The Personification of Insanity

Stories of the Past: Part Three

This should be a relatively short story. Should be.

In fifth grade I lived with my grandma. I went to school at the school up there. This was a whole set of new people. And all of them seemed snobbish to me.

In my part of the Valley those who live on the East bench are snobs. They're rich. They get cars for their 16th birthday and wear $50 shoes all the time. Three different pair.

Those who live on the West side? Well we're ghetto. We get clunckers if we buy them or steal them ourselves. We wear $15 shoes to the point where they can't be considered shoes anymore. They're just pieces of tattered material on our feet. We are poor. We are racially diverse and culturally also. East bench is white people. Maybe 3% of all the East bench people aren't white. East benchers ignore them for the most part.

Now I know this isn't completely true. However, this is how I saw it. It's basically how I still see it with most of the people there. I know of a few people up there who aren't like that. And I like those people. Even if they think I'm below them as I lived on the West side most of my life.

So back to the story!

Fifth grade. People I don't like. New school. Bad morning. I woke up late, got to school late, and just plan couldn't even think on time. So when Mr. Gods-gift-to-the-world knocks everything off my desk, (That I had just spent 10 minutes organizing and carfully placing on the corner of my desk) I freaked. I yelled at him to pick it all up. The teacher freaked. Told me to pick up my stuff and go to time-out. I freak again. Tell teacher there was no way I was going to that corner when I didn't cause the problem. Only in not so nice of a wording.

Remember, my mother and father swore all the time around me. My mom can swear 5 sailors under a table. Seriously. She could have.

So Mrs. Teacher adds more time to the amount of time I'm to spend in time-out. I refuse and throw my chair to make my point. Not at anyone. She adds more time. My stuff is still on the floor so I throw my desk to further my point. Then I tell Mr.GGTTW to pick it all up. He's frightened and says nothing. Teacher calls principal. Principal shows up. Uh-oh. Not a good sign.

Principal was in a meeting. He now has to carry me, kicking and screaming, to his office. All the while I'm calling him a "mother-f***ing a******" and telling him he'd better "f***ing put me on the god-d***ed floor". We were going down the first grade hall at the time of the yelling. The doors were open. Bet those kids got a new language lesson that day.

So he gets me to his office where these seven grown adults are still sitting in these heavy chairs. Seriously, they had to have weighed 10 to 20 pounds a piece. The chairs people. Keep up!

I, of course, try to leave through the door. Principal lines people + chairs against the wall in front of the door. Leaving only a foot between the first chair and the wall parallel to the sides of the chairs. I sit in the foot of space and push all 7 of those things four feet with my legs. Enough room for me to open the door. I, again of course, get caught. And handcuffed to one of these chairs. That he's sitting in. The adults leave. I refuse to speak.

Dare Officer comes in. *Gasp* he knows Sign Language! Maybe if we speak in sign Language the girl will speak. Whatever. Don't think so. This rebellous girl ain't sayin' a word to either of you dorks.

Okay! Let's let her cool down then send her to the computer lab for the rest of the day. Sounds good to this girl. Let's go!

In otherwords? I spent most of that day playing games in the Computer Lab. No homework to be made up either.

Oh and my stuff?? Mr. GGTTW and everyone else had to pick it up and neatly set them on my now upright desk.

Don't you wish you were me?? If you don't check back you won't see what happened the next time I lived with Grams. It's nearly as good.

Have Fun

P.S. Guess it was long huh? Maybe I just like to hear myself think....

posted by Skitz @ 3/22/2004 03:49:00 PM