Halloween night in the Midwest was always a lawless free-for-all. Back in the late ‘90s, teenagers roamed the streets with no fear, armed with toilet paper, shaving cream, and whatever else we could get our hands on. And that year? My cousin Jackey and I decided to go big—we were going to TP the police station.

That title is not click bait, my friend. My cousin, Jackey, and I actually toilet papered the local town hall.

Now, in hindsight, this was an absolutely ridiculous idea. But at sixteen, I felt untouchable. And, maybe I kind of was—because, coincidentally, I was also secretly dating a local town marshal. He was fifteen years older than me (I know, I know), but in my teenage brain, that meant if we got caught, I probably wouldn’t get in that much trouble. Or at least, I’d have a get-out-of-jail-free card—literally.

Dressed for a Mission

Jackey and I had been partners in crime for years, but on this particular night, she was living in town with her boyfriend and his family. So, before we embarked on our toilet-paper terrorism, we swung by their house to grab a few things. That’s when the neighbors got involved.

Apparently, two teenage girls dressed more for a cookout weren’t “sneaky” enough. The neighbors—God bless them—dug into their hunting closets and outfitted us like we were about to go on a full-scale military operation. Full camo. Hats. Maybe even some face paint? I don’t even remember how it escalated so quickly, but by the time they were done with us, we looked like we were about to storm a deer blind, not TP a police station.

(And let’s be real—this was the ‘90s. No one was going to bat an eye at a couple of random figures running around in camo at night. Simpler times.)

Operation TP: No Man Left Behind

Dressed like elite prankster mercenaries, we set off. When we got to town hall—because yes, this particular police station was inside the town hall—we scoped out the scene. No lights, no movement.

We went to work.

I wish I had photographic evidence of our masterpiece, but thankfully for us, this was the pre-cell phone era. We absolutely trashed the place in the most artistic way possible. Rolls draped from trees, covered the doorway, and tangled through bushes like an overgrown spider web of Charmin Ultra.

At one point, I remember standing there, admiring our handiwork, and thinking, This is perfect. We are legends.

The Great Escape (aka No One Even Noticed)

Once we were out of toilet paper, we bolted. Not because we actually thought we were in danger, but because sprinting through the streets after pulling off the crime of the century just felt right.

And the best part? We never got caught. Not a single soul suspected us.

To this day, I don’t know if my town marshal boyfriend ever investigated the mess we made that night. And if he did, well… he never said a word. Maybe it was better that way.

The Glory Days of No Evidence

Looking back, I sometimes wish I had pictures of that night—the outfits, the aftermath, maybe even a blurry, low-res disposable camera shot of the TP’d police station. But then I remember: this was the golden age of dumb teenage decisions with no digital footprint.

No security cameras. No iPhones. No TikTokers filming and turning us into a viral scandal. Just a night of reckless fun that lives on in our memories—and not in a courtroom.

Moral of the Story?

If you’re going to commit Halloween crimes, make sure you’re dating law enforcement. (Kidding. Mostly.)