Jaded
Ass Hand
What the fuck could poses my mom do this shit? I mean life has given me many ironic situations, but none of them quite prepared me for this. I don't even know how to analyze it. After work Billie Joe, Mike, and I are going to my house to get my shit and I've made another powe-
"Rollins you can go," Our schools sign language teacher informed me as I was dabbling in some writing in detention.
I gathered my notebook, pen, and a few hand outs on our semester exams. It was all I brought to school now. I didn't give a shit about anything anymore, in fact I made a rash decision on my own. I decided I didn't need anymore college bound speeches, self-congratulatory esteem baths in my life; I was finished with high school and ready to move on to the next part of my life. I got all the forms I needed, had Sarah forage my moms signature, and had all my teachers sign off on it; all except Mr. Witt.
I headed to Witt's room hoping he would still be in the building. We did a lab in his class so I didn't get the chance earlier.
I saw the light still shining through the window of his classroom door which indicated to me that he was still there, or a janitor was doing their job. I looked in to see Witt chowing down on a bag of potato chips. Now, Mr. Witt needs those chips like I need to grow another three inches, right?
I stepped in.
"Another fricken detention Rollins?" he questioned sarcastically.
"You didn't know I'm in the math club?"
"Just because it's after hours doesn't mean I don't have the fricken authority to give you another,"
Not only was evil becoming more of a common thread between Witt and I along with his obesity, but after hours he apparently liked to say "fricken" a lot.
"You don't have to be such an a-hole,"
Apparently he bares the fine line right before using profanity as well.
"I need you to sign this," I said handing him the paper.
"Your dropping out?" he asked raising an eye brow trying with a look that told me he had placed a bet with another teacher in the school. It's a fun thought to dangle that some teacher has faith in me, or quite possibly the janitor.
"I fricken knew this day would come," he said shaking his head still with a gambling expression on his face as he placed his signature.
He held up the signed papers in front of me like how people give their dogs treats; you give a command and the dog just stares at the treat like it's best thing since colored TV. I grabbed them and mumbled my appreciation.
I turned to leave with a nod, because Witt was staring at me which was freaking me the hell out.
"Rollins!" he said in a high pitched voice.
I considered to keep going, but figured I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. I was preparing myself to hear a speech on how his days of antagonizing me about being a waste was true and that I was pathetic loser that was going to live under the Bay Bridge with a crew of ants as pets.
Mr. Witt stood up and walked around his desk. He put his hands on his belt buckle and then brought one hand around and practically put it down under the pants line touching his ass.
"I'm writing a book-"
Honestly, I didn't think Mr.Witt could write anything more then a scientific equation in which he would get the elements mixed up, let alone write an entire novel.
"-on troubled teens," he continued.
I think he expected me to recoil in horror to the fact that he really thought I was that bad, but really I was just mulling over what I was thinking when he first proposed the question.
"You could come to the school a few days after school for interviews. I don't know if you've seen my 1960 red Cadillac," he said pointing to it out the window "but I could give you a ride in it," he said arrogantly.
Now, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. Witt wasn't hitting on me, he was serious about this ill conceived book and bragged about that damn car in compensation to the fact that he couldn't get laid, because who really wants a ten ton man on top of them?
"I mean you just proved to me how troubled you are since your throwing your life away by dropping out, so you'll have free time,"
I looked at his large rubbery hand that still resided on his ass and then looked at Witt awaiting an answer. I'm sure he had solid confidence that I was going to take him up on the offer.
"I have to work," I said in tone that I think he got the impression that the only way I would be involved in his "book" was to piss on it.
"You don't have to be an a-hole" he said as he took the ass hand out of his pants and scratched his brow then he held it out for me to shake. How fucking disgusting. Way to sell your pathetic attempt at stardom to me.
"I'll do whatever the fuck I want goddamit," I used as my final words to Witt as I walked out the door for the last time.
"Rollins you can go," Our schools sign language teacher informed me as I was dabbling in some writing in detention.
I gathered my notebook, pen, and a few hand outs on our semester exams. It was all I brought to school now. I didn't give a shit about anything anymore, in fact I made a rash decision on my own. I decided I didn't need anymore college bound speeches, self-congratulatory esteem baths in my life; I was finished with high school and ready to move on to the next part of my life. I got all the forms I needed, had Sarah forage my moms signature, and had all my teachers sign off on it; all except Mr. Witt.
I headed to Witt's room hoping he would still be in the building. We did a lab in his class so I didn't get the chance earlier.
I saw the light still shining through the window of his classroom door which indicated to me that he was still there, or a janitor was doing their job. I looked in to see Witt chowing down on a bag of potato chips. Now, Mr. Witt needs those chips like I need to grow another three inches, right?
I stepped in.
"Another fricken detention Rollins?" he questioned sarcastically.
"You didn't know I'm in the math club?"
"Just because it's after hours doesn't mean I don't have the fricken authority to give you another,"
Not only was evil becoming more of a common thread between Witt and I along with his obesity, but after hours he apparently liked to say "fricken" a lot.
"You don't have to be such an a-hole,"
Apparently he bares the fine line right before using profanity as well.
"I need you to sign this," I said handing him the paper.
"Your dropping out?" he asked raising an eye brow trying with a look that told me he had placed a bet with another teacher in the school. It's a fun thought to dangle that some teacher has faith in me, or quite possibly the janitor.
"I fricken knew this day would come," he said shaking his head still with a gambling expression on his face as he placed his signature.
He held up the signed papers in front of me like how people give their dogs treats; you give a command and the dog just stares at the treat like it's best thing since colored TV. I grabbed them and mumbled my appreciation.
I turned to leave with a nod, because Witt was staring at me which was freaking me the hell out.
"Rollins!" he said in a high pitched voice.
I considered to keep going, but figured I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. I was preparing myself to hear a speech on how his days of antagonizing me about being a waste was true and that I was pathetic loser that was going to live under the Bay Bridge with a crew of ants as pets.
Mr. Witt stood up and walked around his desk. He put his hands on his belt buckle and then brought one hand around and practically put it down under the pants line touching his ass.
"I'm writing a book-"
Honestly, I didn't think Mr.Witt could write anything more then a scientific equation in which he would get the elements mixed up, let alone write an entire novel.
"-on troubled teens," he continued.
I think he expected me to recoil in horror to the fact that he really thought I was that bad, but really I was just mulling over what I was thinking when he first proposed the question.
"You could come to the school a few days after school for interviews. I don't know if you've seen my 1960 red Cadillac," he said pointing to it out the window "but I could give you a ride in it," he said arrogantly.
Now, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. Witt wasn't hitting on me, he was serious about this ill conceived book and bragged about that damn car in compensation to the fact that he couldn't get laid, because who really wants a ten ton man on top of them?
"I mean you just proved to me how troubled you are since your throwing your life away by dropping out, so you'll have free time,"
I looked at his large rubbery hand that still resided on his ass and then looked at Witt awaiting an answer. I'm sure he had solid confidence that I was going to take him up on the offer.
"I have to work," I said in tone that I think he got the impression that the only way I would be involved in his "book" was to piss on it.
"You don't have to be an a-hole" he said as he took the ass hand out of his pants and scratched his brow then he held it out for me to shake. How fucking disgusting. Way to sell your pathetic attempt at stardom to me.
"I'll do whatever the fuck I want goddamit," I used as my final words to Witt as I walked out the door for the last time.