Children are a callous lot by nature, lacking empathy and tact. Whenever someone espouses the inherent goodness of children I simply point them to the nearest fast food play pen. On the surface one would see kids being kids, as it were; movement and laughter and scrapped knees and happiness. Upon further inspection, however, one will see children for what they really are: fucking animals.
One child is being excluded from a game of Hide and Seek because the others think he smells (he totally does but that's beside the point). Another child is being pelted with recently purchased kids meal toys. Yet another child is being stabbed to death with sharpened crayons. And finally, turn your attention to the ball pit. Do you see the overweight kid wearing eight too many wrist bracelets and a stupid shark tooth necklace struggling to breathe and crying like a little bitch because he's stuck in the ball pit and no one will help him?
I was that kid.
In fifth grade I was a fat, awkward caterpillar waiting to blossom into a fat, awkward butterfly. I was ignorant of my own impotence, and looking back on my youth I find this ignorance comforting.
Many moons ago during an English lesson we partook in a class reading assignment. Instead of having children read clockwise around the room my teacher (his surname escapes me so I shall refer to him as Mr. Nixon) utilized a "popcorn-kernel" technique. One would finish reading a passage, select a child at random, said child would say popcorn if they accepted the challenge to read or kernel if they refused. Despite having two options we were forbidden to say kernel.
Wisely, I questioned the purpose of saying popcorn when accepting one's call to read next, as we were not allowed to decline said proposition. Dickly, Mr. Nixon replied "because that's what my lesson plan calls for and I'm too much of a scared coward of a bitch to alter it in any way and I fart in crowded elevators before getting off and tip 5% at restaurants and I believe the Holocaust was exaggerated." Paraphrasing, of course.
Before I had a firm grasp of modern American vulgarity I knew this man was a raging asshole. Mr. Nixon used air quotes, had an unearned smugness to his demeanor, and consistently made use of shitty puns. The worst I can recall was, in response to the complaints from one of my peers, he said "would you like some cheese with your whine?" FUCK YOU, with your early 90s sitcom dad humor, you fucking twat.
As an aside, can people please stop using apostrophes when they write 90s, or any other decade for that matter? Misappropriated apostrophes are an efficient way to let the world know you are a dumbass.
For this particular class reading Mr. Nixon threw in a new wrinkle: say popcorn, then one's name, then start reading. The first few students read their passages without incidence. A few stutters, confusion at seeing so many multi syllabic words in sequence, y'know, regular kid shit. Then it was the Cool Kid's turn.
Cool Kid was asked to read by one of my peers and in typical Cool Kid fashion he did so, but on his terms. Cool Kid terms. First, Cool Kid flipped each of his three collars to look extra cool (I don't know why but when I was in elementary school kids just wore a lot of shirts underneath more shirts). Then, Cool Kid took his gum out (Big League Chew like a fucking boss) and puts it back on the table instead of the trash, because you know Cool Kid is coming back for that shit. Finally, Cool Kid got on his skateboard and did a sick kickflip over Mr. Nixon's table. At this point everyone is cheering and singing the praises of Cool Kid, whilst the parents outside fight amongst themselves over whose daughter will marry Cool Kid when he is of age.
Before he starts reading, Cool Kid slightly turns down his cool to obey Mr. Nixon's rule of saying popcorn then our name before reading. However, in typical Cool Kid fashion, he says his name then popcorn instead of vice versa. This creates the illusion that his full name is Cool Kid Popcorn. To 10-year-olds this was fucking comedy gold. Everyone, including Mr. Nixon, starts laughing. To soak in the moment Cool Kid puts on his sunglasses, lowers them, then winks at a girl sitting across from him. She blushes and pledges her virginity to him.
Seeing how much joy and laughter filled the classroom following Cool Kid's joke, I thought it would be a good idea to repeat his exact joke. Same delivery, same punchline, same everything. Only 30 seconds after he said it, too. My 10-year-old brain had yet to learn that lightning doesn't strike the same place twice.
Dead fucking silence. No one even smiles or offers polite, conciliatory laughter. One of the children literally says "Uh, not funny dude." Mr. Nixon looks at me, shakes his smug possibly-used-to-be-a-date-rapist-like-at-least-once-because-c'mon-look-at-the-way-I-part-my-hair-classic-reformed-date-rapist-hair-part head and tells me to "just read the paragraph. No jokes please."
Compounding the uncomfortability of the situation was the fact that I still had to fucking read my paragraph. The contents of my assigned reading passage have eluded me to this day, as I willed myself unconscious prior to reading. When I came to another child was reading, and my joke faux pas had passed from moment to memory.
"But Dominic," you say, "why focus on such a seemingly innocuous memory from your childhood? We all make jokes that fall flat from time to time. No big deal. Laugh it off, and move on."
Really, you are right; having a joke that bombs, in the grand scheme of things, is not all that important. But, if you know only one thing about me know that I am impressively neurotic. For all intents and purposes I am Sisyphus and that singular moment is my boulder. Now go sit in the corner and think about what you just said.
