We have witnesses…

Read the previous two blogs if you are just joining in.

continuing on…

The next day seemed started out as usual. I got up 10 minutes before the bus was to pick me up, was out of the house in seven, hotboxed a smoke in three and hit the bus stop just as it rolled up.

When the bus pulled up in front of the school, I noticed Mr. Gibson, one of the assistant vice-principals, waiting at the curb. That was odd. It was even odder when he got on the bus, before anyone got off, spoke quietly to the bus driver, looked at me and another kid named Stewie, nodded to the bus driver, and got back off the bus.

What the hell?

I grabbed my shit and proceeded to exit the bus. By the time I hit the bottom step, Mr. Gibson was right there to greet me. Standing just behind him was Stewie.

“Come with me, Stewie,” he said.

His tone said don’t even bother questioning him. And I didn’t. I just went.

Mr. Gibson led us to the office, where he directed me to one of the chairs. “Have a seat and wait for Mr. Stup to call you in his office,” he said. He then turned to Stewie, “You. Come with me.”

They headed back in the office, and from the look on Stewie’s face, he was just as confused as I was. Neither one of us had any idea what was going on. Well, it wasn’t long before I found out.

Mr. Stup poked his head out of his office. “Get in here.”

I got up and went in the office. I was trying to think of any reason on why the hell I was there, but couldn’t. I wasn’t really friends with Stewie, we just lived in the same neighborhood. There was nothing we could have done together that would have got us in trouble. I obviously wasn’t on the right track.

As soon as I sat down in Stup’s office, he started with the questions.

“Want to tell me what happened yesterday?” He asked.

“Nothing?” I replied. I was clueless.

“Nothing? Try again. What happened on the bus yesterday?”

“Uh… Nothing?” My mind was working overdrive. I thought maybe this was about pushing David, but he seemed way to upset for it to be that.

“Nothing? Nothing!?! Nothing happened with David?”

“He wouldn’t move when I got off the bus, so I gave him a push. It’s not like I knocked him down.” I guess it was about the push.

“So you touched him?”

“Huh? Well I guess. I pushed him. But not hard.” Something was bubbling to the top of my head, but I was ignoring it. I started to see where this was going, but I couldn’t believe it.

“So you touched him.” He repeated. “Where did you touch him?”

“Wait,” I said. This was about to get ugly. “I pushed him. I gave him a push on his shoulder or arm or something.” I didn’t like that word “touch.” No sir.

“Just in his arm? You didn’t touch him anywhere else? I heard different.”

“From who? Yes, just in his arm. And it was a push. Not a touch.”

Suddenly, Stup just started yelling. I’m not talking about the yelling your girlfriend accuses you of when she doesn’t like the tone of your voice. He was yelling. Voice raised and all.

“IT WAS A TOUCH! WE HAVE WITNESSES THAT SAID YOU TOUCHED HIM! YOU TOUCHED DAVID!”

“What?!?!” I knew then. I knew what this was about. And I was scared. I didn’t know how to defend myself. “I didn’t ‘touch’ him! I just pushed him.”

“I heard different. There are witnesses!”

I turned my head to the outside office, and for the first time the door was open. This was going from bad to worse. I knew anyone and everyone in the outer office was hearing everything going on. And I also knew that anyone and everyone in the outer office consisted of 90% students. I was fucked.

“Bring them in.” I said.

“Who?”

“The witnesses. Because I DID NOT TOUCH HIM!”

“DON’T YOU RAISE YOUR VOICE TO ME!” He yelled. This guy was such a fuck.

“I WILL! I DID NOT TOUCH HIM! AND YOU ARE YELLING AT ME FOR NO REASON. AND EVERYONE IN THE GODDAMN OFFICE CAN HEAR US!” Yes, I dropped a curse on the VP. At this point I didn’t care.

“You watch your mouth. You are in deep, here.”

“No, I’m not. I didn’t do anything wrong. I pushed him, but that was it. I did not touch him and you aren’t showing me anyone that said I did.”

“We have witnesses.”

“No you don’t.”

“What makes you think we don’t?”

“Because I didn’t touch him. And you are trying to scare me. If you had witnesses, they’d be here.”

His face changed. I can’t describe it, but his look changed. I was right. At that point I knew his only “witness” was David. He confirmed it when he asked his next question.

“Do you smoke?”

“Huh? What? Yes.” The question came out of the blue.

“Do you have cigarettes on you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I smoke.” This guy was dense.

“Let me have them.” He said, holding his hand out.

“No.”

“What? Give them to me.”

“No. Nowhere in school policy does it say I can’t have cigarettes. You can’t have them.” When you are 15 and smoke in school, you know the rules.

“Do you smoke in school?”

“Of course not. That would get me suspended or expelled.” What a dumb fuck. Of course I smoked in school. But I wasn’t going to admit to it.

“Then why do you have cigarettes.”

“Because I smoke at the bus stop.”

“Well, you can get suspended for that.”

“No I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. From the moment you leave the house until you get home, you are on the school’s property.”

“Okay.” For the first time I laughed. “My parents would be interested in knowing that their land now belongs to the school.”

His face turned red. “You know what I meant, stop getting smart. It’s your smart mouth that gets you in trouble.”

“Whatever. Now what?”

“Go to class. This is far from over. We have witnesses.”

“Can I get a note?” I needed one to get to class without getting in trouble.

“No. Get out of my office.”

I went to class. I had walked into first period 20 minutes late. The teacher just nodded to me. She knew.

As I walked back to my desk, my friends where smiling at me. They knew.

The word was already out.

I had been accused of touching a mentally retarded kid.

It wouldn’t be until fourth period until things started to really go my way.

