As you Glutei Maximi may or may not have realized, I am relaying the events of my questionable self in no order whatsoever. I don’t want to show the development from a weird kindergartner to a devious 8th grader. I am dealing with the memories as they come so it was inevitable that I would remember the kindergarten questionable actions I’ve carried out. Yes, I was a goody-two shoes in disguise since KINDERGARTEN!!!
Before I start, you need to understand that I come from a family of neat freaks. Saying “I’m used to the smell of Windex," is an understatement. Try, “I can recognize what cleaner you are using once I get a whiff of it”. Try, “my sense of smell has been strengthened by all these cleaning products”. You get the point.
I can barely remember events from last year, let alone from kindergarten. That goes to show that what I am about to reveal to you is BIG. Or just plain weird
In our Kindergarten class, we had days when a different teacher would come in and “help us read”. Our teacher would teach us how to read the rest of the days but I think this guy was a student teacher or someone who needed experience. He would come once a week, give us our practice books and ignore us for the half hour that our regular teacher was away. I think now that he may have been observing how we acted once given a responsibility as BIG AND GINORMOUS as reading BUT, that’s not the point.
I was the only nerdy kid in class who wanted to actually read. I may have been one of the few who could read . I changed schools a wonking 3 times in my kindergarten year so I’d already covered the material everyone else was struggling with. I enjoyed reading “see Jane run,” and “see Bob yell” for a few weeks until I decided I was through with reading that stuff and I wanted this guy to realize my potential as an awesomsauce student. It was then that I probably realized I had to formulate a mastergrandsensationalhelluvaplan.
That week in kindergarten, the student teacher came in, gave us our reading books, and started scribbling madly in a notebook while everyone except me zoomed around destroying everything in their paths. I got up and was all prim and proper as I asked him if I could go to the washroom please. He nodded at me and watched me leave the room worriedly. He knew I had diabetes so I think he was scared that I would faint or something on the way to the washroom. I turned the corner of the classroom and locked the washroom door behind me. What he didn’t know was that while he’d been writing like crazy I’d “borrowed” a pen from the teacher’s desk and slipped it in my pocket. I had no idea what the word Sharpie on the side of the pen meant. Or “permanent”.
I lowered the toilet seat and climbed up, uncapping the pen. What happened next was a blur of scribbles and different spellings of the word poop. Some of them were : peep poop pup pope popppeey. I then left the washroom and told the teacher that “someone” had drawn on the walls. He screamed at everyone to sit down and asked who had drawn on the wall.
You’re probably wondering why the heck I did that? And why did I mention the part in the beginning about cleaning products? You’ll find out why right now:
I think he needed more notes, so the teacher let everyone loose again and went back to writing in his notebook. I waited until a few people had gone to the washroom (read: peed everywhere except in the toilet) and asked to go to the washroom again.
I wanted this teacher to stop writing in his notebook and to realize that a wonderful student was standing in front of him but he seemed to be oblivious to the cuteness other adults kept commenting on. My plan was that if he saw I’d cleaned the drawings in the washroom he would give me a sticker and let me use the special colored paper that the good students only got to use. Obviously, I was a very vain child. Anyways, I went to the washroom again and got out the cleaning supplies to clean my awful drawings. OF course, I knew where these supplies were because I always cleaned the toilet before using it. I hated having my precious patootie touching the same seat as everyone else’s butts touched.
I sprayed and sprayed at that wall and start scrubbing with the napkins and sponges under the sink. I started panicking when I realized the pen wasn’t coming off the walls. I think the teacher heard me crying because he knocked on the door asking me if everything was okay. I quietly climbed down from the toilet seat and began scrubbing the sink top, hoping that maybe by scrubbing it I would make up for the drawings I’d made on the wall. I have no idea if it was my silence that did it because after calling me for about 5 minutes the teacher panicked and nearly broke the door off its hinges barging into the bathroom. He started yelling at me asking why the heck I hadn’t answered him and why was I cleaning the sink?!?!?!
That’s when I let loose the floodgates and rambled about cleanup time and that the teacher was coming back soon and the class had to be in order. He probably assumed I was an idiot because he yelled at me to wash my hands and sit down on the carpet so that I could get some work done. I have no idea why he was so mad. I was the one who had every right to be mad about the utter disregard to privacy. I haughtily washed my hands and harrumphed as I plonked myself down, grabbed the practice book, and began to yell, “SEE SALLY HIDE”.
Needless to say, the teacher never suspected me as being the one who drew on the wall in the bathroom and that afternoon, her permanent marker magically reappeared on her desk when she was looking away at everyone running to get their lunches.
I have no idea what to ask you guys. Don’t you think that’s the weirdest thing a kid could do for attention? Can you explain to me what in the world I was doing?
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