Evil Origins: A Horror & Dark Fantasy Collection (98 page)

ACLU
of Louisiana Executive Director Marjorie R. Esman explained: ‘For the Science
Education Act to remain in keeping with the law, it must not allow religion
into the public school classrooms. BESE has a duty to ensure that Louisiana
students receive public educations free of religious doctrine.’

***

The
First Amendment to the United States Constitution states the following:

Congress
shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the
free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or
the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government
for a redress of grievances.

One
nation under God, in whom we trust, founded on Christian beliefs, for the sake
of God and country.

God
bless America.

Are You Serious?

I
looked at the video camera and then at Bill. I could see the twinkle of
mischief in his eye as we both smiled.

“Go for it,” he
said with a slight nod of his head.

I am not sure
how he knew of my intentions, but he did. Call it manstinct (not to be confused
with manstink), if you will. I felt the plastic casing in my hand as my other
slid the lens cover back. With no more than two or three minutes to pull it
off, I closed my eyes and asked for divine inspiration.

It came.

The kitchen
happened to be serving French fries on this day, the kind formed into smiling
happy faces. I looked down and saw them piled on the side of my plate. The
ketchup bottle sat to my left within a hair of my fingers. With my right thumb,
I turned the camera on and looked at my lunch through the LCD viewfinder. With
my left hand, I doused the happy-faced fries with ketchup, all the while
wailing, “Oh God, no! Oh, the humanity!” (I later learned that potatoes do not
in fact resemble anything human, unless they are shaped into smiling faces, in
which case they do.) I picked up the butter knife and proceeded to slice and
stab the ketchup-bloodied fries with cries that would make Wes Craven proud.
Before hitting “stop” on the camera, I sniffled into the embedded microphone.

Julie returned
to the table with her salad and, other than her camera pointed in a slightly
different direction, was none the wiser to my Spielberg moment. Bill and I
snickered through the entire lunch, giving Julie the impression that she was
witty and humorous (not and not).

“How long until
she sees it?” he asked after Julie went on her way.

“Today or
tomorrow, at the latest.”

Julie was
creating a video project to show to the entire student body that had something
to do with what makes the school special. She planned to get footage, edit it,
and then present it as a warm-fuzzy moment when everyone could feel good about
themselves. Little did I know how my cinematic inspiration would derail the
endeavor.

***

For a stretch of
seven years in the mid-1990s, I was part of a faculty at a small, independent
school in northern New Jersey. The school sits on the NJ Transit line that runs
from Sussex County to Manhattan, and the communities on the line serve some of
the wealthiest suburbs of the New York rich that would rather not live in one
of the Five Boroughs. Because of its location and history, the school developed
a reputation as being one of the most challenging and academically rigorous
programs on the East Coast. While aspiring to a few progressive ideas, such as
a laptop program, the school played the traditional role very well. Women wore
dress slacks or skirts, while the male teachers wore a coat and tie every day.
Unless you were hired with facial hair, this would be frowned upon (a faux pas
for men, too). Within the high-pressure, fast-paced environment of academic
achievement huddled a core group of teachers known as the GOB, or the “Good Ol’
Boys.” They used this term with affection, not derision. The group consisted of
several members who had been at the school for twenty years or more, and it
took me about two years before becoming accepted into the club. While being
sexist and slightly perverted, the GOB excluded people without a sense of humor
(almost all women, shocker). They played basketball together on Thursday nights
and then went out to the bar to talk about sports, music and, most importantly,
which woman on the faculty had the nicest ass.

The buttoned-up
environment and the smothering population density of northern New Jersey
created a pocket of guydom where the GOB could unwind, relax, and prank the
hell out of each other. Without this outlet, I am positive they would have all
ended up in prison or, worse yet, in a cubicle.

During a
Christmas party held at the headmaster’s house, the GOB got stinking drunk. At
some point in the recent past, the school had installed an elevator in the
home. One can only imagine that the Board of Trustees had plans to cripple the
guy (see “Tonya Harding” on Wikipedia), or that a handicapped person lived
there prior to its purchase. Five of us climbed into the elevator on the living
room floor and took it downstairs. We did not get out. One of us pushed the
button, and the elevator went back up. After seven beers, this was really
funny. The headmaster was not too crazy about the fact that we stepped all over
the wrapped Christmas presents he had stored in the elevator. That’s what you
get when you combine an open bar, the GOB, and a mechanized lift.

On another
occasion, the business manager took a glue gun into the faculty room. He
proceeded to melt a hole in the top of the water cooler and drop two goldfish
inside. Several of the women in the lower school found this appalling, and
slightly fishy. The GOB nicknamed this group of moody, bitchy women the “CC.”
The second C stands for “club.”

The best pranks
were ones that targeted another member of the GOB. Getting an unsuspecting
member of the faculty is a blast, but nailing one of the GOB gave you bragging
rights for months.

