June 1979...On How Some are Too Stupid to Realize There is Honey Instead of Vinegar

 

 

The problem with being a genius in school is that all the morons want the answers for free. OK, I wasn't a genius but I did damn well enough in school to get the attention of dullards who wanted a free ride. Eventually it irked the hell out of me to help them. Most of them, 98% were of the “I'm too damn lazy to do the work myself” and the last 2% really did need help. I wasn't pissed with the 2%. I would help them freely.

Like any jr high school, girls form their “best friend” cliques, until one of them ruins it all with a fight over God Knows What. Boys, money, gossip...mostly malicious gossip.

There was a clot of three girls who I detested because all three were congeniality stupid/lazy and would never ever stop pestering me for the “answers.” There's be a test we'd have to take in whatever class and I'd get the tap on the back or whatever to quickly show my paper to one as she took down the answers then showed the other two as well. We were rarely caught as the teachers were staring out the window or, as I found out later, allowed cheating because it raised the general grade in the class making the teacher look “good.” How do I know that? Because years later at a local bar, I sat with a few of my older teachers and some let loose that tidbit. (cough..cough..Mr. Coughlin of Gen Civics and American Gov't).

Back to those girls..

There was Sandra, the leader, who looked pretty damn butch and could fight any boy she wanted. She also was the biggest simpleton of that group. As we were all 14 or 15 years old, puberty had hit and the girls were trying their best to change from 12-13 year old tomboys to young ladies. New, sometimes bad attempts at mascara were tried. They wore perfume and forever brushed their Farrah Fawcett feathered hair styles. Sandra, I will say, never bothered with that shit at all. She dressed like a boy and her hair style was the Prince Valliant cut. She wasn't a dyke, as I found out later, she just wasn't feminine at all, nor cared to be till she hit high school.

Her two followers were Karen and Beth. Those two were prettier and tended to try to dress “nicer” and more “teen girl” as well as they could. But, being from real blue collar families they couldn't afford the latest fashion nor the new Jordache jeans that were out. Each of these two were pretty dumb as well but it was from lack of even trying in class. They figured out you could skate along, doing little as possible and still make it to the next grade. In Pawtucket schools then, (prob now too) you had to be drooling and falling down in the hallways before they'd ship you to that “other” school, otherwise, they'd pass you onto the next grade, even if you never learned to read, I saw a few of those. 

**

Many of those kids in my class swore that all I had to do, was read something once, and it stuck in my head...for years. That wasn't true, it took three repetitions to stick. That ability I did have. Anyways, I actually did the reading, homework and tried to get good marks. Doing these things actually helps  you pass the class, but it takes effort..WORK.

So, when the dimwits would hit me up for the information I started to get pissed. Why? Because I felt like I was a god damn Welfare Office handing out checks to those who could work, but won't. In fact, I said that to those three once and their reply was:

“HA, We're smart! We pass all the grades and don't work like YOU do!”

No joke, they said that. In their minds, they adopted the slave mentality of long ago...”Do enough work to keep the lash off your back.” Doing as little as possible was the smart way to go about it and what I was doing, studying, was Fool's Errand.

(Shit, I still see this in adults now)

The point being...I did the work and they tried to get a free ride off of my effort. I got tired of it.

So...after being too “nice” for too long I really started to hate them and any others who tried to climb onto my back so I'd carry them around like a baby in a papoose. Most could get a passing grade but were too lazy to do it. So, I cut them off. “Stand on your own two legs you welfare slop muppets!”

Holy Shit! Did they start to freak out. Their well was closed and there was little other way to pass the tests, except to study for them. To do the WORK required.

The third quarter exams were coming up and how they kept hounding me for schemes to set up in all classes to cheat off of me.

“Fuck No” I said.

So, being lower class drogs that they were, they resorted to what works at their homes. “I'll get my brother to beat on you!” “I'll tell the principal who set off the M-80's in the lockers last year!” And the final one...”We'll tell everyone you sell pot!” (That was true, but only to a very, very few select individuals..and those girls weren't on the list)

So I say...

“Go ahead..tell them...tell everyone...who's going to believe that an “A” student who causes no problems at this school...is a punk?”

“I'm an angel!” I added. What I did at school and what I did in my neighborhood were two different things. I never mixed the two. It's a good work ethic to have as an adult too. Know what days to party...and what days not to. I had a decent reputation at school and around the neighborhood, I was a feral animal. I was even called that by a neighbor once.

