A Few Of My Favorite Students
And you thought I only had eyes for G...
ANDY, ANDY, ANDY !
That's about all he says, in an odd assortment of voices that makes me wonder just how many personalities are living in his one body. When Andy isn't orgasmically screaming his own name, he can be found licking everything and everyone within 3 feet of his desk. Since Andy's bowel movements announce themselves well in advance of actually making an appearance, most staff members don't remain close enough to him to get any serious lickdowns. We approach long enough to pry his tongue off of AJ's tape dispenser, then scurry back across the room by way of Big G, who joins in the spirit of things by grabbing at our clothing as we desperately bolt past in search of fresh air.
MEET THE PINCHES
G's teacher, AJ, is finally learning a second language, courtesy of his bus room students. The Spanish lessons usually start with unflattering descriptions of Joe's mother, then progress to direct insults of AJ himself, with a few choice phrases directed at me when I make the rare effort to translate. I usually don't feel compelled to do so, because Joe has not bothered to learn even the most rudimentary Spanish in the 25 years he's lived here, so as far as I'm concerned he can continue to wonder what they're saying about him.
Fortunately, growing up in a profanity-loving family has given me the ability to remember "bad words" in any language I'm exposed to, which is not so fortunate for 3 particular troublemakers with a special fondness for the word "pinche". After frightening them with my horrible pronunciation of assorted Mexican curses (aquired over 20 years of working with my homies), I drop a few death threats for good measure and we have silence for at least 2 minutes.
"HELLO, SCABRIELLA !"
That's what I heard a split-second before the crunch of my eyeglass frame drowned everything else out. G-Man thought he'd be kind and merely fling my spectacles across the gym without dismembering them first, but they landed in the path of Scabby The Terrible, who unknowingly pulverized them under her size-7 shoe during an unrelated rampage. Scabby usually only introduces herself in the third-person when she's about to bitch-slap someone, so I consider myself lucky to have gotten off so lightly.
CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW ?
In L.A., it seems like even the homeless are always yapping on cell phones, so I guess I shouldn't be suprised that kids who can't figure out the velcro on their own shoes have mastered call-waiting and the speed dial function on their cellulars. I've been especially amused by the Down Syndrome girl who chats merrily away for 15 minutes on a deactivated phone, periodically pausing to allow her imaginary caller a chance to interject.
SPEAKING OF THINGS YOU ONLY SEE IN LOS ANGELES...
One of the Orange Line drivers was caught in the grip of debilitating hubris on Tuesday afternoon, ignoring the sirens and flashing lights of an oncoming firetruck. Judging the fire department's need for preferential treatment to be outrageously offensive, our driver brazenly hauled ass across the intersection, flipping the bird in case there was any doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing.
After we survived nearly being creamed by the emergency response crew, some junior-high kids began speculating on how gorey our deaths would have been, which naturally led to the topic of drinking blood. One kid quietly cut designs into his arm with a razor blade while the others bickered over the etiquette of who's blood should be consumed first at a party. Then came a heated arguement about whether or not drinking a diabetic's blood would cause you to aquire the same affliction, and finally the conversation degenerated into discussion about Brian's new bong, which is 3 ft. tall and has an "ice catcher". Before I could reveal myself as tragically unhip by asking Brian what the hell an ice catcher is, the kids hopped off the bus to go try out the bong and I was left uninformed.
When I find out what it is, you'll all be the first to know...
ANDY, ANDY, ANDY !
That's about all he says, in an odd assortment of voices that makes me wonder just how many personalities are living in his one body. When Andy isn't orgasmically screaming his own name, he can be found licking everything and everyone within 3 feet of his desk. Since Andy's bowel movements announce themselves well in advance of actually making an appearance, most staff members don't remain close enough to him to get any serious lickdowns. We approach long enough to pry his tongue off of AJ's tape dispenser, then scurry back across the room by way of Big G, who joins in the spirit of things by grabbing at our clothing as we desperately bolt past in search of fresh air.
MEET THE PINCHES
G's teacher, AJ, is finally learning a second language, courtesy of his bus room students. The Spanish lessons usually start with unflattering descriptions of Joe's mother, then progress to direct insults of AJ himself, with a few choice phrases directed at me when I make the rare effort to translate. I usually don't feel compelled to do so, because Joe has not bothered to learn even the most rudimentary Spanish in the 25 years he's lived here, so as far as I'm concerned he can continue to wonder what they're saying about him.
Fortunately, growing up in a profanity-loving family has given me the ability to remember "bad words" in any language I'm exposed to, which is not so fortunate for 3 particular troublemakers with a special fondness for the word "pinche". After frightening them with my horrible pronunciation of assorted Mexican curses (aquired over 20 years of working with my homies), I drop a few death threats for good measure and we have silence for at least 2 minutes.
"HELLO, SCABRIELLA !"
That's what I heard a split-second before the crunch of my eyeglass frame drowned everything else out. G-Man thought he'd be kind and merely fling my spectacles across the gym without dismembering them first, but they landed in the path of Scabby The Terrible, who unknowingly pulverized them under her size-7 shoe during an unrelated rampage. Scabby usually only introduces herself in the third-person when she's about to bitch-slap someone, so I consider myself lucky to have gotten off so lightly.
CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW ?
In L.A., it seems like even the homeless are always yapping on cell phones, so I guess I shouldn't be suprised that kids who can't figure out the velcro on their own shoes have mastered call-waiting and the speed dial function on their cellulars. I've been especially amused by the Down Syndrome girl who chats merrily away for 15 minutes on a deactivated phone, periodically pausing to allow her imaginary caller a chance to interject.
SPEAKING OF THINGS YOU ONLY SEE IN LOS ANGELES...
One of the Orange Line drivers was caught in the grip of debilitating hubris on Tuesday afternoon, ignoring the sirens and flashing lights of an oncoming firetruck. Judging the fire department's need for preferential treatment to be outrageously offensive, our driver brazenly hauled ass across the intersection, flipping the bird in case there was any doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing.
After we survived nearly being creamed by the emergency response crew, some junior-high kids began speculating on how gorey our deaths would have been, which naturally led to the topic of drinking blood. One kid quietly cut designs into his arm with a razor blade while the others bickered over the etiquette of who's blood should be consumed first at a party. Then came a heated arguement about whether or not drinking a diabetic's blood would cause you to aquire the same affliction, and finally the conversation degenerated into discussion about Brian's new bong, which is 3 ft. tall and has an "ice catcher". Before I could reveal myself as tragically unhip by asking Brian what the hell an ice catcher is, the kids hopped off the bus to go try out the bong and I was left uninformed.
When I find out what it is, you'll all be the first to know...
posted by Fredrika Krueger at 3:39 PM
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