I think Sister thought that we were the Vienna boys choir, but I had bad news for her - Ricky already had a mustache and no one in our class could get even get within eight notes of the octave she was trying to push us to - expect Anthony! He liked all this singing business.
Me, why... I wasn't a Lennon and God did not give me the gift of singing (I could whistle- though). When God was handing out voices I think our entire Dahlin tribe was probably off fighting one another or hanging on monkey bars - and the Lennons...well, they probably went through the line twice. Anyway, in middle of this music lesson, I figured I had better excused myself and made my way to the boy's room. God forbid that I try to hold it in again! I never - ever wanted to go through what had happened in Miss/Mrs. Sim/Simpson's class (Blog Post June 18th)! (I know the whole Sim/Simpson thing is weird; I didn't get it, but that's what I called her.)
While the awful cacophony of "Do, Re, Mi" was curdling the blood of the surrounding classrooms and irritating nearby dogs, I had to figure out some excuse for not going back. Ugh...I could hear Anthony and the girls screeching and the boys squawking that hurt my ears worst than fingernails on a chalkboard. I had to find a way out or I might die! "Think, think, think, Markie D," I said to myself pounding my fist to my head. I needed one of my flashes of genius and could only think about pretending to be sick.
I contemplated that for less than a second. The last time I checked himself into the school nurse in an effort to get out of a test and go home sick, it didn't turn out so good for anybody.
It was back in the 5th grade (in Sister Godzilla's class) when I fainted illness and she sent me to the infirmary. The volunteer mother there, tried to convince me that I had gas and told me to bend over, grab my ankles and "push!" She yield at me like a cheerleader or a doctor for a mother giving birth..."Push! Push! Push," she exhorted, waiting for me to pass gas! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?
Sister Godzilla came in to make sure I wasn't trying to ditch and as she walked in the door - there I was with my little 12 year-old butt pointed right at her. She had the audacity to yell at me like this was all my fault. "Be careful where you point that thing, it might be loaded!"Good Grief.
To make matters worst...in walked one of the teacher aids... a cool girl from the eight grade - my life was ruined.
"Fourth most embarrassing moment in my life."
In a brilliant flash of genius, I quickly let go of my ankles and began fumbling about the floor as if searching for something the nurse-mom had misplaced.
"Nope, don't see it down here either!" I said, pretending to help the volunteer mom find something that wasn't really lost. Standing up, I stretched up high on my tippy toes and looked up on top of a dusty old cabinet and said, "Uh-uh, not here either. Yep," I said loud enough for Theresa to hear, "I think I'll go back to class now.. I think everything is OKAY"
Brilliant! It had double meaning... to the cute girl, she was supposed to hear that I was finished with my heroic effort to help Mrs. Putziger and to Mrs. Putziger she was supposed to hear that I was fine, because her old "wives' tale" trick worked. Geezers, imagine if this got spread about school. That defining moment in 5th grade cured me of one thing.
I would never go to the infirmary again.
Ha...I felt the least I could do was spread a little Harding Avenue joy and "crop-dust" on the way out of the room (Dooh-Dooh Pants coined the term "crop dust" and perfected the art of clearing entire rooms with a single SBD). Maliciously I left them in a malodorous "Silent-But-Deadly" cloud and vowed never to return again... then I hid in the alcove of Sister Shultz' classroom and watched as Mrs. Putziger and Theresa hastily emerged from the infirmary office choking and gasping for fresh air thinking ill of the other. Who said school had to be totally dull?
Well, that was then and this was now. Since I had opted out of the "faking-a-sick-stomach" routine, my options were sorely limited as I passed by the infirmary and begrudging made my way slowly back to the terrorizing sounds of 7th graders who were attempting to reach decibel levels that hurt human ears. It was rumored that Sister Edith's music classes drove 'O Mr. Snyder's dog bonkers (He was the grouch who lived behind Saint Mark's grammar school and stole every kickball that went over the fence for revenge- who could blame him right?)
There was no one in the hallway at that moment, so in an effort to kill some time I threw himself down on the ground and rolled around pretending be dying an agonizing death. Just so happened that Marilyn had come back from the supply room with the ditto-copier machine and had rounded the corner to find me rolling and squirming around on the ground like a possum that had been half-run-over by a car. This might be the fifth most embarrassing moment after being caught holding my ankles - butt in the air - and being cheered to "PUSH!"
Freezing like a mutant worm on the floor, I freaked out and wondered how this could possible help my reputation with ladies. All I needed was for Marilyn to tell Andrea that her suspicions were correct and I was retarded. I was in love, but was so insecure - I couldn't even say a word to Andrea or barley look in her direction without melting like the Popsicle at Salton Sea (Blog Post May 13th). (See me flexing in the rear... that was the weekend they left me there when that 'O Popsicle just melted down my arm and onto the ground!)
By this time, I had been electrocuted and buried and shot at and tricked and stuffed and hunted and was insecure in my own skin. I was pathetic and desperately needed to feel accepted and often sought approval in all the wrong ways. Looking up at Marilyn, ten thousand scenarios flashed through my hyper active pea-brain. Yet, none of those excuses that I could immediately come up with - could not explain this incredibly abnormal behavior.
FLASH - Epiphany! The school play, popped into my noggin! The annual Christmas pageant this year was supposed to be sponsored by the seventh grade class. Quickly I asked, "Well what do you think?" As, though rolling around on the floor, was something that wasn't completely bizarre!
Astonished, Marilyn asked, "What on earth do you mean, what do I think?"
Smiling confidently, I took the offensive, "Is it believable?" I pressed her for an answer.
"Believable! What the heck are you talking about?" Marilyn asked with an incongruous look on her face.
"Pshawww...Can't you see! I'm practicing for the play! Come on Marilyn, get with it. As a shepherd, do you think that when the angels visited the poor shepherds out in the fields at night- that I should roll around on the ground like this (I gave her another little sample) as though I am dying of an awful fright? Well?" I asserted with serious eyes.
"Well, what?" she said, holding her position.
"Well, did it work? Did it look like I was dying from fright... do you think the audience will buy it?"
"Well, whatever" she said and rolled around me with the mimeograph-copy-machine-thingy keeping a wide birth, like I was one of those possessed guys in the bible.
I dragged myself slowly back to the classroom on my belly and laid outside the door practicing my writhing. Finally I built up the courage to open the door and crept in quietly while holding my ears. I just couldn't take it and seriously contemplated going back to the infirmary and holding my butt in the air like a frightened stink bug...for anyone and everyone to see, when the perfect plan came to me in another flash. Instead of returning to my seat... I slipped unnoticed into the "cloak room" with a grin on my face that had to put the mean old Grinch's smile to shame.
I had a plan... and hummed the Beatles, "Hey Jude" to make it better... as I exectued my brilliant pla.
Next time "The Cloak Room Caper"
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