A few days pass, the exams are getting closer and the clique gets more desperate. Their pestering won't stop.

“Ya know,” I tell them, “the MORE you ask me, badger me...makes me hate you even more!”

So what do they do?

The bug me harder. If you have no other tactics, you just raise the volume on the only one you have.

The day of the exam occurs and of course, they all fail miserably.

Some of the other kids, who were watching this all along, my “strike” and the girls trying to break it asked: “Don't you care they failed?

“Nope! I don't give a fuck!” I really didn't. Once you do a great job at making me hate your guts, it tends to stick for a while.

**

So the last quarter is upon us, then were free for the summer, just one more round of exams and we're done for the year. I had kept those three off my “help” list still.

But since they were in danger of failing for the year, they had to try again. I won't repeat here what they tried, basically it was the same shit, empty threats, begging, pleading and badgering. It didn't work at all. They never once thought of trying some positive...vinegar and honey, you know?

Goff Jr High was a prison-like school. We lined up for everything. Teachers and administration stood in the halls like prison guards when classes changed. The lunchroom was patrolled in the same manner. But for some reason, if you finished lunch, you were free to amble back to the classroom at your leisure, w/o a guard/teacher escort. Some kids took this freedom to amble on home, blowing off the last three classes. 

So I go back to Mr O'Donnel's class and there is just one other person there, Beth, the prettiest one of that clique who were at me.

“Why won't you help us” she says after I sit down.

I turn around, “Are we going over this AGAIN?”

“Why won't you do it? C'mon..just do it...”

I then say.

“OK, make it worth my while, I'll help all of you for $5 a piece.

“FUCK YOU!” she shouts at me.

“FUCK YOU TOO!” I yell back at her and I say further, really ticked off...

“You know, there's NOTHING you or the other two could possibly OFFER me at all to help you! You have NOTHING!”

I spun around in my chair, stewing and thinking. “God I hate those fucks...they never stop!” It gets tiring when you're being constantly hounded by those you don't like anyway....with the same request over and over and over again.

There are those times, in an argument where you come up with the best come back line ever. These lines aren't crafted in advance, they have to come from deep within and are immediate and they crush your enemy. I didn't even know where I pulled up this but it came to me quite quickly.

I turn around back to her and I lock my eyes onto hers. She's still pissed and glaring at me still.

“Ya know, I take that back. You're a girl..right? There is ONE THING you could do for me.”

I let that hang in the air, still staring at her.

It took about...5 seconds...and then she broke her glare at me to staring vacantly at the blackboard at the head of the room. I knew she got it.

I kept looking at her and she kept staring at the wall, trying her best to ignore the fact I'm in the classroom still.

To drive the nail even deeper into the wood I say:

“Look, I like you best out of all three, you're the prettiest. If you do this...I PROMISE to help you pass for the entire year....you can even spit it out if you want to too.”

Silence.

A few more seconds go by and I tell her

“Won't do that either...huh?”

More silence...

More kids filtered into our classroom as they came from the cafeteria. I sat there, amazed that that had come out of my mouth. Eventually I didn't care to tell the truth, those three were on me for months and I had had enough. 

All three never bothered me again. 

That was  42 years ago! Do I regret it? Nope! I can be VERY accommodating with people but I really despise being squeezed and wrung out like a cheap wash cloth. Want to win with me? Honey works, so does equitable treatment.   

By the way, this would work with you if you consider the numerous times you've been run over by the others in your life.  

And I Thought I'd Be Above All This...

 

I was a big proponent of believing you cannot compare your life to others. It's apples and oranges really. We all show up on Earth w/o any say on what genetics we get, who are parents are or even where on the globe we'll live. Add to that, you given a “hand” of cards you have to play as well as you can. Oh, and you'll have little control of forces outside your realm. Good luck!

Today, I was sitting across the desk of my attorney, D. I was redoing a will where I cut out various people who are no longer in my life and added a couple of others who are. Things change, especially since the last will was drawn up 18 years ago. I may do it again as life always morphs.

D and I go back to 1969. Well, he was my brother's best friend and being the kid brother, I saw him enough. He came from a lower middle class background but lucky for him, he was born handsome as the girls would note. Also, he had these absolutely killer social skills.

I've seen just two people in my life who had that skill. They both D and K, could walk into a room of people they do not know at all and withing 15 minutes, be the center of attention and well liked. How's that for putting your best foot forward. They were excellent readers of people as well and could adjust as needed. If you have that natural ability, you can get pretty far in life if you're smart about it. It's called the “Halo” effect, if people like you for a few given traits, they tend to think you're great at everything else too, even if you're not.

