It's this way everywhere, right?
I've come to find out that high school is by far more dangerous than the worst mental hospital in the country. Where else, may I ask, can you have an outbreak of impetigo and three rounds of vomiting by one student (in a record of fifteen minutes, no less) all in a matter of days? While the mental institutions are pushing away any type of shoe that has laces or any bottle of toothpaste bought from the "outside world", the students at my school are arriving at the 7:00 bus stop reeking of Budweiser and sporting a five o'clock shadow, and the windows (and doors) are open to all.
In a place where you're more likely to find a stash of marijuana than a properly-functioning pencil sharpener, it's no wonder that the male teachers are shaving their legs and wearing swishy jogging pants and, what more, displaying their so-shiny-I'd-be-blind-if-they-were-reflecting-the-sun moisturized legs for all the world to see. It's no wonder that the most successful thing a teacher does by the end of the day is beat their record of swatting flies from the day before ("Twenty of them in TEN minutes, everybody!").
What happened to the good ol' days where teachers would flog their students for holding Johnny or Mary-Sue's hand during class? Now the student body is carrying more sexually transmitted diseases in a five-foot radius than the whole of an entire African tribe. When asking what people like to do in their spare time, the usual answer, of course, is "gettin' high with my father", but once in a while it feels like a fresh of breath air when the response is something other than the latter.
"I uh...well, let's just say my favorite place to be on the weekends is the woods," said a particularly old looking third-time senior in one of my classes last year. For a second, I felt like a chill go over me--I was talking, obviously, to a serial rapist, or possibly a fanatic of bestiality. The true reason for this odd answer, I later found out, was because this guy had a "nuisance trapping" business with his father. Silly me, I know. What else would people around here want to do but go "huntin'" in the wilderness for a few days without a shower and eat out of an uncooked can of pork and beans? It's not a large jump from what they do everyday at school--their stench sometimes makes the scent of a skunk seem like Chanel Number Five.
There is, however, a large portion of people who appreciate the many art forms of our world. Ask the kid sitting next to me in my study hall who listens to an Amish reggae artist with the name of Mavis Yahoo with as much enthusiasm as a child picking out candy in a grocery store. If college scholarships were based off the student's ability to replicate a picture of a 'shroom or a decorated cross (two things that are usually seen of the same cover of a textbook around here together anyway), they would all be getting shipped out to Oxford as we speak.
But who is to say that life is perfect? School, if anything, should be the first example of such a statement. But that doesn't mean we can't learn a thing or two from our friendly mental ward down the street--maybe barring the windows and having anal probings for Xacto knives would do more good than bad. Maybe we'd all be able to hold hands with our fellow white-coated men and sing a tale of sixpence, and then and only then would we be able to grin at our lovely Creator watching us from above and thank him for the hemp necklaces and rapping Amish men.
Edit: I would seriously give an arm or leg for a Jamba Juice right now. I've almost gone a YEAR without one, okay? WHY the fuck aren't they setting up Jamba Juice stores in Ohio? GRRRR!
In a place where you're more likely to find a stash of marijuana than a properly-functioning pencil sharpener, it's no wonder that the male teachers are shaving their legs and wearing swishy jogging pants and, what more, displaying their so-shiny-I'd-be-blind-if-they-were-reflecting-the-sun moisturized legs for all the world to see. It's no wonder that the most successful thing a teacher does by the end of the day is beat their record of swatting flies from the day before ("Twenty of them in TEN minutes, everybody!").
What happened to the good ol' days where teachers would flog their students for holding Johnny or Mary-Sue's hand during class? Now the student body is carrying more sexually transmitted diseases in a five-foot radius than the whole of an entire African tribe. When asking what people like to do in their spare time, the usual answer, of course, is "gettin' high with my father", but once in a while it feels like a fresh of breath air when the response is something other than the latter.
"I uh...well, let's just say my favorite place to be on the weekends is the woods," said a particularly old looking third-time senior in one of my classes last year. For a second, I felt like a chill go over me--I was talking, obviously, to a serial rapist, or possibly a fanatic of bestiality. The true reason for this odd answer, I later found out, was because this guy had a "nuisance trapping" business with his father. Silly me, I know. What else would people around here want to do but go "huntin'" in the wilderness for a few days without a shower and eat out of an uncooked can of pork and beans? It's not a large jump from what they do everyday at school--their stench sometimes makes the scent of a skunk seem like Chanel Number Five.
There is, however, a large portion of people who appreciate the many art forms of our world. Ask the kid sitting next to me in my study hall who listens to an Amish reggae artist with the name of Mavis Yahoo with as much enthusiasm as a child picking out candy in a grocery store. If college scholarships were based off the student's ability to replicate a picture of a 'shroom or a decorated cross (two things that are usually seen of the same cover of a textbook around here together anyway), they would all be getting shipped out to Oxford as we speak.
But who is to say that life is perfect? School, if anything, should be the first example of such a statement. But that doesn't mean we can't learn a thing or two from our friendly mental ward down the street--maybe barring the windows and having anal probings for Xacto knives would do more good than bad. Maybe we'd all be able to hold hands with our fellow white-coated men and sing a tale of sixpence, and then and only then would we be able to grin at our lovely Creator watching us from above and thank him for the hemp necklaces and rapping Amish men.
Edit: I would seriously give an arm or leg for a Jamba Juice right now. I've almost gone a YEAR without one, okay? WHY the fuck aren't they setting up Jamba Juice stores in Ohio? GRRRR!