high school

Years after the Cold War thawed, Air Raid Drills were still nabbing casualties

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cause and effect

People, let’s talk about cause and effect! This story doesn’t end well for a certain little girl with Leukemia, but I’m not the one to blame here. Leukemia isn’t even the one to blame here. Like many others here on this site, this particular story doesn’t paint me in a very good light, but I’m willing to risk that to get right up on my soapbox and tell you about the effect Air Raid drills had on the children of America. (If you don’t know what an Air Raid drill is and never had to duck and cover read this LINK HERE before you go any further or I’ll just sound crazier than I normally do).

Air Raid

My being a neurotic mess didn’t happen overnight; I was the only newborn in the maternity ward kvetching over the fold in my swaddled blanket – Why does my blanket have stripes – he’s got one that’s plain blue, why can’t I get plain blue? Why did he get a second tuck? When is that nurse gonna start warming her hands before she changes me…But this isn’t about a newborn – fast forward to that neurotic mess as a teenager…

swaddle

My friend MariaElaina was like my partner in crime. If there was a box of Entemann’s cookies in my hand, her hand was covered in crumbs as well. If there was a sixty-five year old woman to play cards with, she was right there shuffling the cards while the old bag cheated us for pennies…If she had a flour baby in Health Class and mistakenly let me babysit, I was the one that got it kidnapped…As with everyone, High School can be tough – so we used to combat that by cutting classes and attending the other person’s class with them to make it bearable.

MariaElaina was enrolled in a vocational program that was teaching her practical skills to become a dental hygienist and so for half the school day, she was bussed over to a satellite school for the program. It was career and technical programs, so you only went there if you were enrolled in one. Always up for a road trip, I ditched my classes for the day and got on the bus with her to learn the tricks of the dental hygentistry trade. The bus ride over was about twenty five minutes to a half hour and without incident. I had never been there before, so it was fun to see the facility and get out of my school for the day.

dental hygenist

We went into her classroom after arriving and were stoked to see that it was a substitute teacher for the day. Now we figured that there wouldn’t be anyone the wiser for me being there when I wasn’t supposed to. Little did I know…

Of course, all the kids were fooling around and being High School kids as the Substitute took attendance. We figured that if I just didn’t answer she wouldn’t know anything; we were all just standing around anyway so she wouldn’t realize I was extra. As MariaElaina and I were chatting it up, I was starting to get a headache from my eyeglasses so I took them off and held them in my hand. One of her classmates started over towards us and I couldn’t help but squint and stare because I didn’t have my glasses on but that girl was obviously sick. She wasn’t walking okay and she was literally the palest person I have ever seen in my life. Translucent if you will. Knowing I cannot be trusted to not say dumb things, MariaElaina tried to blow her off and get her away from us as soon as possible, but the girl couldn’t take a hint. She kept talking to us and asking questions: Are you interested in dental hygentistry? Is that why you’re here with us today? It was almost as if I was all of a sudden going to don a pair of rubber gloves and ask to scrub in…

As we were talking, we were standing in the doorway of the classroom. MariaElaina and I were in the room and Leukemia Girl (I call her that because she had Leukemia and quite honestly, I can’t remember her name) had her back to the doorway facing us. As Leukemia Girl was overstaying her welcome and ignoring my confused stares, there was a random girl passing by the open doorway of our classroom. I gave it no notice until another girl about a minute later started down the same hallway screaming out to her. I will swear until the day that I die that she screamed “AIR RAID” and not “ADRIAN” to the girl that passed by before her, but I have been told repeatedly since then that I am mistaken. I don’t know if it was my late 1970’s grade school training to move fast to duck & cover in the hallway, but I hit the Holy Shit button big time and freaked the freak out! It was almost as if a bolt of lightning shot right into me and my body jerked into action mid-conversation. Thinking back about it, I can see it in my mind in slow-motion: me screaming at the top of my lungs “AIR RAID!!!AIR RAID!!!” and then proceeding to throw my eyeglasses out of my hand like a World Series Pitcher and then those airborne eyeglasses smacking right into the young lady with Leukemia Girl’s forehead with a thud resulting in her first bruise of the day and then me bum-rushing for the door screaming “AIR RAID!!!AIR RAID!!!” as I knocked her out of the way and onto the floor in order to get into the hallway and down on all fours with my hands covering my neck.

duck and cover

Needless to say, since this wasn’t an actual drill – no one else took part in the safety precautions and just stared in disbelief at first, then disgust as I accidentally assaulted the girl with Leukemia. As I lay there crouched on the floor, she was writhing in pain on her back like a turtle turned upside down and carrying on like she had been shot…

MariaElaina was, of course, laughing hysterically and rolling on the floor as the substitute teacher shot up like a rocket screaming. She made sure Leukemia Girl still had a pulse and had someone was take her to the nurse and then turned on me: “What is wrong with you? Come with me – You’re going to the Principal right now!”

