Spitwads, Strawberry Pluckers, and Avoided Ass-Whoopin's

You know how some things can trigger a repressed memory. Or in some cases, just revisit one…

Queue the strawberry…Now I'm not a big fan of the red, cone-shaped berry but I will partake on occasion. Such as today. I held the single ripe berry and admired the lush green stem. Whiplash flashback…

…I'm sitting in the back of class, right in between X and Z (Not going to use names), 10 minutes before recess. Mrs. K was the only teacher who placed her desk in the back of the classroom to squash the mischief of 6th grade boys. She was straight out of the new Van Halen video "Hot for Teacher" and we wished she would keep us after class one day and turn the classroom into an MTV video(ya know when they actually played videos). We figured the odds were in our favor, since we spent a lot of time in after-class detention. But it had been awhile, because the new spitwad bandits, had yet to be caught. Each morning we would pick a target, and see how many times we could hit it in a day. But we had a pact; don't chance getting caught, even if it meant winning for the day. We spent some days without a shot, just serious stare downs like "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly". That same morning, that we chose our target, and Z mentioned he had something for recess. Meet in the usual spot.

Mrs. K had been extremely aware in the last week, since finding evidence throughout the classroom. Which had put us in a slump. We needed something else. As the recess bell rang, all three of us tucked our single shooter, augmented, Bic cannons in our desks unfired. Damn, not today. So we jetted to the playground and met at our usual spot, the teeter-totters. With patrols on the rise in the classroom, there was still lack of supervision on the playground. Grandma Dynamite was the recess monitor, the name says it all. Because of her age, you could get away with just about anything. But the minute someone ratted (or lit the fuse, to complete the metaphor) you were in "The Hurt Locker" so to speak. As the lowest on the pecking order of the three playground pimps, I was usually the decoy, but not always. Grandma D still hadn't figured that out.

Okay, so rewind to the previous night. Z's mom was a Tupperware representative. A very good one at that, seeing how I never saw a kitchen item in their house made out of anything but plastic. At one point she donated everything to goodwill that wasn't plastic, but I digress. That night she threw a party to reveal Tupperware's new spring line.

Back to the playground, or more geographically correct, the teeter-totters. As I said before Z had brought something for recess. We all met as planned and Z reached inside his pocket. As his closed fist exited his pocket, everything went into slow motion. A long, constant note from a church organ sounded as a single beam of sunlight hit his uncurling fingers. And there they were…3…red…something. X spoke before me. "What are those?" They looked like 3, short, stubby, wide, sets of plastic tweezers. "What the fuck?" (And yes I was dropping F-bombs at age 12). Z explained, "I stole these from my mom's party last night. Your suppose to use these to pluck the stems out of strawberries. But I thought we could use them to pinch girl's butts on recess." It seemed like a great idea at the time.

Z was brilliant, and he was always the catalyst of our mischief. X grabbed a plucker and began his campaign. A soldier, the doer and not the thinker. Z handed me mine. I was frozen. The analyzer, running scenarios through my head. Z spoke, "If you're not going to do it, at least keep Grandma D busy."

We spent the whole recess indulging our new found toys. I spent most of the time as a decoy, but was not completely innocent. There were many small screams and dirty looks flashed, but we steered clear of Grandma D. When recess was over, we agreed that this was a one time deal. We went back to class like nothing happened, and switched loyalties back to the spitwad bandits.

The next day, 10 minutes before recess, I had already hit today's target. I knew I was going to win because Mrs. K was teaching about 2 feet away from it. And there was no way X or Z would chance it. At least I thought. X was locked and loaded. Was he crazy? Mrs. K started to turn, but before X could get the shot off, we all heard a voice over the intercom system. It was Principal Mr. S "Mrs. K, I need to see X, Z, and yours truly, in my office. Please send them up immediately." Oh shit, the spitwad bandits were busted. How did he know about the spitwads? We had been so careful, even under the watch of Mrs. K

Now, we had many trips to Mr. S's office, it was nothing new. I was actually getting used to it, in a way. But nothing could have prepared me for this time.

When we arrived he ushered us into his office and slammed the door behind us. Mr. S looked more pissed off than usual. I focused my eyes on the same thing I always did. The picture hanging on the wall of his blue Porsche with the cheetah. (Some picture from some promotional thing where he raced a cheetah in his Porsche. It was his prize possession and we took every opportunity to unlevel it, every time we visited.) He starred us down and didn't say a word. This was the first moment in my life where I had to make a choice, a choice where neither outcome would be favorable. And it had nothing to do with spitwads.

"You boys have to make a choice. You can call your parents and tell them what you did yesterday on recess. Or you can call the parents of the girls, and apologize. You all have to agree, and you have 5 minutes to decide. And DON'T touch my picture." He walked out and slammed the door. X and I knew there was only one option, call the girls parents. Z didn't need another ass whoopin', and we could already see the fear in his eyes.

We spent that afternoon making multiple phone calls without dignity, with true apologies, and a tad bit of self preservation.


***To wrap this all up... When we graduated the 6th grade, and moved on to the 7th and 8th grade, or junior high as most would call it, guess who got a promotion to the new junior high principal. And luckily, before my freshman year, he was let go for fraud and racketeering. I wish I could have been there to give him the choice to tell the school board what he had done, or call all the tax payers in the school district and apologize. Oh, let me straighten that picture for ya…