Class Clown

The other day, as I browsed Barnes and Nobles trying to find something decent to read, I bumped into a High School friend of mine named Lynn. You know how you haven't seen someone in more than a decade, but as soon as you see them you know who it is? That is what happened to us, as we caught up on some old High School memories over cups of coffee so disgusting that it could have probably been used as paint remover. As I sit there, looking at Lynn's thick thighs, trying to be inconspicuous about it since her husband is sitting with us, I realize something that hadn't occurred to me in more than a decade: I was a class clown! I mean, I remember the fights, the girls that I couldn't screw, and bad lunches, but me being a classroom disturbance hadn't crossed my mind in years. Here are some examples, that I can remember and have been reminded by Lynn, of times where I was indeed a "Class Clown". Please, feel free to share your own experiences.

Mrs. Smith: Mrs. Smith was a English teacher that I had during my sophomore year of High School. First off she was from the Caribbean, which wouldn't be a problem, but her accent was so thick that you couldn't understand her. Did I mention that she taught ENGLISH! Her thick accent aside, she was a absolute nightmare who basically had a bullying approach to teaching. I actually remember her bringing a classmate of mine to tears as she told her that her parents did a "horrible job" at parenting. I got my fair share of verbal abuse also, as she told me that she hated all athletes and that failing me would be a "pleasure". I had enough, so one day I decided to retaliate. It started by me saying, "Mrs. Smith, tell us all about Jamaica. Is it nice there?" She would basically scream, "I am not from Jamaica, I am from Trinidad!" I would smirk and say, "It's the same thing, tell us about Jamaica!"(To my Caribbean brothers and sisters, I knew the difference but I knew that it would get her mad.) So she would throw me out and send me to the office, but she looked rather stupid when she explained the reason why I was punished was because I got where she was from wrong. The following days I would say, in a real irritating tone, "Did you know Bob Marley? How about Peter Tosh?" Let's just say that our relationship was rocky that year, but she stopped bullying people though.

Assault with a Deadly Weapon: As I recall, I used to love throwing shit whenever I could. Pieces of paper, erasers, man I had pin point accuracy when it came to hitting people with miscellaneous objects. One day, the teacher had asked this guy named Harold to finish a math equation at the blackboard while she went to the bathroom. Harold was a guy that dated a friend of mine, she told me that he had sexually assaulted her so he was definitely on my shit list. As Harold stood at the blackboard without any teachers around I knew that I was about to do something blatantly evil. I sat beside a secondary blackboard at the side of the room, so I picked up a erased and stuffed it with chalk and got the entire thing dusty as hell. I stood up, took a few steps for added force, and flung that eraser directly at Harold's dome. It landed squarely in the back of his head, not only making Harold hit his head on the blackboard that he was working at, but chalk dust was everywhere for the next couple of minutes. Soon after the teacher reappeared Harold had told her that someone had hit him with a eraser. The teacher got in front of the class and asked who threw the eraser, but everyone was silent. She threatened to give us extra homework, again everyone was silent. It was like my classmates had some mob-like "anti-snitching" oath that I must say made me rather proud. Harold told the teacher that he thought that I had done it, but without any proof he didn't have a leg to stand on. Minutes later when the commotion had subsided, the teacher was called outside by a guidance counselor. I grabbed another eraser and threw it at Harold, leaving a huge eraser print on the side of his face. I said, "That's for snitching motherfucker!!"

It's the principle of it: My last year of High School I had a car, just look at the Cutlass I talked about yesterday. To park in my school's parking lot, you had to apply for a parking sticker which was like a two week process. Anyway, I got my sticker, so I was good to go. On a daily basis I took my friends home, not thinking I was doing anything wrong. Until one day the principle calls me in his office and told me I was in trouble because I had taken this guy named Lamont home one day. See, Lamont was apparently banned from that school, a fact that was unknown to me, shit I thought he still went there. The principle stood over me, saying that I ignored him when he flagged me down to stop my car. I told him that I didn't see him, so he put his finger in my face and actually said, "Bullshit!!" The next few minutes he threatened to suspend me, get me thrown off the track team, I was waiting for him to say that he planned to systematically kill my family the rate that he was going. When I left his office, I indeed felt like a 17 year old, a very small 17 year old. As I thought about when transpired I got upset, angry, downright shitty. I wasn't going to take that from anybody, especially an "interim" principle at that!! The next few months I anonymously made his life a living hell. I spread rumors about him having sex with some of the students, which caught on like wildfire. I would sneak into his office and loosen up chair nuts and bolts, causing him to bust his ass. I would put bumper stickers on his car like, "It's a Black Thing", "Once you go black you won't go back", and a great one I found saying, "I'm not gay, but my boyfriend is!" Those stayed on his car for a couple of months, which made the prank even more hilarious. The last straw, one that I kind if regret, was pouring a shitload of sugar in his gas tank. As soon as I did it I knew that I went too far, that was until the principle approached me one day. He let me know that he thought that I was responsible for some of the "Shenanigans", as he put it, that was going on. Then, he said something about seeing me in a few years and "seeing what I would do then." That motherfucker actually threatened me, but I am still hoping to beat the brakes off of that motherfucker. Granted, he has to be in his 60's by now, but I am a equal opportunity ass whipper.(**Picture is of my actual High School**)

Strip-tease: The title of this doesn't refer to that awful movie with Burt Reynolds and that chick from "Saved by the Bell". I took a Drama class my senior year which I absolutely loved, that is where I realized that I loved writing dialogue. We would do several drama-like exercises, they were kind of crazy but they were fun also. This one day Ms. Farrington(R.I.P), wanted us to get up on stage and perform a song in front of the class. This guy named Doug did that Tom Petty song "Free falling", this Girl named Julie performed that Gwen Guthrie song "Ain't nothing going on but the rent" to her ex-boyfriend juice who wasn't giving her any financial assistance for their new baby, then my black ass went up and did BBD's "Do me". As I started singing the song, I noticed that my teacher was looking downwards doing some paperwork, so I figured this was my chance. As the song horribly escaped my lips, "Girl let your hair down, touch me all over", I started to systematically disrobe. My shirt comes off, I'm still singing, my shoes come off, I'm still singing. By the time I get to the second chorus my pants are off and people are going crazy.(back then I had a six pack that you could wash clothes on, that is probably why they were screaming. Now, it would be screams of horror, but I digress.) By the time I start to tug at my boxers my teacher looks up and started screaming, "Stop!! Stop that now!!!", and rushed to the stage and actually throws her sweater over me. I didn't get in trouble, actually later in private Ms. farrington told me, "You sure have some sack son!" Which was hard to interpret, because did she mean that I had "courage" or because you could see the imprint of my "man Package" through my "tighty-whiteys" that she was actually taking about my "testicles"? Who knows, but the best part was a few months later when she met my mother for a conference and told her, "Mrs. Critic, your son is one hell of a performer!" Wow, I really think I got my Drama teacher moist! OK, that's gross.