For one, I highly respect those teachers that actually
tried to …..confront? Fix? Deal with…ah! Those teachers that actually tried to
deal with me. You know, instead of just letting me get away with the various
unspeakable things I did in school. To those teachers, some of which who are
dead, I salute you. Now that I sometimes have to deal with such things myself,
and during those few times that things go horribly haywire, I take a moment to
reflect on the various sins I have committed against those teachers. Perhaps
that is why I am blessed with the most askew of children. This is how I atone
for my past sins.
Sometimes things are going particularly bad, I just take
a moment to cower in the corner and pray for a moment….”I repent…..I repent….whatever
it is that I did, I repent….”
What is it that I did? Well, I once threw a chicken at
my teacher’s head.
In my defense, he was chasing me. So I threw the
chicken.
The story goes that I was in for my third infraction of
the week…and it was only Tuesday! My father was surely to hear of this. Let us
not dwell on the infraction and focus on the fact that I was gonna get it. And I didn’t want to get
it. Who ever wants to get it? No one.
That’s who.
So, there I was, brought forward to face this poor,
balding old man who was often subject to my various blasphemous acts. He was
heaving and turning into his usual unusual hue of red. I think he reserved that
special ability for me and for me alone. Who knew a person could change color
so rapidly? He was explaining the repercussions of my present conduct, or something
like that. I was busy. I had to plan an escape route. There was no denying this
one. I was caught red-handed. Or rather, blue-handed. Literally. I had blue
paint dripping off of me and because it was the watery type of paint it just would not dry. I looked up at him to
see if this might be the day that I am finally guilty of making a grown man
implode just by irritating him. Would I be sent to jail if that happened? But I
never touched him…..
I then realized he was about to reach the part where he
was going to declare the sentence for my crime. Oh no….this won’t do. It was
one thing to take a scolding, but to endure another punishment,..well, I did
what any other reasonable, paint-soaked, about-to-be-punished person would do.
I ran for it.
It had worked a few times before; they just let me run
off then hours later I would sneak back into class and pretend nothing
happened. It was a good practice of skills. You know, the “what? What are you
talking about?” face. I have used it countless times in my adult life.
Unfortunately, this was not the usual circumstance. For
one, I was dripping in paint. This meant that I left a trail of slime wherever I ran. Going into my
typical hiding spots wouldn’t do because that would give them away. I needed
those places to remain top secret..you know, for research purposes. An on-going
research I was doing.
Another reason this was not the usual scene is because
for the first time in my life, the teacher actually gave chase. Oh God! I was not in good shape, and usually all I
needed was a short sprint out of sight and out to one of my handy research
facilities. But he started to give chase. This balding, huffing, reddening,
fuming old man was giving chase.
I had to run.
So I ran.
Across the lawn
Over the bush
Through the hedge
Into an add-maths class and out the other door
Up the bridge
Down the bridge
And he was still hot on my tail!
I ran around the pond and stopped to look. He was on the
other side of the pond. Would he risk jumping into the pond to get at me? He
looked very much like an over-boiled whistling kettle by now. We stared at each
other for a while, gathering our breaths. Then I sprint off again. He roared.
He actually roared. Have you ever heard an old, balding, huffing, fuming,
panting, furious man roar? Well, it sure was enough to make me run faster.
Across the field
To the rabbit mound
The rabbits scattered to make way for my heavy steps.
Up the steps
And then…….
There it was. In front of me.
The chicken.
It was one of the school’s free-range chickens that
wandered around the school grounds. They have a coop, but there’s a small door
they can freely go in or out of; you know, it’s all kind of casual. No
obligation to stay.
So now, in front of me, was this live piece of poultry,
pecking away at invisible seeds.
Behind me, was the balding, huffing, fuming,
highly-aggravated old man.
In front of me, an obstacle.
Behind me, death
in the most gruesome manner known to any blue-painted person.
I had no choice.
You have to understand…. I had no choice!!!
I picked up the chicken,
Turned around,
And threw it towards the poor old man.
The paint still hadn’t dried, and I had plenty of it on
me that it got on the chicken as well. And the chicken, surprised at suddenly
being lifted, an activity not usually partaken in by other fellow birds, was
even more surprised that it was now also smeared in blue paint. It was also
quite alarmed that it was apparently flying towards what appears to be a very
angry looking old man. With all its might, the chicken tried to “brake” mid-air
using its two feet. In all its effort, it also tried to flap its wings to try
to perhaps fly away to safety. However, impact was inevitable.
The poor teacher, caught by surprise at suddenly having
a very large live bird heading towards his face, also tried to quickly change
course and avoid matrix-style the impact of the forward feet aimed directly at
him.
I’ll leave their faces up to your imagination. Both the
chicken and the poor teacher.
So the chicken smacks into his face, and he had multiple
scars all over his head for a couple of weeks.
My father made me spend all my pocket money buying my
teacher a new shirt, creams for his head, and a few anti-stress games.
And I had to write an apology letter.
And read it out in front of the whole school.
And apologize to the
chicken as well.
And clean up all the paint
stains.
And the chicken.
And that wasn’t yet for
the paint thing!
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