One night around June 1999, my then-girlfriend’s friend dropped by my house unannounced. He asked me if I would vouch for him spending the night there if anyone asked. In reality, he was heading to his girlfriend’s house. Though he was over 18, he lived with his parents and they didn’t approve of such sinful hijinks. So he told them he was staying with me and gave them my phone number. I consented, but I was worried that my terrible lying skills would show through if his parents called.
“How likely are they to call?” I asked.
“Someone would have to die,” he replied.
His best friend died that night in an accident.
His father called the next morning. He didn’t believe my cover story. He fussed at me. My friend not only lost his buddy, but also got in trouble.
And that is why I don’t take chances.