The Twelve Days of Festivus: Day Three

THE TWELVE DAYS OF FESTIVUS

Day 3: Grade 2

Grade two was my second least favourite year in grade school. I hated grade two. 

While I had a great teacher in grade one, my grade two teacher was the opposite. Mrs. Schlender (not sure of the spelling but it was pronounced shhlendur) was 130 years old if she was a day. Well, I MAY be exaggerating a tad, but she was easily over sixty. She was a cold bitch too. Always frowning and always seeming miserable. She never let her students get away with anything either. Caught talking in the back of class? To the office! A minute late back from recess? To the office! Looked at her the wrong way? Into the cauldron you go to become part of the witch's stew. Ugh I hated her so much. Miserable, cankerous old cow.

To be honest, I cannot really describe WHY grade two was so bad, as it wasn't just Schlender to blame. But when I think back to grade two, it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It was a year that affected me negatively. Maybe it was because that was the year I was babysat by Marianne, who left me in the care of her idiot son who always beat me up and locked me outside. Maybe it was because I befriended Leo (See Revenge is Sweet) and we got into lots of trouble, such as breaking windows stored behind a garage or the Great Bowling Alley Heist (a story that I planned to write but never made it to the blog in time). Maybe it was because my sister was old enough to need more attention and I was feeling left out. Or maybe it was because of the story I am about to tell. You be the judge.

In the spring of 1986, I was out playing in the playground during the morning recess at R.J. Hawkey School with classmates. We were playing Thundercats on the playground equipment. I, of course, was Lion-O. I would hold up an invisible Sword of Omens and yell "Thundercats HO!" so that my Thundercats team would come running to me. I would then collapse and have them fawn over me to try and find out why I was unconscious. I have no idea what the hell I was doing. I just liked the attention.

Sidebar: If you're unfamiliar with Thundercats, please go HERE to understand why "Thundercats HO" isn't as weird as it sounds.

Anyway, while playing, I suddenly felt the need to expel the contents of my bladder. Really, really, badly. I made a wild dash for the "grade two doors" (each grade had its own entrance into the school) so I could use the washroom. However, a teacher there stopped me and told me that kids weren't allowed back into the school early and I would have to wait the five minutes for the bell to ring. Yes, my friends. Back in the day, teachers weren't just doormats to walk over. They had power. And sometimes they abused it.
I began a crazy trek around the school, trying desperately to find an isolated corner at which I could relieve myself. But every turn I made, there were more kids playing or teachers spying my every move! I ran to the far side of the playground but teachers were watching to make sure students didn't leave school property, so I was being watched still. What the hell was I going to do???
However, I was a smart kid. I knew it all. And I knew what I had to do. I ran to the playground equipment in the playground and got underneath the main assembly. Beneath my feet was an expanse of sand that filled the entire area that the equipment was located. Being a genius child, it occurred to me that my solution was right there. The sand, being warm and dry, and being similar to kitty litter, would act as an absorbing agent! I subtly laid down in the sand on my stomach. And I let the waterworks flow.
The school bell rang as I drained my lizard and the kids all rushed back to the school. I rose, triumphant, and began to walk back to the school. However, upon looking down, I discovered that my master plan did not come to fruition quite as I had anticipated. Rather than brilliantly dry sweatpants, I had the front completely soaked AND covered in damp sand. I ran back to the sand and jumped in again. And I waited. And waited. And waited. Easily ten minutes had passed by the time I got back up. My pants were no better. I had pee-soaked, sand-covered sweats and I was now late to get back to Mrs. Schlender's class. I was hooped!
But then, being a smart kid, I remembered I had a change of pants in my little "cubby hole locker" thingy. I suppose my mum assumed that sooner or later I would have an accident and she provided a spare change of clothes should it happen. I would still get in trouble for being late to class, but at least I wouldn't be embarrassed. There was just one obstacle...I had to actually GET to the cubby hole.
I returned to the school, carefully navigating my way to the door so not to be caught. In the school, I took the time to remove my outdoor shoes and put them on the rack. I grabbed my indoor shoes and began to skulk my way into the hallways. Luck was on my side as there was no one about. Usually there was some asshole teacher guarding the halls but today it was empty. I ran down the hall to get to my cubby hole. A few open classroom doors wouldn't stop me now! I successfully made it to my cubby hole locker thingy and got the clean sweats and tighty whities down. PHEW!!!
I yanked down my soiled sweatpants and used the dry parts to dry my legs. I then whipped off my underwear and replaced them with a clean pair. Almost done! But luck wasn't on my side nearly as much as I had assumed...

As I began putting my first leg into my clean sweats, the door to Mrs. Schlender's classroom opened. I looked up and watched in horror. My ENTIRE class poured out of the room. They were going to the gymnasium for some sort of assembly. As the kids exited the room, Tara Halpin and Michelle Helm, my arch nemeses all through grade school (though I'm not sure why we hated each other) were the first to see me. Tara pointed and laughed and everyone else followed suit. There I was, sitting on the cold white floor of my school hallway in my underwear, being laughed at by half the people in my grade. I was devastated.
Mrs. Schlender came out of the room after the children and SHE HERSELF LAUGHED at me! My teacher, the person who is supposed to exhibit maturity and respect, laughed at her student. After a moment, she seemed to compose herself and she said "Enough laughing...accidents happen" to the other students and ushered them along to the gym. Schlender told me to meet at the gym when I was done. I proceeded to get dressed and I just left the school and walked home. I probably got into crap when I got home but I do know I didn't have to go back that day.
I heard a lot of insults through the laughter as the kids walked down the hall. Most sad was the fact that one of those insults ended up sticking with me well into middle school.

"Ginch boy."