So, after we get done with the boring aspects of the will, he asks how I was doing since we hadn't seen each other in years. I had told him of my past year dealing with work, covid and the usual shit. He had told me he whittled his practice down to five cases. He was moving into something else.

**

I know there are “compassion clubs” in RI but I know little about them as I don't smoke. The stuff that's produced today would anesthetize a rhino and I can't keep up with that. Compassion clubs have to get their dope from somewhere and this is where D was telling me where he was going to come in.

He, along with a URI pharmacist professor, a retired Lieutenant Colonel of the RI State Police, a few lawyers and two doctors from Brown University and a few others with some bucks had all piled their assets to build a 23,000 square foot growing operation in Cranston.

“23,000 square feet?” I thought. “Holy Shit...that's a ton and half of marijuana plants. A literal jungle!”

By the way. This is all legal. They have all the licenses and the Secretary of the State of RI and Dept of Business have signed off on it.

He turns his laptop around to show me the “products” they'll make, They intend to grow the plants and use the machines they bought to extract the oils. With that, you can now do edibles and vape pens and...i don't know what...everything?

“Here's my favorite..Happy Juice!” he tells me. It's like those energy shots you buy at the Quickie Mart register. Another was called “2/10,” a similar product but it's the concentrated oil (2 drops equals 10mm) that you drip into your coffee, ice cream, shrimp diablo or what not.

I look over to the wall, then the floor and see a UPS box opened. It's packed with vape pens. The wall above it has his Juris Diplomas, licenses and awards the legal community has given him throughout the years. Odd juxtaposition.

“Ronnie, we see the trend, complete decriminalization is coming or close enough to it. I want to be ready when it does happen...production, packaging, distribution....there's a hell of a market out there for this!”

He goes on...”Remember when you, your brother and I had to sneak a joint in Slater park and watch for the Pawtucket police? Now look at the times! Everything's changed! Who could've foresaw this back then?”

I couldn't. I have no crystal ball...

As I heard all of this, I couldn't get this out of my mind...”23,000 square feet.”

**

I sat there sort of stunned. I didn't know this was possible. Once I saw the list of investors and who they were...and I'll leave that out for now...I was just like a mouse hypnotized by the stare of a snake about to strike.

So I drive home, with my new will and I think. “Holy shit...MY life isn't like what D is doing now. I never had the skills he had, nor the ability to charm juries into letting go obviously guilty people and being able to captivate those with the start up money for ventures like this. What advancement..what success!”

No, I was a workaday schlepp all my life. Office/corporate work didn't really ever attract me and I had a starting career in social services which notoriously pays squat. Add to that was his good looks and ability to get girl's panties to drop which forever infuriated my brother who couldn't do that. (I am five years younger than those two, so everything was five years later in my life). I once saw him fling a snowball, pretty hard, into the windshield of a pretty girl stopped at a stop sign where were all standing. He smiled at her through that melting snow on the window...and then she smiled back at him. That was his come on line, whipping a snow ball. He managed to have her pull over a bit and talk.

I'd be arrested for doing that!

Halfway home I told myself...”Stop it! Stop it! D and I had different upbringings, different genetics, different parents! Stop comparing yourself ot him!'”

Was I green with envy? Sure...till I shook myself out of it...eventually. I'm OK now....maybe I can get a job misting the “house” plants they'll grow?

Apples and Oranges....gotta remember that. We are all different and our arcs in life are so too.

Sir! Your Table is Over Here...

 

 

Nearly every 4^th of July, for perhaps over 20 years now, I have attended Mick's yard party in which our old crew and families show up. I have to hand it to Mick for eating the expense of these parties but he gets a kick out of them. The costs are typical, the food for the grill, the free kegs and one item he really lavishes the $ on, the fireworks. Last night, he had several 4x8 plywood sheets mounted with 300 mortar tubes wired to go for a grand finale. When shot, it's non-stop bedlam for many minutes. It's such a good show that the cops show up too.

At any big family event, the generations tend to coalesce by their age group. The kids tend to stay with their families but they know this one fact: Their parents and the adults will have more than enough alcohol and soon enough, forget the kids are there. This frees the kids to tear ass through the yards, tables and whatnot with the least amount of supervision. That until one runs smack into a tree which sets off the crying and Mom coming to fix the situation. Fifteen minutes later, they're at it again after hardheartedly being told to “Knock it off!”