“The principal? I don’t even go here…” it slipped out before I could even hold it back…MariaElaina looked like she was about to wet herself right there. Tears streaming down her face and just bellowing. Her laughing wasn’t helping because it always made me laugh even harder and this was no exception. I was escorted to the front door and told to leave immediately.

“But I don’t even know where we are? How am I going to get back? I took the bus here – is there another one going back to the High School?”

“There’s another bus in in two hours when classes are over for the day – but you can’t wait in here.”

Guess who had to sit outside the front of the building for two hours and wait for the bus as MariaElaina and the kids in her class looked out the window hysterical laughing at him? Did I forget to mention that it was raining and I didn’t have an umbrella or even a coat on?  I didn’t really mind it and it wasn’t so bad until the girl with Leukemia popped her bruised head into the window and proceeded to give me the finger…I was literally sitting out there on a cold slab of concrete they were calling a bench for two hours soaking wet and laughing to myself like a psycho at the absurdity of it all.

I guess I did kind of deserve that one...

I guess I did kind of deserve that one…

I’m not saying she was milking it or wasn’t really hurt, but come on – it’s not like I was a linebacker. Even though she was sickly and paper thin, she still definitely had more muscle tone than me and they were eyeglasses that I hit her with – not nunchucks!

If you’re wondering the lesson I learned from that – it’s obviously that the Air Raid drills work because I have literally been in a house on fire twice and didn’t move that quick but you mention Air Raid and I’m off like a prom dress…

prom dress

Hypochondriac or just a High Maniac?

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I have been a hypochondriac for as long as I can remember and that behavior never changed as I have gotten older. True story: When I was born, I actually burst out of the womb in a tiny yellow rain slicker and I immediately started questioning whether the birthmark on my right arm wasn’t actually a malignant melanoma? In grade school I wasn’t allowed in the nurse’s office because I would read the symptom posters on the walls and get convinced I had diabetes or whatever poster was up at the time. High School was worse because I had been gifted with a medical dictionary on my birthday, so my maladies weren’t just limited to the common diseases anymore. When I was in college, it was only a matter of time before I wasn’t allowed in the Health Services Office – but not for the usual reasons…This time it was different. 

In college, I refused to take classes on Mondays or Fridays so that I could have a more flexible schedule and so all of my classes were on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I didn’t really need a flexible schedule for a job or really any specific reason other than laziness, but it was the principle of the matter. During my second sophomore year, my 11:3o class on Tuesdays and Thursdays was Geography of something. Throughout the first two months, I only made it there on time twice which I thought was a pretty good start. The professor was from Africa with a very thick accent and she would constantly hold me after class to tell me that in her country they take education very seriously and would think it was disrespectful to show up late. I would say it was not going to happen again, and then continue with my pattern. She didn’t seem to be a big fan of mine and one day she actually attacked me in front of the whole class about the lateness. Granted, I was waltzing into the room over forty-five minutes after the class had started, so she might have had a point; what can I say, when I’m late – I’m late. My theory was that as long as you showed up before the class was over you weren’t really late, right? She apparently didn’t feel the same way.

In her super thick accent she started yelling at me “What are you doing? You cannot keep doing this!” At first, I didn’t realize she was talking to me and then when I did, I tried to ignore her and pretend as if she wasn’t, but that’s really hard to do when twenty other people are smirking and hanging on her every word. Also, she was yelling at me and no one else was talking so it was really awkward…”You think you’re mad – How do you think my 10 o’ clock teacher feels– I never make it to that one…” Before she could even respond to my sarcastic stupidity, I muttered “I’m sorry, it couldn’t be helped” I figured that would be the end of it and tried to take my seat when she came marching over to me. “This is disruptive and you come late to every single class – Why do you bother showing up at all?”