I was called that so much during grade two and it continued to pop up throughout three, four, five, and six...I even recall being called that in grade seven. One of the most embarrassing moments of my life ended up having fallout that lasted years. How fair is that?

In case you're considering calling me Ginch Boy as a humorous jab at me, please consider not doing so. Sure, this story was funny and I'm glad my childhood pain brings you joy, but let's face it...Ginch Boy is such a lame insult that you'll just look like a fool. And you never know quite. What's to say I don't snap as a result of hearing the insult again and begin a murderous rampage throughout the city, using briefs as my weapon of choice to strangle my victims? THINK before you act people. You just might save some lives.

As one final note, this is my last story involving me peeing on myself or others. Sorry to disappoint you!
See you all tomorrow for Grade three!

The Twelve Days of Festivus: Day One

Well, it's been about four months since I started blogging. Not a long road, nor a difficult one. However, after some thought, I've decided that it's time to retire my blog. There's just not enough interest in my entries for me to keep it going. Also, there will come a time when I'll be out of stories to tell. Once that happens, all I'll write about are the adventures of my daily life, and I'm not nearly self-centered enough to blog about the boring and mundane and assume people give a shit. There's too many bloggers like that already. So Get Ready for Story Time is going to sing its swan song.

But I won't leave you empty handed. I've decided to write what I call The Twelve Days of Festivus (TTDOF). TTDOF will feature a daily "mini post" about a humourous, dark, or sad point in my past. I thought about whether or not to do TTDOF as having random stories or having a theme and opted for the latter. Since there's twelve days in TTDOF and twelve years in school, I decided I will share a story of my life from each year in grade school (some school related and some that just occurred that year). I couldn't pick twelve of the thirteen years (thirteen when you include kindergarten), so I'm throwing you a thirteenth bonus story one of these upcoming days. So complicated. Anyway, without further adieu, I present to you:

THE TWELVE DAYS OF FESTIVUS

Day One: Kindergarten

Ah, Kindergarten. The prep school of grade school.  A great way to ease kids into the rough waters that is school. A half day of toys, singing, and learning. School seemed so awesome to me then. What the hell did I know?

I remember my first day was something of a shock as my mum dropped me off at R.J. Hawkey school in Airdrie and then fucked off without me. What? In hindsight, she was wise to give me a hug and a kiss and then leave. No turning back as that would delay the lesson I had to learn sooner or later...independence. 

Anyway, about half the way through my kindergarten year, I had still not been able to play in the sandbox. The sandbox was a play station in the kindergarten classroom...one of several such stations that each had their own theme. The teacher would separate students into small groups, and each group would be assigned a different play station to play at for the day. If a child had a birthday on the particular day, they were given choice as to what station they got to attend that day, but sadly my birthday fell during Christmas break. I was fucked. Anyway, for some reason, likely just coincidence and a thoughtless teacher, I never ever got in a group that went to the sandbox station. Every day I lost out and I admit it was really frustrating. Sure, it was just a stupid tiny sandbox in the classroom, but it was way more fun that the toy station or the book station or the colouring station. It even seemed more fun than the Play Doh station (which I don't remember ever attending either...was this teacher out to get me?). I wanted to play in that sand! 

On the day in question, my brilliant four or five year old mind went into overdrive and I came up with a plan. Once we were separated in groups to play, I snuck away from my group and into the sandbox group. I FINALLY got to play! But my victory was short-lived. Maybe a minute or two after I started playing, Mrs. Millen (I think that was the name of the teacher) approached our group and asked which of us wasn't supposed to be there. I kept my cool, but a couple of other kids said I wasn't supposed to be there. Ms. Millen told me that I had to play in my own group and escorted me away. 

Oh man I was mad! Tattlers, unfair teacher, and NO SANDBOX? #%$&#*(&@@*&$*)(^&T%^(#@!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I ran over to the sandbox again, but this time it wasn't to play. One of the kids said I couldn't play in the sandbox because it wasn't my turn. I said I didn't want to. The kids then returned to playing with the sand while I watched. When I felt they were suitably distracted, I whipped down my sweatpants. I was wearing underwear, but I preemptively released the mouse from the house before walking to the sandbox. I took my preschool peter and aimed it right at the sandbox. OPEN FIRE!!!

I let loose a stream of the most vengeful pee you've ever seen! A perfect arc, it sprayed out like a fountain and landed in the sand. The children ran away, all of them screaming. As I drained my bladder and ruined the sand, Ms. Millen came up to me and pulled up my sweats before nearly dragging me away to "the corner." "The corner" was where the bad kids had to sit and think about what they did. I had done very little thinking in "the corner" because I was usually very good. Even while I was sitting there after wetting the sandbox, I was filled with so much satisfaction. If I wasn't going to use the sandbox, neither was anyone else. I regretted nothing.

I don't remember if I got in shit with my parents that night. But I do remember coming in to class the next day and the sandbox was gone. In fact, it was gone for the rest of my time in kindergarten. I wonder if it was removed just while I was attending or if it was removed permanently. Either way, it was my first real sense of victory. And perhaps my first stand against authority that wasn't my parents. It was an important day for so many reasons.

Whenever I think of this story, a thought always crosses my mind. Wouldn't it be fantastic if my actions scarred one or more of those kids at the sandbox when I took a leak in it? For life? Imagine one of those kids, grown up and in their 30s, waking up screaming and sweaty from a nightmare involving being in a sandbox filling with piss or sinking slowly into urine soaked quicksand while trying to no avail to escape. Imagine them having a lifetime of torture all because of me. 

If that is the case, all I can say is...they shouldn't have tattled. Let that be a lesson to all of you. Tattle on me and I'll piss in your sandbox. Every. Single. Time.

See you all tomorrow for Grade One.