had a scraggly beard and was chewing gum and wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket and big black boots, which were getting mud all over my bedspread.

Who the crap are you ? he said back, not looking up from my expensive, limited-edition Spider-Man comic book that he had taken out of the wrapper and was now getting all creased with his giant dirty hands.

This is my room, I said, both scared of him but also mad that he was making such a mess.

Not anymore its not, he said as he flipped a page, then tore off a corner and stuck his gum inside it.

Hey, that costs a lot of money! I yelled. Put it down and get out of my room!

He lowered the comic book down onto his chest and stared at me like he thought I was the biggest pest hed ever met in his life.

Look, kid, are you deaf or something? he said calmly. I just told you. This aint your room no more. Your parents gave it to me. They also said I could have everything in it. So, if you got a problem, why dont you go cryin to them about it? Meanwhile, quit flappin your lips and beat it.

He started reading the comic book again, then pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Hey, you cant smoke in my room!

Already told you once, aint your room no more, he said again as he flung the smoldering match onto the carpet and blew a ton of smoke toward the ceiling.

Unsure what to do, I ran out of the room to find my mom.

MOM! I called. MUH-THER!

Keep your voice down! I heard her yell from the living room. You know theres no hollering in the house!

I ran in and found her sitting on the couch watching TV, drinking a cup of tea like there was nothing at all wrong.

Theres a guy in my bedroom, I said, panicked.

His name is Carl and its his room now, she said as she lifted the teacup to her lips and took a sip.

What do you mean its his room?

Carl is a very nice person and he takes out the garbage and he doesnt break things, and so your father and I decided that he should have your room.

I stared at her in shock.

What? was all I could say.

My mom sighed and put her teacup down onto the saucer she was holding. It clinked loudly.

Carl also listens and hears what we say the first time so we dont have to repeat things constantly, unlike with you, who never seems to listen to a word that comes out of our mouths.

How could you give away my room? I asked, feeling like I was losing my mind.