At this point, a normal person would have thrown themselves to the wolves, admitted they were wrong and apologized – but not me. Very softly I muttered “Listen, I’m really sorry – it couldn’t be helped because I’m sick. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it before because you’re from Africa and all, but I have a little something called Mono and that’s really serious. I feel lucky that I can make it out of bed and get here at all.” In my mind, I was celebrating how quickly that I had thought of that and how smart I was, figuring that she would apologize and see the error in her ways.  Of course, I was delusional and should have realized that she, and everyone else in the class for that matter, could see right through me and tell that I was lying. That’s when she really let me have it and for a second I felt like her strong accent fell right to the wayside so she could yell at me in perfectly clear English.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been teaching for a long time and do you really think that you’re the first person to try and tell me that they have Mono? Of course I know what Mono is, I’m not an idiot – where’s your Doctor’s note?”

Once again, a normal person would have admitted defeat and let it go at that, but not me. “How dare you! What kind of a person do you think I am? I am so insulted, who would make that kind of thing up? I’m a sick person (ironically, this was the only true statement that I had made all morning) Do you think I’m crazy? Go to Health Services and ask them in there! How dare you question me?” Now as a side note, I was as positive as one of Maury‘s paternity tests that I didn’t have Mono and that there was absolutely nothing wrong with me except for laziness, but if I didn’t at least get defensive she would have immediately known that I was lying.

Sure as can be, she was disgusted with me and dropped it and I got the stink eye from half the class. The other half could have cared less about the scene I was making. The girl who sat next to me was just staring with that look of disgust that usually takes people getting to know me for a few months before it develops and I looked at her and then rubbed my stomach to motion to her that I was sick. She rolled her eyes to motion to me that I was an idiot. 

I got the hell out of there after class and ran down to the Health Services Office. I had actually never been down there before because they don’t prescribe anything besides aspirin and I had learned to self-medicate with my prescription for any malady: Imodium AD and beer.  (It worked every time and if it didn’t work I’d add a joint to the mix and be at 100% in no time.) Actually, that’s still my go-to remedy and you know what? It still works. Your stomach hurts? You take Imodium and you’re OK. You have a headache? Take Imodium, you’re OK. You break your ankle? Yep, you guessed it. Works like a charm.

I didn’t have faith in any of the people working in that Health Services office, but I needed to make sure that if my professor ever did check up on my stupid Mono story, there would be a record of me going there. I went in and really milked it for all I was worth. I was leaning on the counter, moaning, and generally trying to look as sick as I could (that was the only time my naturally albino-pale complexion has been a positive thing in my life) so they would think I had Mono.

The numbskull there had me lie down on the cot and tell her my symptoms so of course I laid it on really thick:

ME: I feel like it’s just too much. I have no energy to go to class and it’s just every day…It’s Mono, I just know it

HER: Are you taking any medications? Drugs? Alcohol?

ME: Not me. No way that I would ever do that. I’m here to study and I just wish that I could get out of bed and make it to class. Can you give me something? I just know it’s Mono

HER: We can’t be sure what’s going on until we run some blood and urine samples, but it’s probably not Mono…

ME: (interrupting) Of course it’s Mono. I know my body.

HER: OK, let’s run the blood and urine and see what’s going on and you can come back in a day or two for the results. It’s too soon to say what it could be or if there’s anything wrong with you at all.

ME: Oh, I know there’s something wrong with me (The only other true statement I uttered that day!)

After the urine sample, she tried to take blood and I got light-headed and had to lie down to recover while she got me a cookie and soda. That was the only real symptom I had the whole time I was in that office and it had nothing to do with Mono – it was because I am a major pussy and I pass out from needles! I left there feeling mighty victorious and went home to celebrate how smart I was.

I went back a couple of days later and as I was waiting for her to go over the results with me, I was laying it on thick again and had her go and fetch me some water just to make it look good. I knew that there was a better chance of her telling me that I was going to be Valedictorian than there was of her telling me that I had Mono, but I had to make it look real. She came in with her associate, shut the door, and pulled their chairs right next to where I was laying on the cot. They didn’t say anything and looked at each other and then finally:

HER: “It’s not Mono…” before she could get any further, I grabbed my chest and said “Oh my God, its Hepatitis isn’t it?” knowing full well that there was no way it was.

HER: “Why would you think you have Hepatitis? Have you been in contact with someone who has it?”

ME: “You never know…”

HER: We know what’s going on here and you know that you don’t have Mono. I think you’re a very depressed person and it’s very serious. We’ve seen it before and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.