On one fine
autumn morning, I tucked a can of fart spray in my bag and arrived to school at
seven in the morning, well ahead of the maintenance staff and other teachers. I
snuck down to my friend’s room, another member of the GOB and the seventh-grade
math teacher. Not remembering the potency of fart spray from childhood, I
gunned several dozen spritzes around his room before running back to my end of
the building. If Febreze worked this way, it only seemed logical that fart
spray did too. What I did not realize, but Charlie does to this day, is that
fart spray is heavily concentrated, like skunk pee drank by a skunk and then
re-peed. It’s really, really smelly. Within fifteen minutes, the maintenance
staff was checking the basement for a gas leak, and the head of the middle
school began an exhaustive search to find the culprit. I think seventh grader
Gary Frakin took the rap for it, and for this, I am truly sorry (not sorry at
all). For days afterward, that level of the building reeked beyond imagining,
and Charlie swore he would get me back. I have had my head on a swivel ever
since.

The most
heinous, despicable, and unprofessional activity of the GOB came with the birth
of the Sick Pool. The SP, (later changed, under exhaustive debate, to the SAPP,
standing for Sick and Personal-day Pool), as it would later be named, was the
brainchild of Dan and yours truly. During a drive to school from the local
YMCA, where we worked out in the morning, we listened to Howard Stern (mid
1990s, when he was relevant and funny). Stern’s crew engaged in a Death Pool
where they had a list of celebrities “on their roster.” Each participant kicked
in a certain number of dollars to the pot on a weekly basis. If one of the
members on their list died, they won the pot, and it would start over. Morbid,
sick, and very funny.

We did not have
the balls to do this, so instead we came up with the Sick Pool idea. One of the
most electrifying conversation topics amongst the GOB was sick days. Many of
the women of the faculty took them frequently and without good reason. The GOB,
on the other hand, tried to outdo one another in manliness by never taking a
sick day. In fact, Charlie missed only one day in his tenure at the school,
coming in that morning to do his sub plans with a 106-degree fever.

For weeks we
scouted the campus like general managers at the NFL Combine. Several of us took
copious notes, recording patterns of illness or absence amongst the faculty. We
engaged our peers with conversation that began, “So, how’ve you been feeling
lately? Everything OK?” With a prearranged date set for the inaugural draft,
excitement grew.

At a local bar,
the Original Six (just like the NHL, only sicker) gathered for the draft. John,
our fearless leader and organizer, passed out the original bylaws that would be
modified in future seasons:

1. Each of the participants will draw faculty names from a hat from the rounds previously set. Whenever one of your names is ill and misses school, you win the pot. Trading or swapping of names is permitted.

2. The pot will begin with five dollars from each participant. Every week that there is not a winner, the participants will add one dollar each. The pot builds until there is a winner. After there is a winner, the participants start the next week with five dollars each, and the game begins again. Official “weeks” will begin on Thursday night after basketball. This is when we will settle the pot.

3. The names you draw are yours for the rest of the school year, and there is no limit to the number of pots any particular name wins. For example, if I have Barbie Hull, I win every time she is out sick. However, if you win, that faculty member must be back for five (5) consecutive schooldays before you can win again.

4. The following reasons are not considered “sick” days (this was amended when the SP expanded to the SAPP, and not without controversy):

- children’s illness,

- conference or workshop,

- bereavement,

- leaving school early,

- personal days,

- jury duty.

5. Long-term illness or surgery is a winner, but only for the first day. Any absence of five (5) consecutive school days is considered long term. Any faculty member that misses five (5) consecutive school days cannot win again until they have returned for five (5) consecutive school days.

6. If there are more than two (2) faculty members sick in one week, the tie breaker is activated. One point is awarded for each sick day accrued, regardless if it’s the same person or not. The team with the most points wins that week.
We made our rounds during the school day, sticking our heads into classes to see if there might be a sub. I made it a point to check with our secretary as she usually got first word if someone was calling in sick that day.

As owners, we
had to make sure our draft picks performed. Tales of sneezing in the coffee
machine and licking computer keyboards abounded. In the end, we had harmless
fun at the expense of another. For money. What could be bad about that?

***

Try to find a
Halloween costume that will not offend a segment of the population. Go ahead
and Google it. I’ll wait.

Find any? In
2006, Scott Roeben came up with his own list of politically incorrect Halloween
costumes and posted them on his website, www.dribbleglass.com:

Raggedy
Ann
. This costume clearly objectifies
women.

Werewolf
. Offensive to animal advocates and those with
male-pattern baldness.

Cave
man
. The proper term should be
‘evolutionally challenged’; ‘man’ is overtly sexist; also insulting to those in
loincloths.

Cop
. Authority figures should not be ridiculed.

Grim
Reaper.
Trivializes death; may also
encourage children to use scythes without the necessary supervision.

Napoleon.
Offends the French. (In much the same way deodorant
does.)

Frankenstein’s
Monster
. Pokes fun at those with
psychological or emotional problems, as well as those with identity crises.

Bride
of Frankenstein
. Extremely offensive
to women—they should not be known by, or valued more, merely because of their
husbands.

Skeleton.
Exhibits an insensitivity toward those
with eating disorders.

Angel
. Mocks religion and the religious.

Hunchback of Notre Dame
. Ridicules those with physical deformities, as well
as those suffering from ‘ligyrophobia,’ a fear of noise.

Dracula
. Endorses the irresponsible practice of transmitting
bodily fluids.

Sigmund
Freud.
Insults those with the
lifelong opinion that a cigar is just a cigar.

Flapper
. Demeaning to women and tassel salesmen.