Tuesday, December 21, 2010

The Twelve Days of Festivus: Day Nine


Day Nine: Grade Eight
One of the greatest memories of grade eight was the aforementioned Footballhead comic strip and drawn mental institution that Mike Ritchie and I drew instead of paying attention in class (see Day Five for a few details)...and rests assured when someone lends me a decent scanner, I will get them all posted for your amusement. Because I don't have the visuals, I've opted to tell a different story from grade eight.

One of my favourite parts of grade eight was Ms. Allen...well, there were several parts of Ms. Allen that I liked. She was a smokin' hot teacher...blonde, thin, great butt...she made learning difficult for us boys (and probably a lesbian or two) because every time she turned to write on the white board, we just weren't looking at what she was writing. She also wore these teeny little skirts all the time. Was she a teacher or some sort of $&#@ teasing stripper? Who knows. But she was really nice and knew her stuff, as well as being the subject of many a student's dreams, so she was a welcomed addition to the Meadowbrook School faculty.
Ms. Allen taught outdoor education as she was a huge outdoor buff. While the classroom stuff was pretty tedious, she scheduled tonnes of day trips and even a couple of overnight field trips. The trips always involved activities better suited for a gym class than outdoor ed, but no one was complaining. Ms. Allen even had "field trips" just outside the school on occasion. For example, there was one day in which our classroom was filled with an unbearable odor...body odor to be exact. You see, a heinous little ginger named Melanie (or as we nicknamed her; Smellanie) never wore deodorant. No one was really sure why Smellanie didn't wear any pit-stick...maybe she was allergic to it or maybe she just wasn't very skilled in personal hygiene. One of the counselors actually took her aside and talked to her about it because the smell was so bad and it LINGERED in every room she had a class. Most unpleasant. Anyway, the point is that Ms. Allen, being a merciful woman, decided to move our class outside so we didn't have to endure the odor! Awesome!
All right, back on track. One of the trips that Ms. Allen had scheduled was out near the mountains. It was an overnight trip and I was pumped to be able to go. I got to miss school and try my hand at skiing. What fun! We boarded the bus and went on our way to adventure. On arrival at the location (I don't recall the name of it, but it may have been Ribbon Creek...or was that the name of the venue of my Grade Six horrible camping week?), we spent very little time dropping off our stuff before Ms. Allen had us out and about on our skis. Ms. Allen headed off our cross country skiing adventure and at first I thought I was pretty hot shit on the slats.
However, it wasn't long until we reached a hill. Ms. Allen explained that the best way to climb up a hill in skis was to curve your feet inwards and then dig the sides of the skis into the snow. Everyone seemed to have an easy go at it...except me. I don't know what the hell happened, but I could NOT get up that hill. It wasn't a 90 degree angle or anything. It was a gentle slope that an old lady with no arms or legs could climb! But fuck if I could get up that hill. Ms. Allen and her then fiance tried to help me by barking instructions but it just wasn't working. I made it about half way up the hill and then took a tumble back to the bottom. After a few minutes of letting me look like a fool, they helped me up the hill. Ms. Allen said there was a lot of ice on the hill and so I shouldn't be embarrassed. Fuck that. No one else had trouble.
Once I was on level ground, I began to ski ahead. I was a wizard at skiing when it was a flat surface. I was fast, graceful, and most impressive. However, that was my downfall. Ms. Allen likely thought I'd found my groove and so she and her fiance went up ahead to catch up with the group. Things were fine until...hill #2. Wouldn't you know it? I couldn't get up that fucker by more than a few feet! After about five minutes of trying to get my ass up that hill, I had a ragequit. I threw off my skis and walked up the damn hill. Once I was at the top, I strapped on the skis again and continued on my way. However, I was now several minutes behind the pack. That wouldn't have been much of a problem, since I was so good on the skis when not going uphill. However, there was one obstacle that speed could not aid me in.
I reached a fork in the pathway after about ten minutes of skiing. And just to stick it to me, both routes looked to be equally worn and used by skiers.  I was so far behind that I had no hints as to what way the class went, so I picked a route randomly. I went left.
The trek to find my class or at least find my way back was wonderful. The views were magnificent atop some of the biggest hills (which I climbed without my skis of course) and I loved being enveloped by all those beautiful trees. In fact, I was having such a good time that I lost track of time. The class had started skiing at about 10:00AM. The class returned to the cottage at about noon. I finally found my way back to the cottage at a few minutes before 4:00PM.
Ms. Allen seemed to be so worried. She actually gave me a hug (giggity giggity oww oww) and said that she was thinking about getting people together to look for me (a search party or just students? I don't know). Apparently, the rest of the class had just been sitting around waiting for me to return. I got a few dirty looks...sorry guys. I explained to Ms. Allen the situation and she said it was important not to stay too far behind. WHAT? I thought the rule was to go as fast as the slowest person? She mentioned that she thought I was right with her and the class the whole time. Excuses, much?
With my safe return, the class decided to have their scheduled afternoon ski a little later than originally planned, since I had been missing. Ms. Allen asked who was coming and who was not. Not wanting to get fucked again, I opted to stay at the cottage. The only other person to stay was Tracy Gold. Ah, good ol' Tracy. I'd known her since grade three. She was overweight in grade three, and so I always tricked her into bowing in front of me. Why? So I could see her cleavage (I was a pervert back then, and if you didn't know that, be sure to read King Tit and the Eraser That Saved My Ass)! Tracy and I were friends in grade three. But now, while she was still overweight, we were no longer friends. We didn't even talk despite being in the same room that day. However, that didn't stop the other students and their assumptions. For the rest of grade eight, there was a lame rumour that Tracy and I had the sexy-time while we were alone. Ugh. I would have much preferred the rumour involved me and Ms. Allen. Oh well.

So to recap, the field trip sucked. I thoroughly embarrassed myself, managed to get lost for over five hours, and became the subject of a rumour that I was slapping Tracy's thighs to ride the waves. So why is it such a good memory for me? Was it the view? Was it being out with nature instead of in stuffy classrooms? Was it because I learned a valuable lesson about not going uphill in skis? Or was it because Ms. Allen was wearing a really tight sweater AND hugged me? You be the judge.

See you tomorrow for Day Ten!

No comments:

Post a Comment