ME: (Hysterical laughing) Whoa sister, I’m not depressed. I may not have Mono, but I’m not depressed.

HER: Really, then how do you explain the tiredness, achiness, not going to class, the excessive sleeping, we ran your blood and urine remember? Your triglyceride count was through the roof which means you are drinking so excessively that it’s triple the count of what it should be. And the imaginary symptoms and thinking you have major illnesses is another sign. How do you explain the drugs in your system? This is depression, plain and simple. I know it when I see it.

ME: OK, seriously…I knew that I didn’t have Mono and joking around about Hepatitis is not funny.  I get that, but here’s what happened: I always come late and so I lied to my Geography Professor and told her that I had Mono so I needed a record of me coming here to be treated for it in case she checked because she didn’t believe me. I didn’t think she even knew what Mono was; she’s from Africa for God’s sake. There’s nothing wrong with me – I’m just lazy. I realize just how stupid this sounds as I hear myself say it out loud, but it’s really true.

HER: Really? Do you think we believe that? That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard. What kind of person would do something like that? You’re depressed and you need to talk to someone. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I already called your father and…

ME: WHAT!!!! YOU DID WHAT??? ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? My father is a lunatic and that is the last thing you should have done. What about my privacy? I’m not fucking depressed, I’m pissed off. You’re nuts lady – I’m outta here!!!

Of course she called my father and he is a fucking crazy person to put it mildly: I have already expressed my wishes that he never be near me in a medical crisis and that is especially true when it is a fake medical crisis that I have just made up!!! This is how the call went after she asked for him and introduced herself:

HER: Sir, I’m calling about your son. I think he’s depressed. He came to the Health Services Office pretending to have Mono and we…

HIM: Lady, we’re all depressed, what do you want from me? The Mets are on – and then he hung up on her! Yep, that’s my Father! Good thing I wasn’t on a ledge somewhere…

I tried to go on my merry way and forget any of this had happened, but then I got a call from the Dean’s secretary a few days later to come to her office immediately. I had run-ins with the Dean on numerous occasions and had accidentally told her daughter that I thought she (the Dean, not her daughter) was a Fat Fuck just a few days earlier so I wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted from me.  (I didn’t realize it was her mother until I said “What is that Fat Fuck doing here?” and she said “What Fat Fuck?” And I said “What Fat Fuck? The Dean, who else” and she said “That Fat Fuck happens to be my mother!” and I said “That Fat Fuck is your mother?” and she said “Yes” and I repeated “That Fat Fuck is your mother?” which just made it worse. I don’t know why I thought she would be kidding, but I didn’t believe her. Needless to say, she did not think any part of it was funny. Also, it was in front of about ten people in the lounge, so she really didn’t think it was funny but it wasn’t like I could take it back at that point.
Needless to say, I had to explain the whole situation to the Dean because the hookers from the Health Services Office had gone running to her after my father hung up on her. Those bitches actually tried to block me from being able to register for classes until I went and saw a counselor so she wanted to talk to me and hear my side of the story. Talk about eating humble pie – thank God she knew I was an idiot. She knew that I was telling her the truth and she did threaten to make me go to the counselor out of spite, but did chuckle a little bit at the situation and said “Only you, anyone else and I would never have believed that kind of stupidity…and then we both laughed.

I ended up sweet talking that little African princess and she passed me but it was close. I had to lay on my charm and actually had to show up on time a few times…The lesson we learn here: The problem with health care is not the idiots faking illnesses to get out of something, but the crazy bitches that need to learn how to keep their traps shut!!!

As a postscript to this, a few months later they thought my aunt had Tuberculosis (seriously this time) and I needed a TB test immediately. Obviously I couldn’t go back into that Health Services Office after faking Mono and Hepatitis and tell those nitwits that I needed a TB test so I had to go to the local hospital for it. If you’re thinking of writing in the comments below about the boy who cried wolf – don’t! No one like a smart ass!

The things a little prick will do…

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What did you think I was talking about?

 

I was in a friend’s wedding and went for a fitting at the tuxedo shop. Easy peasy right? Wrong.

Once the sales guy handed me a yellowish, sweat-stained shirt to try on, I should have known there would be an issue. I set him straight immediately and made him give me a brand new shirt which annoyed him to no end. Sorry if filth bothers me, but I am certainly not trying that dishrag on if it’s covered with enough sweat and God-only-knows-what to make it look yellow. As I came out of the dressing room with the shirt on, the sales guy winced and looked at me with a very confused look on his face and said “Where is all that blood coming from?”