The teens are similar except they wander off into two groups. The teen girls form up tight circles where they whisper to one another and fall dead silent if an adult walks by. The teen boys will be about 20 feet from them, in a far looser circle and louder. Occasionally two or three of the boys will shoot obvious love sick puppy looks to a girl in that circle and be immediately caught doing so, by the said girls. The girls circle the wagons even tighter and get even more hushed once they realize one of them is in a boy's sights. Once the DJ gets the music going, all of girls are on the improvised dance floor with the boys circling them, watching. Boys want to see, girls want to be seen. Nothing changes!

Your next group are the 20 Something kids. They are the main drivers of the party. Their parents check in with them in the beginning to figure out who's going where the next day and that's all the supervision you'll see of that. Theses “kids” mix with their own and some are paired off boyfriend/girlfriend. The group took over three tables under the tent and you could easily tell where the “cool” ones where at. It was the table where the prettiest girls were and their loud, overconfident and sometimes douche-baggy guy friends. There's still a lot of “teen” in 20 Somethings. That takes more than a few years to wear off.

I saw this happen and it was kind of funny, proving to me that even if her Dad was there, there was not much he could do about it. A young college aged girl, in the latest NY summer fashion, strutted by us with a nightclub walk that made us 55+ year old guys feel underage. There was a circle of us, perhaps six, all old. We went quiet and our heads, including mine, locked onto her and then track her as she walked by. She had this shit eating grin on her face as well. She knew exactly the attention she was getting. She was the hottest daughter of one of the Dads at the party and made the other Dads/55+ ones forget their manners for a few seconds.

Once the alcohol was really flowing with these “kids,” the boys started hoisting their buddies onto handstands on the keg and shoving that plastic valve into their mouths. The others cheering and egging on the upside down one to keep chugging. Each one they did this too, I swear, once they righted them, had the look on their face like they drank a can of Raid. Later on I saw one get put back on this feet, then fire out his nostrils the very beer he managed to chug down. I've puked out my nose once in my life and it was due to norovirus, not keg beer.

When the boys get like that, they completely forget the girls are there. It's play time and the girls no longer matter. When ignored, they took over a table to whip out their cells and they all glowed in the dark while the boys had their fun.

Where was I? What table was I at....read on.

**

When I first walked into the backyard I was met with a horde of younger folk. I scanned the crowed for someone I could recognize and couldn't at first. I then unconsciously did something I realized later, I looked for anyone with gray hair. I then spotted a bunch at a table near the bar and I went over and there they were, everyone I did know. We are now all between 55 and 62 and are either bald, gray or fat or a variation on all three. Add to that most were sitting, not standing.

And then I realized...we...I...were at that table the old ones sit. You remember that table when you were younger, where the oldies sat! They eat and have far fewer drinks when they were younger and “get tired” and are pretty much the first ones to go home. Years before, I can remember watching one wife yell at her husband, “Ahhh...you're BORING....go HOME...I wanna stay!” At two in the morning, she and I were falling over one another on the fake dance floor that was installed onto the lawn, laughing our asses off. It was blatant and all too public display of infidelity but we were younger, who cares? Having fun was more important vs. keeping a staid, normal public face.

But now...she and I AND her husband were sitting at the same table last night, acting as if none of that happened. We were too old to care I swear.

Here's some snippets of conversations I had with my current oldies...

F. says to me: “Oh shit, It's spinal stenosis...my lower back. Even now I can feel it...I have to make a deliberate attempt to walk, sit or lie down now...I have to think about it before I do it because I'll get shooting pain there! I'm going to hate the surgery but that's all they can do now to fix it”

And this:

I say to Doug: “You had TWO heart attacks? When?”

“Hell, two in one year, last year, right before covid hit...guess you didn't know!”

Or this...

I ask, “So how old's Julia now?”

“Oh..24, she just got her Masters from Dartmouth.”

“Twenty......four?” I say with some shock. “But when I saw her she....”

I get cut off by being reminded I haven't seen her since she was 15.

There was far more talk about health issues, retirement planning and down sizing current homes. Gone was the silly drunkenness, staying there till dawn and eating enough to make a rhino puke. I think I had five beers total in five hours and six BBQ ribs. When I was younger, it would've been a 12 pack of Yueling, shots and watching the dawn light up the river.

At 1 AM I felt my legs becoming sore, I was “tired” and I wasn't even buzzed anymore.

Hey, I still enjoyed myself...but now we're all at the Oldies Table now.

How the hell did that happen?