UNO: For some STUPID reason we all had to take on Spanish names. Mine... well... it turned out to be Pepe. PEPE!!! Sounds like a gay donkey trainer. So I had to say over and over and over and over, "Hola, me llamo Pepe. ¿Usted tiene un emparedado del globo ocular con un lado de los intestinos del gato en este restaurante?" Loosely translated:"Hello, they call me Pepe. Do you have an eyeball sandwich with a side of cat intestines in this restaurant?".
DOS: The teacher HATED (maybe not HATED, probably HIGHLY ANNOYED WITH) me for some reason. At least 5 to 6 times every class, I would here him say in his silly little accent "Pepe... whatsa wrongo with youa Pepe... whatsa wrongo". Whenever he would call out for answers, I would try to duck down and hide behind the fat girl that sat in front of me. It never worked. I believe that all Spanish people must be born with X-ray vision (or Visión de la radiografía).
TRES: Why couldn't he just speak ENGLISH – at ALL??? He thought it would FUN to just speak ALL Spanish in class and get ANNOYED because we couldn't understand him. Uh... wait a minute here. Isn't that WHY we are taking the class in the first place. Because we DON'T know Spanish yet. How the HELL are we suppose to learn Spanish if he JUST speaks Spanish. I don't have a Babel Fish Translator wired into my ear. That would be like trying to train a Fighter Pilot by kicking him hard in the nutsack then pushing him out of a high-flying plane, blind-folded and drunk without a parachute with a dead moose chained to his boots and Twizzlers stuffed up his nose.
FOURO: Just by chance, the seating arrangement was made according to last names in alphabetical order. I say "Just by chance" because just by chance, the BIGGEST COCKIEST I'M A FOOTBALL JOCK I MAY HAVE A LITTLE DICK BUT I HAVE THIS STARTER JACKET – MULTIPLE CHEERLEADER WHOREFRIENDS – AND A BIG FUCKING EGO ALMOST BIGGER THAN MY NEANDERTHAL SUPER-BUSH UNI-BROW sat behind me because his last name was RIGHT behind mine. Joy!!! For some reason, he loved to torment me for absolutely no apparent reason. Either Daddy didn't love him enough or Daddy loved him TOO much (if you know what I mean). He would flick my ears like a little fucking two year old, poke me with his pencil (lead side out), and attempt to stuff spit balls into my ears while I was sleeping (which I did a LOT of in that class).
Typically, when this would happen, I'd either cuss him out or attempt to punch him, which, in turn, made the teacher yell: "Pepe... whatsa wrongo with youa Pepe... whatsa wrongo".
The final straw happened one day when he just wouldn't stop flicking my ears. Then he said..."Why don't you leave? Nobody likes you here. Why don't you just leave school?".
THAT WAS IT. I flipped. If you have never flipped before, this is what happens. Everything in the world is suddenly gone. There is no stress, no pain, no laughter, no tears. Nothing. Nothing, that is, except the one small finite speck that forms containing ALL of the HATE crammed into this tiny atom of space and time, filling and filling until like the BIG BANG it EXPLODES out towards whoever your site's are focused on.
I remember he was wearing this extremely expensive sweater that Mommy must have given to him after blowing him. I slowly turned my head to look at him, saw that little shit eating grin on his face, and I grabbed one loose string that was hanging off of his sweater's sleeve. And slowly, I pulled. And the string came out. And the more I pulled, the more the string came out and the sweater came apart. The sweater's sleeve unwound like a slinky and I kept pulling and pulling until half the sleeve was almost gone. The thick yarn/string/whatever the hell you call it, laying in a pile around his feet. And I just looked him in the eyes while I pulled, no sound.
He started screaming at me, the teacher was screaming at us both, and we then began exchanging fists. It was over quickly enough. No one was hurt. We both just ended up in the Dean's Office waiting for our two days of after school detention.
Did I win that day? I don't know. Probably not. I'm sure I looked more psycho than anything else. I'll call it a draw.
But I DID ultimately win in the grander scheme of things.
FAST FORWARD ABOUT EIGHT YEARS:
I was over my parents' house one day, out in the garage on a nice summer afternoon, dicking around as usual. The house was in the process of getting painted. About four painters were out there just going to town.
Suddenly, I noticed one of the painters looked familiar. A little TOO familiar. Sure enough, it was SUPER JOCK DICKHEAD. Even after all of those years, the spit still rose in my throat and my hands clenched. I was about ready to go "accidentally" kick over the ladder he was on when I heard him yell out my name upon seeing me (while my fists clenched and perspiration started to percolate from my forehead).
He comes down, mopes his way towards me and SAYS... that bastard SAYS: "Hey, how's it going?"
Shockingly enough, he turned out to be a pretty nice guy. Seems that life kicked him hard in the balls. He changed from being "Mr. SuperCool his Shit Smells Like Roses and all the Girls Love Him", to an old beaten down man. After highschool, he accidentally knocked up his girlfriend (she said she was on the pill, but guess what), lost his job, hit dirt bottom, had to file bankruptcy, could barely pay the bills, and now paints houses on a part time basis until he could figure out what to do with his life.
Ultimately, I won without having to do a damn thing. Guess karma is like that. I feel bad for him though. I would still like to kick him in the balls, but I would still feel bad about it afterwards.
MORAL OF THE STORY:
Spanish Class sucked.
