The Wrigley Switcheroo
Spearmint. Extra. Big Red. Wrigley’s brand chewing gum played a significant role in my formative years. It was the gold standard of gum in the ‘90s and my dad chewed it like it was a miracle drug. He bought it in bulk and always had a pack or two stashed away in his navy blue Ford Econoline van, which was the trusted transportation source of my childhood.
In the afternoons, after he picked us up from school, my dad would offer my brother and I a piece of gum for the ride home. We always took advantage of the opportunity to consume sugar and accepted without hesitation, smacking our jaws in delight. One day I got the bright idea (or stole it from my older brother) to trick my dad with a piece of “gum.” I don’t remember how that first time went, but this joke played out almost daily, and never lost its charm. I would slide off the paper tube on the outside of the wrapper with precision, and then carefully unwrap the foil. After gobbling up the actual piece of gum, I’d discreetly place the paper tube (known henceforth as ‘the decoy’) in the center of the foil and then re-wrap it the same way it came. It was brilliant. The perfect practical joke. He’d never suspect a thing — and then BAM! There’s no gum in there! It’s just a piece of paper! The gleeful look of anticipation on my face probably gave away my hand on that first fateful day, but I worked up the nerve to follow through with my plan.
“Hey, dad. Do you want a piece of gum?” I could barely eek out this sentence without bursting into a fit of giggles. He’d spy me in the rearview mirror, with narrow eyes, and reply, “Sure,” while holding out a hand towards the backseat. I’d casually hand him the gum in silence. It was happening. I was about to successfully fool the smartest man I knew with a trick of my own design. It was glorious.
Time after time, he would gently unwrap the gum with complete sincerity. When the decoy tumbled out of the foil onto his lap, he would cry out with a loud, “Aw man, you got me! I can’t believe it!” to which I’d lose what little dignity I’d learned to maintain at that point in life and laugh until I couldn’t breathe, pointing while doubled-over. Almost every day we played this game. There were variations, of course. Times where he’d warn me that I’d better not be tricking him this time. But the results were always the same: Fooled father pretending to face-palm in disbelief, triumphant kid laughing uncontrollably.
I honestly can’t remember how long I carried on thinking I was a sly trickster and he was falling for my antics because they were unbelievably slick, and when I realized that we were both in on the joke. It must have happened at some point, but it didn’t matter. We still played the game long after the ruse was exposed, and the 500th time was just as funny as the first.
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