Lulu and Megan are both teachers, and both share a lot of stories about their jobs. Gets me to thinking about how much the world has changed - and hasn't changed - since I was in school.
Megan's story about handing out stickers (as in gold stars and that sort of thing) got me thinking about my sixth grade teacher, Ms. Pav. Ms. Pav was a weirdo artist type, so of course I absolutely adored her. She used to do things like take us down into this dark basement gym and perform interpretive dances for us. One time she got on the floor under a blanket and then wriggled out from under it, butt-first. I think she called that one "The Cocoon."
Anyway, Ms. Pav also had bizarre forms of punishment for us. For example, she kept all of our names on a rolodex on her desk. If she caught you chewing gum, she would affix a pink tab to your card. And if you got caught throwing something, your card got a black tab.
Once you accumulated three tabs of either color, you were required to bring in treats for the whole class. That was the punishment.
No wonder I still have a warped attachment to candy.
Occasionally I would decide my class was in need of treats, so I would purposely get caught chewing gum and/or throwing things. (Note to self: why didn't I ever try throwing gum? Could have been a two-for-one.) Then I would lie to my parents and say we had a birthday or something and that I needed treats to share with the class. Worked like a charm.
I'm really not sure what the psychology was behind all this. I think she was fucking with us. Good for her.
Next on tap: Lulu inspires CP's own "Parent-from- hell" story - and this one's about MY MOM!
I was a bad kid sometimes, even though I usually hid it quite well. When I was 7 or 8 (true ages here!) I developed a fondness for shoplifting candy from our neighborhood Rexall drugstore. It was really quite brave of me to shoplift, after having witnessed the shame my brother suffered when my dad cut Bill's hair off after he got caught stealing a candy bar from the Jewel.
That punishment was pretty traumatic for my brother. I don't even remember how he got caught - I think the store called my dad or something. But when Bill got home, all hell broke loose. My dad, usually one of those mild mannered sorts, went ape-shit on his ass, whacked him good a few times and then dragged him outside. "Sit down in this chair!" he screamed.
"Why, what are you going to do to me????" Bill stammered in reply.
"I'm cutting your hair off!"
It was like 1971 or something, and my dad was a public school teacher - enough said. At that time, it seems that adults figured most bad behavior in boys had something to do with their hair coming down over their ears. A crew cut was the only sure fire way to make a son behave.
As the dreaded haircut commenced, a passer-by would have thought my dad was skinning Bill alive, the way he bellowed, cried and generally carried on - all to no avail. My dad tore away at those mousey brown locks with the kind of furiousness normally displayed by victims of war criminals and people who have their enchiladas thrown away.
At one point my mom arrived home from work, came out on the patio and found my brother bawling, my dad hovering angrily over him with the electric clippers.
"What are you doing to him???" she said, alarmed.
"Bill was shoplifting candy at the Jewel! So I'm cutting his hair off!!!" was my father's not-so-cheerful rejoinder.
Now it was my mom's turn to go ape-shit. She grabbed her purse and started whacking Bill, who hadn't yet finished crying over the involuntary haircut.
The whole thing was actually kind of traumatic to watch - I felt really bad for Bill. But in my classic style, I still thought to myself "Well I guess I'll never do that! Or at least I'll never get caught like that dumb ass!"
Flash forward a few years. I was at the Rexall Drug with my friends, and decided to snag myself a nice Chunky with Raisins as I had grown accustomed to doing from time to time. Yummy! In my usual manner, I walked down the aisle, cupped my hand over the Chunky and then held it carefully against my pants as I headed toward the door.
I felt my heart go right up into my throat when the store owner grabbed me from behind, pinned my arms down and dragged me to the back of the store. "All right, I'm calling the police," he said.
The police! Man, if Bill got his hair cut off, only God knows what will happen to me if the police get involved in this, I thought. I prepared myself for the worst, although I could not even imagine what that would be.
When we got to the back of the store, the owner ranted and raved at me, God knows about what - I was barely listening because I was so preoccupied worrying about what my parents were going to do to me. I'm pretty sure I head the words "go out of business???" a lot, and I just kept saying "I'll bring you thirty cents tomorrow, I promise!"
Eventually he asked for my phone number, and I gave it to him - like a dumbshit. Then I was dismissed.
When I got outside my friend Karen was waiting for me.
"What did he do???" she asked.
"Nothing really. He just yelled a lot, told me he was going to have to go out of business, and then made me give him my parents' phone number. They are going to kill me," I replied."
"And you just GAVE it to him??? You gave the guy your parents' phone number???"
"Uh, yeah...what was I supposed to do?"
"Thomas, you're a dumb ass! You should have given him my number! My mom wouldn't even know what the guy was talking about if he called!" Most of my friends were a few years older than me and much more worldly. Live and learn!
Later that afternoon, I was home in my bedroom when I heard the phone ring. My mom and I both picked up different extensions at the same time. I recognized the voice immediately: it was the store owner. I almost suffered a mild heart attack.
"Hello, is this Mrs. H?" he said.
"Yes, this is she. How may I help you?"
"Ma'am, your son Thomas has been hanging around the corner drug store too much. You might want to keep an eye on him."
"Ok, will do. Thank you for calling." Then they hung up.
Hanging around the drug store. Keep an eye on him. Hung up.
I could not BELIEVE my good fortune. I would have to wait years until my next crew cut - which did not occur until my junior year of college when I hacked off my hair in a fit of rage over the humid weather. (Unrelated story.)
Despite my overwhelming gratitude to the Rexall Drugstore owner, I never did shop in his store again. For which I've always felt just the slightest bit guilty.