There’ll be more…

There was this kid in my neighborhood, David, that was slow. I don’t remember how slow he was, but I knew he was in the special ed classes and he was not as emotionally mature as the other kids his age. I don’t think he was retarded in the downs syndrome sense, but he wasn’t “normal” in the “normal” sense.

*Note* If that description seems insensitive, it’s not intended to be. It’s just the best way I can describe what I remember. I make fun of a lot of people. Hell, I make fun of most people. But I try not to make fun of people who don’t deserve it. I’m an asshole, but I’m an asshole with limits.

Anyway, one day on the bus ride home from school, David was asking me questions. Non-stop. I was around 15 at the time, and he was driving me damn crazy. I was probably a lot more tolerant than most kids my age as I had already worked two summers–and numerous weekends–at an organization that prepared folks with mental disabilities for the “real world.” In addition, my mother worked for this organization full time, so I knew David couldn’t help himself. But I was also 15, with much less patience then I have now. And I have very little now.

So, David had been asking me questions since he had gotten on the bus. I was getting more and more irritated and my answers were getting more and more clipped. Hell, I don’t even remember what most of the questions were, they were just questions about this and that. Finally, the bus was coming up to my neighborhood, so I pulled a cigarette out of the pack in my bag so I could have it ready to light when my feet hit pavement.

“What’s that?” David asked.

“What’s it look like?” I replied.

“A cigarette.”

“Well, there you go.”

“Don’t you know smoking’s bad for you?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Don’t know.” I was willing the bus to go faster, but it wasn’t working.

“You think it makes you look cool? You trying to be cool? You smoke, you’re cool?” David was being real snide at this point. And I was done.

“Yes, David. Smoking is cool. That’s why I do it. You want one?” I pulled out another smoke and waved it in front of him.

“What?!? NO!! SMOKING GIVES YOU CANCER!!!” And, with that, he turned and stared straight ahead. Hell, if I had known that’s all it would have taken, I would have done it earlier.

Look, I knew he wouldn’t take it. I wouldn’t have offered if I thought he would. I don’t even know why I offered the smoke. The things you do when you are young and stupid sometimes have no explanation.

Finally, the bus stopped at my corner. I grabbed my bag and stood up to get off, but David, who was sitting in the aisle seat, wasn’t moving.

“Move.” I said.

“No.”

“Move.”

“No.”

Goddammit, move your ass.” With that, I pushed him. Not enough to knock him out of the seat, but enough to get his ass moving. He moved.

I got off, lit up, took in some cancer and walked home.

Just another day–or so I thought.

I wonder if had I known about the shit storm that hit the next day if I would have done anything differently.

Probably not.

What an assclown…

This blog was originally going to be about the time I was accused of touching someone inappropriately on the school bus when I was in high school.

But then I realized that there needed to be a back story to the fuckwad Vice Principle who accused me of doing said touching.

So that’s what this blog is going to be about. Said fuckwad.

I’ve always had a smart mouth.

Back when I was in school, my mouth was always getting me in trouble with both teachers and students alike. I was either getting my ass kicked for smarting off to someone I shouldn’t have, or in the office for smarting off to a teacher. And because of the latter, the Principle was quite familiar with me.

In 7th grade (which is middle school down my way), I had an English teacher named Mr. Stup. This guy was a cocksucker. I can’t tell you all the reasons I didn’t like him as it’s been over 20 years, but I distinctly remember not only did I not like him in middle school, I didn’t like him in high school, either, when he was the Vice Principle (but, like I said, that’s part of a future story).

Anyway, if I remember correctly, Stup was a Star Trek fan. And after recently reading The Trouble With Tribbles, he told us we would be lucky to watch the Star Trek version of it later on that week.

Yay.

I hate Star Trek. Always have (no offense Mero, I know there are fans, but I am not one of them).

So the day came, the TV was rolled in, the lights were dimmed and the Enterprise was launched.

And I broke out a book and started reading during the show—which, ironically enough, was a Dr. Who book. I have no idea why I remember that.

I was pretty into the book when I gradually noticed someone standing by my desk. It was Stup.

“What do you think you are doing?” He asked. He sounded a little pissed.

I looked at the book, looked back at him and said, “Reading.”

“Why aren’t you watching the movie?”

“Because Star Trek sucks.”

Oh my. His face twisted and contorted. I believe I struck a nerve.

“Well,” he said, apparently barely containing his anger, “you can just read that out in the hallway.”

“Fine with me,” I said. “More light out there anyway.” And I gathered up my shit.

“Leave your books and get out.”

By my books, I guess he meant my school books because he didn’t say anything when I took my Dr. Who vs. The Loch Ness Monster with me and left.

The shitter about sitting in the hall is the Principal always wandered it, on the look out for kids who got kicked out of class. Like me. And sure as shit, he showed up not 10 minutes after my exiting the class.

“Stewie! What a surprise! And how is it that you are sitting out here today?” He asked. He was always happy. I liked him.

“I got kicked out of class.” I told him.

“Why?”

“For reading.”

“Why were you kicked out of class for reading?”

“Because they are watching a stupid Star Trek show and I was reading and Mr. Stup asked me why I wasn’t watching Star Trek and I told him because Star Trek sucks and he told me to get out of his class.”

The principal smiled.

“Well,” he said, “I don’t really know if you did anything wrong. I think I’m just going to pretend I didn’t see you out here today.”

“Thanks, Mr. Leonard.”

And he walked off.

Stup got me after the movie was over. I can’t remember if he said anything to me about reading or not. Like I gave a shit.

Think about it: An English teacher kicks me out of class for reading a book instead of watching TV.

What an assclown.