WordKnot

OK, this story is going to give away a couple of key things about me that most people would rather not admit to.  A.  I’m a friggin dork.  B.  I was a major pansy in High School.  I think that’s about it.
So here we are, in my junior year at high school, Shaler for those of you who don’t already know.  I got sick about half way through the year, some kind of gastrointestinal problem that no one ever actually figured out… just went away on it’s own.  Don’t worry, I wasn’t shitting out my mouth or anything, just had a lot of pain.  So the pain comes, I go to the emergency room, doctors scratch heads, I go home, start to feel a little better the next day, get the week off anyways (hooray).

So, being that I had the week off and wasn’t allowed to go anywhere fun, I decided to do somthing inside to entertain myself.  ***This is where the dork part comes in, fair warning.***  I made a backpack entirely out of duct tape.  I shaped it around a box and it had a flat lid.  Looked pretty gay/retarded but damnit! I was proud of my creation.  So I take the monstrosity to school and wear it with pride, inspite of the smell of the tape and glue following me everywhere.

There was this one hallway where the biggest student in school had his locker.  ***here comes the part where I’m a pansy***  One day I come walking by, gay backpack and all, and behemouth thinks it’d be hilarious to slap the flat top of the backpack as hard as he can.  I turned around immediately, grabbed his hand and bent it behind his back.  I pulled hard until he was on the ground at which point I kicked him in the kidney’s and ran off….  Believe that?  No?  Yeah, me neither.  In actuallity I just kept walking (a little faster mind you) and developed a more passive agressive way to combat this particular nemisis.  I formed an idea… a good one.

Over the next week I made it a point to walk that way every day after lunch or wherever I was coming from at that time, at the same time.  Each time he’d slap the *flat* top of the backpack, laugh with his buddies and I’d walk away, doing nothing.  After about the third day in a row it was time to exact my revenge.

That night I went home and flipped open the lid.  I then took a staple gun, stapler, and thumb tacks and drove all manner of pointy objects, point up, through the lid.  That’s why it’s important to know it was flat… meaning his whole hand would connect with it.

Then next day I proudly and carefully donned my homemade backpack and went off to school.  My parents said nothing, they were proud that I was so clever as to use sharp stuff that was thin enough not to leave a lasting mark (that way I don’t get into trouble, I mean I coulda had a friggin razor blade in there).  They both thought that my idea for revenge was pretty cool.

Sooner or later lunch time came.  After lunch I double checked my backpack/weapon for good measure.  Made sure all the points were facing up and added a few extra staples for maximum efficacy (that’s a good word, efficacy).  I walked down that same hall, just like always.  I wore that same backpack, just like always.  And, just like always, Mr. Mammoth was there waiting for me.  I kept my head down so he wouldn’t see me smiling and walked his way.  Just as I passed him I felt this HARD slam on my back, his hardest hit yet, the a scream.  Not just any scream but an “I just had ten regular staples, twelve staplegun staples, and six thumbtacks thrust deeply into the soft flesh of the palm of my hand!”.  Now, that’s a lot to say with just a scream, but , judging by the dropped books all around, the clatter of miscellaneous items being dropped by fellow students out of startled fear, and the wailing of the thug behind me, that’s exactly what it said.  I quickly went to the next garbage can I could find, pulled out my needle-nose pliars (I come prepared) and pulled out the staples.

Of course, he’d have to be crazy to try to tell on me.  “So I slapped his bookbag as hard as I could everyday, and today he had staples in it and it hurt.” The response would likely be “good”.  Never did have a problem with that particular bully again, and I continued to take that route to my locker after lunch.

If you read my blog, I’d ask that you make a comment this time.  After I posted my last one I almost immediately had eleven people read it.  I think that Myspace is lying to me, so, if you could leave me a short comment, I can determine if the numbers are actually accurate… Thanx, more to come!