When I was a kid, I was a delinquent. This is not news for you, especially if you’ve been following this blog for awhile. That isn’t to say I was a bad kid–I just… had some issues. Yeah, we’ll call them “issues.”
Since school and its grade levels is not universal around the world, allow me to briefly explain how it worked for me. Kindergarden, AKA “poop my pants school” doesn’t matter, and that’s where they teach you how to shut the fuck up for nap time, and reward you with dinosaur-shaped graham crackers. Then there’s elementary school which harbors grades 1-4. After that, middle school: grades 5-8. High school is grades 9-12, and then university is another four years. I did 5 years of that because I’m special.
Today’s story happens in the elementary school stage of my life: and actually, it didn’t even happen IN school; it happened on the way to school.
My parents had just moved to a new house on the north side of town, which I resented them for, because I was now removed from the neighborhood where all of my besties, and fellow shitheads lived. We had probably been living in this house for a few months by then. Thus, I had to attach myself to a new group of kids to walk to school with.
I didn’t run into them often, since I didn’t know their walking schedules yet, but there was this group of kids I knew. Two were my age, one was a grade younger than us, and one was the little brother of one my age, and was my sister’s age, two grades younger. Got all that? Their names are not important, at least at this point in the story.
It was one of those days where I did happen to run into them on the walk to Lincoln Elementary School. I encountered them about two blocks into the six block walk to school. When I ran into them, they all mischievous grins on their faces. In their hands were various articles of breakfast foods. I didn’t wanna be judgemental, but it wasn’t the healthiest breakfast choice out there. Bagels, donuts, and candy. Lots of candy.
Of course, I would gladly eat that candy up. The one named Brian extended a hand with a box of Mike ‘n Ikes and liberally poured some in my hand.
“Don’t eat them all. Save some for the crossing guard.”
Now if you were thinking this was to be offered to the crossing guard on the next block, that he had a sweet tooth or something, then you would be forgiven. Yet as we approached the intersection where the crossing guard had jurisdiction, they explained the real meaning behind that statement.
“Every day we walk by this guy, we throw our breakfast at him. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday… Just a little thing. As he’s standing there in the middle of the road with his stop sign out, we bomb him with food and run. It’s hilarious.”
It absolutely sounded hilarious, and I was honored to be invited to the food-tossing frenzy.
We approached the corner, and the crossing guard went out into the street, stopping traffic. All five of us could barely contain our laughter. The crossing guard was an old man with a plump pot belly, some racy sun glasses, and a burly handlebar moustache. We got closer and closer. We were not to throw our food until we were right next to him.
The candy could be felt melting in my sweaty hands. I let a raspberry slip outta my mouth.
Brian went first and threw his waffle ahead of the rest of us. The trajectory went right past my face, and prompted me to spin and whip my candies at the crossing guard.
I was in the middle of the crew and after I disposed of my projectiles, I began running. Brian’s little brother was the closest to the crossing guard, and he got grabbed. He panicked and emit a little yelp, but he squirmed hard enough to break the grip and catch up to the rest of us a few strides ahead.
We sprinted for the next two blocks and then walked the final block to school. Everyone giggled maniacally and I had to admit, it truly was one of the funniest things I had ever been part of. If this was going to be a regular thing, then I was down for the cause.
This was not going to be a regular thing.
At the entrance to Lincoln, we had two guests waiting for us: the crossing guard we’d just bombarded with food, and the crossing guard at the other corner of our school, the one who I had walked by every day for three years, right up until I had moved to the new house. He was a good dude and he liked me.
On this day, he did not like me.
The two crossing guards managed to pick all five of us up, in their clutches, and drag us inside the school.
We were taken to the principal’s office and it would only go downhill from there.
As we sat in the administrator’s side of the office, the crossing guards went in the principal’s personal office and erupted. We could hear F-bombs aplenty–which was pretty cool for being nine years old–and through the blinds to her office, we could see their fiery animation. They were really laying into the principal, Dr. Hall, as she sat at the desk taking it all in.
Fifteen minutes later the crossing guards left and Dr. Hall invited us all to take a seat opposite her large desk. She was a sweet lady; cordial and reserved. Her acting emotionally or angrily was unthinkable.
Well godfucking damn, this bitch blew her fucking top. “What in the FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU BOYS!?”
“IF THOSE GENTLEMEN QUIT THEIR JOBS, YOU KNOW WHO IS THERE TO HELP KIDS GET TO SCHOOL? NO ONE! THEN KIDS GET RUN OVER AND DIE! AND IT WOULD ALL BE YOUR FAULT!”
(She said something akin to this, I can’t totally remember what but I just knew that she went ham, and all five of us were crying.)
My parents were called, which wasn’t new–I was suspended from school for three days, and that wasn’t new either.
You can bet that shit was awkward as hell when I walked to and fro school in the future, and had to cross that one intersection with the crossing guard. Truth be told, I kinda got the short end of the stick, since those other four had a full week’s worth of throwing shit at the crossing guard hijinks, while I only got to experience one day of it.
But there’s a moral here. And, I’m not quite sure what it is, but there’s a moral here somewhere.
Maybe… wear a mask when you commit crimes? And change your route when you are repeating offenses. Yup, that sounds good.
The end.