Having no idea what he was talking about, I looked down and was caught off guard because it looked like I had been shot. There was blood all across the front of that shirt at every button from the neck straight down to the belly. I, of course, reacted as any sensible person would in that situation and started screaming “I’m fucking bleeding – Oh my God, I’m fucking bleeding!”

Mine always comes when I'm wearing something nice" Hedy (Jennfer Jason Leigh) Single White Female

 

Apparently, since I am neurotic and forced him to give me a brand new shirt to try on, he neglected to take out all the pins and I stuck my finger, thus all the bleeding. I should have noticed, but because my hands are always so dry and cracked from my OCD compulsive constant hand washing I didn’t feel the pin prick me.

My wife reacted as she thought any sensible person should in that situation and started walking the other way and out the front door so that nobody would know she was in there with me. The sales guy from the shop, on the other hand, was a young punk and reacted like an asshole when he started screaming at me to calm down or he would smack me. It might not have been as big of a deal if it wasn’t Prom season and there weren’t fifteen High School guys getting tuxedos in there at the same time.

When you’re a High School kid, you kind of expect that High School kids will point and laugh at you and call you a Pussy among other things. When you’re an adult and they’re doing it to you, it’s a slightly different experience. I stood there like Carrie at the prom, literally covered in blood, and didn’t know what to do until the sales guy (compassionate once again) yelled at me “What are you standing there for – go take that shirt off!”

It’s then that I realized that my father was right all along: the day we stopped being allowed to hit other people’s kids was the day this country took a steep nosedive downwards. If I were able to get back into that dressing room and find my belt – I would have whooped some ass in that tuxedo shop. Needless to say, I got out of there real quick. The worst part of that whole process was that I didn’t even get the tuxedo there because there was no way that I could go back into that shop after that. At least the wedding was fun and I did look good…

If they see this face, they’ll never book!!! Why I’m not using Facebook with my clients

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I am one of the few, the proud – The Facebook haters. I tried to ignore it for so long, but I have finally given in and now have a Facebook page. I do it only to get people to read my website blog, but I hate, hate, hate it. I definitely have the face for radio so I do not need any prospective clients to see me online because If they see this face – they’ll never book!   

I think that at the heart of it, I just don’t get Facebook. I’m a mid-thirties guy that feels like I’m up on what’s current – but I just can’t see the point. It’s supposed to be “The Great Connector” bringing everyone together, but how?

We see the value of face-to-face meetings over anything else every day, but with Facebook you’ll never actually have to be face-to-face with anyone again. You can put up a picture, write on their wall, poke a friend – whatever the hell that means or is good for, but that’s the extent of your relationship. You will never call them again or have to ask about anyone’s family because you can see their pictures and read all about their vacations on their wall. It virtually eliminates the need for telephone calls, letters, or (God Forbid) in-person visits. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I think that stinks. For my birthday, I want the people that care about me to actually remember the date on their own, put a little thought into it, and then pick out and send me an actual greeting card for my birthday. And send it In the Real Mail!  

We have turned into a sad ADD, quick-post society and forgot about the basics. We fall into these 140 character short message people that cannot process a simple conversation. Blackberries and IPhones (The new dirty mistress of many corporate professionals) are a separate story entirely. We are held hostage and feel like we need to post our every mood and move or check our wall and hear about the newest Facebook apps. If you’re not a manic Facebook Frequent poster, than you definitely know someone that is.

Also, what’s with the incomplete, cryptic messages like “cannot believe it?” What can’t you believe? I have no idea what half the people I’m friends with are talking about and I cannot be the only one. Did you ever hear the old expression don’t bury the lead? Let someone know what the heck you’re talking about.     

That’s not to say there aren’t any positive things about Facebook. People learn practical and valuable skills every day.  I am actually so proud that my sister (who couldn’t be trusted to watch my guinea pig Liz for one weekend without killing it) is now a proficient agriculturist with thriving herds and crops in her pasture and that my father is exploring his Italian heritage with Mafia Wars. What’s with the Ancestry requests? I need to click so you realize that I’m your son and we’re related? Marlene tells me all the time how she has no time to get anything done around the house; of course she doesn’t – she spends her whole day tending to the crops and feeding the animals. She is a housewife, but how can her husband expect her to cook dinner or do the laundry after working the fields all day?

