“I NEED A CORK SCREW, A CABBAGE PATCH KID, AND A MICROWAVE!!!”
What a day it had been. You know those days when the moment you wake up, you know you should strongly consider staying in bed the rest of the day. Not because you are sick, or need more rest, or even because you hate the agenda of the day so much you would rather slit your wrists and do pushups in hot water…no…no, the main reason for your considering staying in bed is that from the moment your eyes slowly flickered open, you knew that the fates would align against you that day. Some one, some thing, some idea, was going to get you. You couldn’t explain it, but you knew it was going to be.
Like the man who walks the beach every morning throwing starfish back into the ocean. Hundreds lie before him, scattered across the sandy shoreline. Every day people line the beachhead, watching him save starfish after starfish, applauding his every toss. Then one morning, as he was throwing one particular starfish back to its briny home, a crab lunged out of the sand and clawed him on his pinky toe. Then a jelly fish did a gainer right out of the ocean and marooned itself on his lower neck region, which was an incredible degree of difficulty for the jelly fish, but also an incredible degree of pain for our friend the starfish rescuer.
So as the fateful story of the starfish guy races through your mind, you ponder the ramifications of your decision to stay in bed. After weighing the pro’s and con’s of missing a day of class versus what you expect to be a day from Satan’s underbelly; even going so far as to pull the abacus from beneath your bed, to get a logical and mathematical equation as to the odds you make it safely home again that night without so much as a hint of Murphy’s Law taking place. Once fully satisfied that your life will be miserable for the next 24 hours, but still not in the mood to upset your parents by failing to get to class, you put on your favorite pair of ski pants and Van Halen tee-shirt and walk triumphantly out the front door.
On the way to school you pass Mrs. Wrigley sawing her husbands riding lawn mower in half. While this strikes you as strange because Mrs. Wrigley doesn’t like the smell of 2 stroke motor oil, you’re mind doesn’t reflect too long before moving to the picture of Mr. Wrigley sitting on his grandson’s tricycle, licking a cube of butter, watching his wife go to town on his mower. Memories of your prior decision to not stay in bed are beginning to creep back into your mind, though not for long as the bus is approaching and you have to prepare yourself for which seat you will get. It is a widely known fact that for kids in school, “school bus seating” is as much a rite of passage as a “sweet sixteen” or bagging your first Trout on the River Kwai.
As you board the bus your eyes dart from seat to seat as if you’re looking for Waldo in one of his ill-fated locater books (my point is this: why does he always lose himself in overly crowded places, if all he wants is to be found. He should just go hang out at the Circle K like any other self respectable man). Finally you come to your throne-your champs elysees-your diamond in the rough- your ‘never-caught-between-a-rock-and-a-hard-place-if-you-sit-here’…chair. You all know where this most coveted seat is: 3rd from the back, on the right side…window seat. Just when you were certain getting up today was a mistake, the clouds part and sun shines down on you in all its effervescent glory.
Suddenly you think you’ve beaten the omen. That nothing could go wrong the rest of the day because you found “the seat”. Kids might go through their entire 8-12th grade without experiencing “the seat” and yet, here you are, lounging in comfort like the Sultan resting atop a pillowed pacaderm. The world was suddenly your oyster, and you intended to “dig it”. Even a tune made its way into your head, and you began to whistle some of your favorite “golden oldies”.
This euphoria didn’t last long however. The moment you step off the bus a snowball full of what can only be assumed was cat urine splashes across your face. It’s at this moment you begin to question the dame known as Karma. You knew it was going to be an awful day-all the signs pointed to such, and as a result, you were prepared for every rotten occurrence that may come about. But then Karma plays a nasty trick. She gives you hope. She lets you find the perfect seat on the bus, but doesn’t tell you that you’re sitting first class on a one way trip to Crap Town: population: you! You see, riding in “the seat” makes you soft. It makes you think you grew up licking the proverbial silver spoon. As a result you let your guard down. Had you instead sat in the worst possible seat (two rows behind the bus driver, so their mirror is such perfect position, that no matter how you tried to maneuver away from their glances, they could see you with such detail that they even knew how many cavities you had. Had you sat there, you would have had in no doubt the worse ride to school ever, but at least then your mind would have been sharp! You would have known to shoulder roll out of the bus and bolt for the classroom.
But Karma tapped you on the shoulder this particular day, and for better or worse, you found the perfect seat, only to be rewarded with pee soaked snow all over your face. Not one to overly dwell in Eyeore-esque despair, you wipe your face off with your new mitten, and head to class. First thing on Home Room agenda: lice exam. Don’t get me wrong, I am all for the conscious pursuit of a healthy classroom, but I think school nurses just like to tick kids off, and this is their quarterly chance to do it.
To Be Continued…
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