One For The Corporal
posted by Count Screwloose at 1:13 AM
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
About Me
- Name: Count Screwloose
When not being manhandled by security, Count Screwloose enjoys overeating and waiting for the tow truck to arrive.
3 Comments:
Didn't you used to drum for The Stranglers?
No, no, you're close, though. I killed Laura Palmer.
RG
Reminds me of a brief story. But then again, doesn't everything?
Somewhere around the final day of 6th grade, myself and my fellow classmates had been scheduled as per pro-forma to receive a certificate of recognition for not missing a single day of class that year.
Not that any of us ever had much say in the matter.
We were either healthy enough or unencumbered by family matters so much so that we just so happened to be there. For the whole school year. Period.
Actually it was kind of awkward. Like getting an award for having gone to sleep & awoken. I mean, it happens, right?
The biggest deal had been that a special guest would dish the paperwork in front of our 6th grade class.
'twas none other than our parish priest! Egad's, not much made me nervous - not now and not then.
This was different somehow.
Things were proceeding swiftly as the class teacher, Miss Rush was it - beamed-on at her charges.
Having precious little experience in recognizing an inebriated adult
I guess that I just thought that the
man-in-black was a bit ruddier & laughed at his own jokes even more than usual, for reasons that escaped me. I mean this was
6th grade and only a year before I had little idea what the capital city's might've been of South American country's. Things might not be too different today.
One certain second cousin who had a position with the C.I.A. during the Cuban Crisis held all the liquor, food, soft drinks, deserts & cigarettes that you could ever want party's. But those folks were more like the Rat Pack or miniature Kennedy's
in their affable,
non-threatening nature.
We were related so it was just yet another natural event that everyone did in their own way, right?
Sensing that I would be up-at-bat with the balding, gray haired Wizard of Oddness
I began to fidget and twitch in my seat.
Then it happened.
A man of the cloth
buzzed on Budweiser (?)
& / or Gin n'juice
or more likely
post golf game
Gin & Tonics
apparently misread
& then went on to
mispronounce my name!
"Pour Milk...
is Pour Milk here?
What kind of a name is,
Pour Milk....?
It went on for maybe
a full 10 second of
giggles & light laughter.
Had a correction been offered I certainly either did not hear it or had been way too humiliated to make that short walk off a long pier to the head of the class. Did not happen.
Lasted a lifetime when
you're shrinking down
in your desk behind
who knows who that had
been sitting in front of me.
Might've been a girl.
Mercifully not one fellow student piped-up with, "He's right here!" Phew.
No one else really cared. I mean, it was
6th grade after all
and that little
sunbleached, straight haired blond banged
babe magnet,
Billy Foley's
mostly picture sleeved
45 collection of
new WIBG / WFIL hits
were what really mattered.
And learning how to play billiards at Crazy Louie's but
that's for someone else's blog.
So I never went up
to get my certificate.
Somehow even the buxom, mini-skirted teacher must've imagined that I had been absent on the very day that was to commemorate that non-event not happening for the better part of 9-10 months.
Where am I going with this? Not far.
Robert, I love you, man. As if you didn't know or I'm alone in this pursuit. Just ask the Mrs.
And no, haven't imbibed by my own devices for 12 years or more.
If you want to hold up a sign with my name on it, believe me I am stunned & flattered.
It's a free world.
But spell check couldn't possibly hurt, now could it?
TTFN
Your 4-ever pal,
"Fall Risk"
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