Also, I can now “friend request” back and forth with the people in High School and College that knew me when I had a mustache and mullet that I thought made me look cool like Tom Selleck in Magnum PI, but actually looked more like Dennis Spade in Joe Dirt. These are people that I made fun of, got beat up by, dated and then hated, and generally don’t keep in touch with. If we were that close we would have kept in touch. Now I have to feel guilty if I don’t let them be my friend. I’m Catholic, we’re bred to feel guilty – it’s been ingrained in me for the past thirty years. If anyone sends me a friend request, I feel bad to say no or decline them and I let them be my friend because no one likes rejection. Even with people I don’t like, I let them in. I’m a sucker. I have work people that are looking to be friends and I just cannot say no. Keep in mind that these are people that I can’t stand and don’t want to eat lunch with, nonetheless hear about their summer in The Outer Banks or see their cat cleaning himself while perched atop their living room curtains.

Everyone puts every picture they have ever taken up there for the world to see and sometimes the people in the photos don’t even know it. The last thing I need is for a prospective client to see me fist pumping with Snooki last weekend in Hackensack or doing keg-stands in my underwear back in college. People pop up in other albums and they have no control over them. My friend Mary has group pictures in her album, and our other friend Susan looks like she’s in the middle of an epileptic fit in one photo. Unflattering photos are funny to see, but the person looking foolish should be the one to decide who gets to see it.

I know that there are privacy settings and you can limit who sees or reads what, but I still don’t agree with it or trust it. I don’t want people I don’t know to see pictures of my son and hear all about his personal details. I feel like it makes it less personal and takes something away from it. Also, and let’s be honest and loud and clear here; not every baby is cute. This is extremely difficult because I’m the parent of a really really cute kid but I have friends that aren’t and that is a very hard lesson for them to learn. Especially when people see my cute baby in his Gap Jeans and Kenneth Cole hoodie and then they go and put up a picture of their little troll with the misshapen head and lazy eye. You know what an ugly baby in really cute clothes is? A Wannabe!         

While we’re at it, Caroline – I don’t care which Glligan’s Island character you are, stop sending me that nonsense and get back to work! Paul, if you send me one more “what NFL player are you? I’m going to come to your house and feed your cat chili and then lock it in your bedroom. Randi, let me just say that if you have a top-ten stalkers list – that means something is really wrong with you! And Missy, I’m never going to build a civilization and attack my friend’s empire, so please stop asking.

In the whole Social media vein, I hate Facebook, but I will not even discuss Twitter. I’m not David Koresh looking for my own Branch Davidians, so anything advocating me having “followers” goes against my long held, anti-Cult stance. I’m not George Clooney or Brad Pitt doing anything of any importance so who really cares if I go to the library or to the movies?  Why do I need followers? Who should we be followers of – Kanye West?  He’s a musical genius, but what in the world could he be spouting that is of any consequence to me? What about the lessons we teach kids about never being a follower? Throw them right out the window with the art of sending a hand-written thank you card.

In all seriousness, I can see that there are positive things to be gained by using Facebook but for business, I just don’t see it for me. I don’t think our clients should (or even want to) know that much about our personal lives. It’s inappropriate and if you turn them down, you’re rejecting them. We work so hard to maintain our reputation and control the light our clients see us in and Facebook can darken that in an instant. Now that I’m off my tangent – let me go and pretend that I’m not annoyed that my friends have checked their fortunes with Madame Sonia and felt the need to share it with me.

Who does this shit happen to?

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Speaking of really freaky pets and the lunatics that own them, when I was in High School there were two sisters that I was friendly with that were so ugly it was a sin. I’m not an attractive person in any way, so this isn’t coming from a place of arrogance – it is coming from a place of consideration. I’m not exaggerating, those poor girls were butt ugly. I have seen malnourished, third-world refugees that have a better shot of getting laid at the local pub on a Saturday night. I’m telling you this from the standpoint of a compadre because if I wasn’t funny, there would be nothing going for me and I’d still be single!

Anyway, the sisters were into Theatre too, so we were always in the school plays together and we became pretty friendly. One day after rehearsal was over, we were heading out the doors and it was raining cats and dogs. Their mother pulled up and as they got into their station wagon, she asked if I wanted a ride home and I gratefully accepted.

