Memory Lane Is A Roundabout, You Know
It occurred to me the other day that I was the weird kid in elementary school. Think back on your elementary school days (if you weren't homeschooled like a surprisingly large demographic of people that I know) to those kids that were either balls-to-the-wall crazy or just creepy weird, and you've got me, although I sure didn't realize it at the time. Some highlights from the psychosis of my youth:
*In sixth grade I circulated a petition to have this kid that nobody else liked removed from our school. Everyone in the class signed it and then I made a (to me) very compelling presentation to the teacher in which I argued that if we all hated him so much, he was an unnecessary distraction and should be sent away. I distinctly remember my teacher laughing so hard he choked.
*Also in sixth grade, our teacher tried to teach us about the merits of a free-market system by rewarding us for good grades and behavior with fake money, which we could use every week in an auction to buy candy or other stupid kid crap. I formed a cooperative with several interested parties, pooled our resources, and then tried to purchase four square feet of floor space in front of the classroom door and charge the other kids rent for walking on it, thereby taking all of the money (and consequently, candy) for ourselves. We would have been successful if the teacher would have been willing to play ball. We even offered him a cut of our fake Monopoly money, but we were shut down by the system and its anti-monopoly laws.
*In fifth grade my teacher decided to teach us public speaking. I had a very pronounced lisp for which I attended speech therapy three times a week and the kids still called me Daffy Duck. I did not feel that I needed to learn public speaking at that time (or ever.) So, my time came up. My teacher told me to go to the front of the class, stand with my back to the class, and compose an impromptu speech about the scariest dream I ever had. I stood with my back to the class for the full five minutes and all I thought about was how much I was clearly not going to be giving any speech. She told me to turn around and start speaking, and I opted to turn around and glare at her for a whole two minutes of awkward silence before she said "You're not leaving the front of the room until you give your speech," at which point I gave a legendary speech that went exactly like this:
"Fuck you."
And then I left the classroom and locked myself in the bathroom for half an hour or so, until they figured out where I was and came to get me.
*Also in fifth grade, my friend Jenny and I decided to run away, so we wrote the class a letter about how they would appreciate us when we were gone, and then we threw our backpacks over the chain-link fence, scaled it, and took off. We got about two blocks before Jenny panicked and went back, and I didn't want to be out there alone, so I went back with her, but it was too late and our horribly dramatic letter had already been read to the class. It took a while to live this one down. Actually, it's probably a good thing I moved away not too long after that, or it might still be following me.
*This is all in addition to the constant playground fights, name calling, and hysterics. I was both dramatic and morbid and just before I moved out of California I told my classmates that I had "a little bit" of lung cancer and that I needed to leave school to get treated. I hope some of them eventually figured out that wasn't true.
I'd like to say that once we moved away and I got older I calmed down, but that's just a lie, I was a basket case all the way through K-12. And my first year of college. You know, if this ever reaches anyone that knew me ages 5-22, I'd like to apologize to you. Thanks for not calling the police.
*In sixth grade I circulated a petition to have this kid that nobody else liked removed from our school. Everyone in the class signed it and then I made a (to me) very compelling presentation to the teacher in which I argued that if we all hated him so much, he was an unnecessary distraction and should be sent away. I distinctly remember my teacher laughing so hard he choked.
*Also in sixth grade, our teacher tried to teach us about the merits of a free-market system by rewarding us for good grades and behavior with fake money, which we could use every week in an auction to buy candy or other stupid kid crap. I formed a cooperative with several interested parties, pooled our resources, and then tried to purchase four square feet of floor space in front of the classroom door and charge the other kids rent for walking on it, thereby taking all of the money (and consequently, candy) for ourselves. We would have been successful if the teacher would have been willing to play ball. We even offered him a cut of our fake Monopoly money, but we were shut down by the system and its anti-monopoly laws.
*In fifth grade my teacher decided to teach us public speaking. I had a very pronounced lisp for which I attended speech therapy three times a week and the kids still called me Daffy Duck. I did not feel that I needed to learn public speaking at that time (or ever.) So, my time came up. My teacher told me to go to the front of the class, stand with my back to the class, and compose an impromptu speech about the scariest dream I ever had. I stood with my back to the class for the full five minutes and all I thought about was how much I was clearly not going to be giving any speech. She told me to turn around and start speaking, and I opted to turn around and glare at her for a whole two minutes of awkward silence before she said "You're not leaving the front of the room until you give your speech," at which point I gave a legendary speech that went exactly like this:
"Fuck you."
And then I left the classroom and locked myself in the bathroom for half an hour or so, until they figured out where I was and came to get me.
*Also in fifth grade, my friend Jenny and I decided to run away, so we wrote the class a letter about how they would appreciate us when we were gone, and then we threw our backpacks over the chain-link fence, scaled it, and took off. We got about two blocks before Jenny panicked and went back, and I didn't want to be out there alone, so I went back with her, but it was too late and our horribly dramatic letter had already been read to the class. It took a while to live this one down. Actually, it's probably a good thing I moved away not too long after that, or it might still be following me.
*This is all in addition to the constant playground fights, name calling, and hysterics. I was both dramatic and morbid and just before I moved out of California I told my classmates that I had "a little bit" of lung cancer and that I needed to leave school to get treated. I hope some of them eventually figured out that wasn't true.
I'd like to say that once we moved away and I got older I calmed down, but that's just a lie, I was a basket case all the way through K-12. And my first year of college. You know, if this ever reaches anyone that knew me ages 5-22, I'd like to apologize to you. Thanks for not calling the police.
spit at you by Nil at 1:52 PM
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