I enjoy reading everyone on my link list, though I don't always find the time to visit every single one of you each day or even each week, depending on what is going on in my life. Hell, just tonight I realized I hadn't been to my own sister's blog in weeks.
Tonight I have insomnia (gave all my damn pills to Lulu!) - so I'm awake and doing some catch-up work. I just came to the crushing realization that I have been link-dumped by at least one of my gentle readers. Ostensibly for lack of visiting lately.
I feel like shit. It's been a long time since I've been broken up with, but I think this is kind of what it felt like.
Oh, and there are a few of you out there to whom I have promised links. It's all coming. Sometimes I just can't bear the thought of opening that damn template file, so please understand.
Never a blogger to be outdone, Dale took my theme of near-plagiarism to a new level by latching onto my dentist-story idea and writing about some of his favorite dentists.
Well Dale, here's to you. I see your dentist story and raise you one that involves bad touches. Let's see where you go with this.
My childhood dentist had a small practice with two other dentists. When I was a senior in high school, one of the three retired and was replaced by a vigorous young man who was not completely unfortunate-looking.
One day I showed up at the office for some routine maintenance to find that my regular dentist was out and had passed me on to the young strapping Dr. A, who greeted me with a hearty handshake and a slap on the back.
He chatted me up quite animatedly while he prepared the usual instruments of torture. Asked me about school and my upcoming departure for college. Noted that my family had been coming to their office for many years. Talked about his wife & kids. Asked me more questions about how I spent my free time. That sort of thing. Dr. A really seemed to like me quite a bit.
When we had completed our business activities, I got up out of the chair. Dr. A grabbed my hand, shook it heartily, looked me straight in the eye and said "Well Tom, enjoy college and be SURE to come see us when you're home on vacations."
"Ok, will do," I replied, curious about the unusual amount of enthusiasm Dr. A was displaying.
As I turned to leave, I felt his hand give me a little slap on the behind. And if I'm not mistaken, his hand lingered there post-slap for a second or so.
I'm fairly certain that Dr. A copped a feel.
I wasn't offended, as much as confused. "Did the family dentist really cop a feel?" I thought to myself for years.
Both of my parents still go to Dr. A. I haven't seen him since that day in 1984, which would now be 23 years ago. But just the other day, my dad told me "Hey Thomas, I saw Dr. A the other day and he asked how you were. He always does."
So Dale, while one or more of your childhood dentists may have been sadists, mine has been fantasizing about me for over 20 years. How many of us can say that?
Of course this means I can never see Dr. A again. Getting a close-up look at me today would only serve to ruin his fantasies, and that would be wrong.
Sometimes in life you simply need to take a stand.
Dale recently posted a funny story about yet another Seinfeldian interaction he had with his parents. As we have reviewed previously, I am incapable of developing original ideas and therefore need to rely on my blogger friends to inspire me to tell my own stories.
And this time I'm not even telling my own story.
Dale's nutty conversations with his parents remind me of my friend Kapa (aka Catherine) who has been blessed with her own set of nutjobs.
Recreated below is a dialogue she enjoyed with her parents during one of the summers she was home from college when she was about 19 or 20.
Kapa: I'm going to the dentist tomorrow for my checkup and cleaning.
Mother: What dentist?
Kapa: What do you mean "what dentist?"
Mother: Which dentist are you going to?
Kapa: Mom, what are you talking about? I'm going to the same dentist I've gone to my whole life. I've never even been to another dentist - you know that.
Mother: Yes, but why are you going to him?
Mother: I heard he was being sued.
Father: I always thought that guy was a quack anyway.
Kapa: What??? Then why did you make me go to him all these years???
Mother: We never made you go, Catherine.
If it makes any of you feel any better, I've decided that if I had kids I would make every attempt to be that weird.
Mindy recently posted a gross editorial about various airplane issues. It reminded me of an important story I need to share with my own Gentle Readers.
I used to travel by plane a lot in my work, at least once every other week. Oftentimes it was just for a night or two, which means I used a fairly small travel bag. Less often I would be gone for a week or so, prompting me to use a larger suitcase.
The night before one of these longer trips I got out my large suitcase, which hadn't been used for several months. Upon opening one of the outside pockets, I was horrified to see that I had shoved a United Airlines lunch box into the pocket and, obviously, had forgotten all about it. These lunchboxes usually contained a small meat and cheese sandwich, a bag of chips and a cookie. I had eaten hundreds of them in the course of my travels.
I gingerly carried the box into the kitchen, put it in the sink and got ready to open it, bracing myself to behold the science experiment that would likely dwell within. I plugged my nose in anticipation, just to be ultra-prepared.
Ever so gently, I lifted the cover of the box.
Inside was the small meat and cheese sandwich I had anticipated. In absolutely perfect condition.
Not one trace of mold, slime, or other evidence that the sandwich might be inedible.
A number of my Gentle Readers already do the whole "secrets of the site meter" game on a regular basis, so normally I don't go into it because, well, I don't steal from y'all every day. I'm not Echo, after all.
But this one I can't resist. A few days ago I discovered that a Gentle Reader from Puerto Rico made his way to CPW with the following search string using MSN's search engine:
Free video of female dog fuck by mans
Not only did that elegantly crafted query bring this reader to CPW, the Internets' warmest and most welcoming family-friendly webspace; the search above also put CPW as #1 on "Pagina 1 de 22,925 resultados."
I am Coaster Punchman and you have just entered my world. I rule it with an iron fist, so if you're looking for First Amendment protection, you will not find it here. I have a now deceased crazy Chinese mother-in-law, and sometimes I wear Crocs around the house. I don't like flip-flops or Mormons. I'm also a cyberstalker by trade -- so I could look up all sorts of random shit about you if I wanted, but I probably won't because I'm pretty lazy.