As we were heading out of the parking lot, I got a good look and couldn’t help but realize that their mother was actually a decent looking woman. She wasn’t a MILF or anything but, truthfully, I might have hit that on a drunk night in college given the chance or the right amounts of alcohol. She introduced herself and invited me over for dinner which I accepted. I couldn’t help but think that she absolutely couldn’t be more pleasant and I wondered where the attitude on these two sisters came from; It must be their father, I thought. As we drove to their house, I looked sister to sister, and then back to mom, and then sister to sister again and then back to mom and I just truly, truly hoped for both of their sakes, that this was only an awkward phase that they were going through.

Rats all Folks…

When we got to their house, I met their father, his mother who lived with them, and their younger brother. Amazingly enough, all of them were just as appealing as the sisters. You could see the resemblance to their father immediately, and that is not a compliment or something any girl should ever have to go through. We were making small talk and I took a seat on the couch next to their sweet little grandmother.  As we were talking, their mother was looking over my shoulder shaking her head no, but I wasn’t paying attention to her because I was captivated by their grandmother. She was telling me about how both of her granddaughters were so funny and so beautiful. She repeated it three times and I laughed along with her thinking she must be kidding around because neither of those two qualities could be used to describe either sister on their best day – but she was serious. I was questioning to myself whether dementia had settled in with her…when at that moment everyone got quiet.

I thought I heard something jostling around and turned my head to see a rat racing across the top of their couch towards me! A FUCKING RAT! As it crawled across the couch and up to my sleeve, I nearly dropped dead right there! I thought that I must be hallucinating looking right at this gray little rat shooting across the couch like a rocket – dragging the biggest set of balls I have ever seen in my life. Yes, when I say balls I mean balls. Seriously, I haven’t seen balls that big on adult men in gym locker rooms, but here was this little fucker charging across the couch at me – proud as can be! My first reaction was absolute shock and terror at being this close to a rat. My second reaction was about the sheer size of that rat’s balls because they were probably ten percent of his body weight. It was just Shocking! 

I was overcome with paralyzing fear and lost control of myself and did what any self-respecting man in my position would do: I started screaming hysterically like a little girl. “CALL 911 – THERE’S A FUCKING RAT ON THE COUCH! WHAT THE FUCK!!!GET THAT FUCKING RAT OUT OF HERE!!! (at this point they were hysterical laughing and said it was their pet – one of four rats they kept in the house.) As the rat was advancing up my arm now, getting closer to my face I lost it: “HELLO, WHAT THE FUCK!!!YOU UGLY FUCK, GET THAT FUCKING RAT AWAY FROM ME!…WHAT DID I JUST SAY???…THE FUCKING RAT IS ON ME…YOU UGLY BITCH…THAT…FUCKING…RAT…IS…ON…MY…ARM!!!GET THAT FUCKING THING OUT OF HERE NOW YOU UGLY FUCK!!!” 

With that, the room fell dead silent and their brother scooped up the rat. All eyes were on me and no one was saying a word as I tried to nonchalantly check and make sure that I hadn’t just shit my pants on their couch. My heart was racing a mile a minute and I was looking around the room, not to see if they were all staring at me which they were, but to make sure there were no other rats out…The sister that had put the rat onto the couch was closest to me and she gave me the full stink eye and said “He’s harmless and you’re being such a little baby. And by the way, my mother thinks I’m beautiful!” As I tried to calm myself and catch my breath, I offered “Who keeps rats in their house? Get that fucking thing out of here. You don’t put that on people! What’s wrong with you? That’s disgusting! Hello, it’s a fucking rat! And also, your mother is a fucking liar!” That last bit came out a lot harsher than the way I actually meant it, but I was just attacked by a rat so my emotional state was shaky at best and I shouldn’t have been held responsible for anything that I was saying. 

Their mother turned from cute to crazy in an instant and lashed into me something fierce. She really let me have it. I don’t know what happened to that pleasant, sweet-as-can-be woman from the car ride, but this crazy bitch went off. She tried to make it like there was something wrong with me (if you can believe that) and that I had been the one out of line – as if it’s normal to put a rat on someone – and she wanted me to apologize. I couldn’t tell if she meant for me to apologize to the rat or one of them. With that, my invitation for dinner was revoked as was my ride home and they told me to get out immediately. Not only did I have to walk in the pouring rain, but they lived even further away from my house than the school was, so it took me twice as long to get home. Needless to say, I never went back to that house again – nor did I ever receive another invitation – but that’s not the point. Who puts a rat on someone? What is wrong with people?