Road Apples of Memory Lane
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School daze in America. Part One
It was early September of 1980 and yours truly was standing at the steps of his new High School. In my new blue jeans and striped polo shirt (no uniforms woohoo), I felt a bit nervous stepping into the alien American educational system for the first time. Looking back at that day, I knew I must have looked like a complete twat. My jeans where at typical "English" length for the time. Just below the ankle, but not quite touching the tops of my shoes. I noticed most of the other students jeans were practically touching the ground, I found out later the jeans I was wearing were what the student body referred to as "floods". The dorkmeter climbs quickly to 7 out of a possible 10 Many were also wearing tee shirts, proudly displaying a favourite rock n' roll band. Dorkmeter rises to 8. I heard a few chuckles from behind me, it turns out my socks were bringing great joy along with my "floods" to several female students. Dress socks were obviously a poor wardrobe choice for the "cool" students. It was later in the day, that i discovered white athletic socks where the more appropriate foot covering for young men. The dorkmeter reaches 9, a level that would never be reached again. Well, off i went to find my homeroom. Student homerooms were determined alphabetically (how original). After wandering around looking confused for awhile, I managed to locate the 'W-Z' room. It was cleverly hidden in the back of the school library. Nice, make it hard on the new guy to locate why don't ya! Bastards! All the students were talking amongst themselves, probably about their summer vacations, so I managed to find a seat without any stares or laughs at my expense. The room grew quiet as attendance was taken. Everyone looking towards the front of the room. Until, i opened my mouth and acknowledged my presence. The eyes of the entire classroom turned in my direction. Maybe they thought i sounded drunk or something. I don't think at the time anyone was aware there was a foreigner amongst their number. Although, adding the obvious fact I was a fashion trainwreck, hinted I was not one of the locals. So much for anonimity. To be continued... |
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A garbage truck how'd ya do
Some may have once quipped jokingly "why should i quit [insert unhealthy habit here], i might get hit by a bus tomorrow." I have not personally become windscreen art for large vehicles of mass transportation either. But I do have the distinction of having my sub-compact automobile being violated in the rear by one large speeding, lorry of refuse. In 1988 I was the store manager of a electronic/TV repair shop and one october morning, was ready to make the turn into the driveway next to my shop. While waiting for the oncoming traffic to pass, i was suprised out of my hungover state by a large bang, followed by a jolt and a lovely shower of glass. My fuzzy alchohol battered brain finally registered. Some idiot had paid no heed to the "Dodge" emblem on my car and decided to drive through it instead. The panic stricken driver of the offending vehicle was much relieved to find I was not in need of last rites and estatic I wasn't missing any necessary bits. After stumbling out of my now somewhat shorter car (now classified as a sub-sub-compact), I almost keeled over in shock when my eyes fell upon the behemoth that had given my poor motor car the rogering of it's life. An enormous foul smelling garbage truck! Not one of your run of the mill empty your dustbin types no... but the commercial, gigantic containers from behind Wal-Mart kind! After parking what was left of my car outside of my shop, I was chauffered to the emergency room by the nice ambulance men. Fours hours and some serious whiplash later, I was escorted back to my shop by the company van, as my boss at the main office, felt i shouldn't have to walk back to work from the hospital. The guy's all heart I tell ya! Just when i thought my already excellent day couldn't get any better, I was approached by several very angry customers who "had been waiting here all morning" to pickup their repaired VCR's/TV's.. My response was brief and to the point. "That's my wrecked car and i was in it, anymore complaints?!" Apparantly, they had decided my morning of " inconvienience" had their's beat. |
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