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Thursday, March 12, 2009

proving my non-murdering innocence...

recently the wife and i were lying in bed, discussing the surprise picture projects that my best friend and i did for her. she was saying how she appreciated it, and loved it so much. my reply was, "well i try to be a good wifey." and that got me thinking about this ridiculously funny incident that occurred to me in fourth grade. the filicide egg trial of the year.
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let me give you a bit of a back story before i begin telling this twisted tale. my entire educational career in Florence District One, i was mostly surrounded by teachers who all knew my Mom, were related to me, taught my Mom, dated my Step Mom, or who were my best friends' parents. seriously. small town where, you say? florence, sc, us of a. with so many district one faculty and staff knowing me, i was a teacher's brat. a teacher's brat is a particular breed of child, you see. this is a child who not only knows the blueprints to the school like the back of their hand, but can move fluidly throughout the entire campus without being close to being seen or caught. this is the child who knows that if you press F5 on the faculty lounge snack machine, you can get that twix bar for free. or if you put in two quarters simultaneously in the drink machine, you can easily get two dr. peppers like there's no tomorrow. this is the kid who, along with other teacher's brats, had free reign of the entire school and all of its hidden treasures during the meetings in which all of the staff were required.
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phones would be answered in the office by some cheesy pre-pubescent adolescent feeling mighty important with their fleeting moment of power. intercoms would beckon to various classrooms occupied by more fellow teacher's brats, and a loud belch would reverberate throughout that classroom. oh the impermanent power held by the teacher's brat was awesome. think of it as military brats in a permanent setting. it was a great responsibility to behold such power, as one could get away with near murder if orchestrated carefully enough.
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this power followed you to your own slop house of learning. the height of your power, of course, depended on the fellow staff at that school. the more connections you had to your own teaching parent, the higher your power. it is also generally known that teacher's brats are preferred as teachers' pets. the power bestowed to a teacher's brat that has become a teachers' pet is a whole 'nother ball field all together. think JV versus Varsity. but i digress, there is the very very rare form of a teacher that you find by happenstance that abhors teacher's brats. the very sight of them revives some deep hatred inside of them that makes them put your face of their inner dart board of life. these creatures are far and few in between, but pose the awkward situation between them and your own teaching parent figure. the survival strategy for the teacher's brat is just to shut up, don't fuck up, and go along for the ride. but ask yourself, what were to happen if the said teacher's brat does make a snafu? this brings me to my story at hand.
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in fourth grade i had a teacher named Mrs. Chowder (names have been altered) who absolutely disliked me from day 1 of school. i still don't know if it was me she didn't like, or if she had beef with my mom. anyways, we had this project in class to take care of a baby for, i think, like a week, and we'd be graded on it. it would be a big grade too, like a grade that counted as a unit test grade. obviously no sane teacher would allow a classroom full of clumsy fourth graders to tend to actual live human babies for an entire week. we were given raw, unboiled eggs. we were to carry them everywhere we went. be it to PE, art, or to go home. i carried mine around in this tiny little basket. i was so careful too... well, until like wednesday of that week.
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as a child, i was an utter clumsy fool. if there was an opened bottle that contained any type of fluid in it that was sitting all of the way across the room, before the hour was up, i'd inadvertently stumble across some way to spill the damn thing. it was like a guarantee. ...or your money back. side note-- i was not the only one in my family afflicted with this annoying, often hilarious, infliction. my sister would spill her milk or drop her eating utensil at EVERY. SINGLE. meal. seriously. my mom would fix a second glass of milk, grab a towel, and extra utensils before we sat down for supper because the only question that remained was not IF margaret would spill or drop something, but when.
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being that this happened in fourth grade, my memory is a bit fuzzy since i am old as Methuselah. there was some sort of activity in the room that required us to move our desks to either side of the walls. my basket o' egg was placed atop my desk. one of my flaws is failure to grasp this cause and effect theory. my proof lies in this pudding: i went to move the desk and naturally, my eggo became a sad and pathetic female version of humpty dumpty after his fall. well instead of just easily giving me an F on the project, Mrs. Chowder decided to subject me to a highly embarrassing and degrading murder trial. she declared the trial would be the following day, and that my fellow peers would be the prosecutor, the defense, the jurors and the judge. she snidely informed me, "to get a lawyer."
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i was nothing short of humiliated. i already had pre-existing self worth and self image and confidence issues from the bastardly coward of my paternal dna donor, and this, this took the smidgen i had left and chunked it out the window. i chose who i felt was the smartest person in the class, Alicia. (she grew up to be an engineer, so see, i was right.) i don't recall the exact details of this trial, but i do remember being portrayed as a heinous, unfit, unloving, non-nurtring eggo Mama. oh the horror!!
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this is where my memory befuzzles me, for i cannot recall how the trial proceeded. but i do remember that my innocence was believed by my jury of peers and i was rightfully acquitted. oj be damned, that shit was the trial of the year!! the other fourth grade classrooms waited with anticipation to hear the verdict. i shit you not, folks. my lawyer could not find any of the supposed witnesses of the crime who saw me push baby humpty dumpty off of my desk. it was all accidental, and therefore, had i been charged with negligent homicide i would've been found guilty. but alas, my acquittal redeemed my reputation amongst my peers. looking back i have absolutely no idea why Mrs. Chowder subjected me to such humiliation. eh. she was a bitch anyways.
O.J. Will Kill You. Pictures, Images and Photos
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