by Penn Brooks
Hilarious! I didn’t really get this one at first, so I asked my mom. She told me that the government officials like to raise taxes and take money for themselves. So comparing the bully to one was political satire. I could just see the praise coming my way.
Once I saw the ad, I knew I must have the book. It promised to improve wit and sarcasm by not using bad or mean words. In a sneaky way, you can insult someone without them really even noticing. I guess part of that is true anyway.
When I discovered the book on Christmas morning, all of the toys and video games quickly drifted into the background. I immediately put it to use.
There were put-downs for the old:
Jokes for the young:
Insults for friends:
Comebacks to be used on parents:
I wasn't as good with comebacks toward more threatening adversaries, though:
I would need to do some more studying. I started taking notes, writing things down in a composition notebook. This was a trick that my college cousin taught me. It's supposed to help with reading retention.
From the days going forward I began understanding what older kids were talking about when they talked their talk. When they called Chrissy (whose parents are vegetarian) a leaf-eater, I got what that meant and why they said it. When they were comparing Mrs. Dorian's dogma class with having a colonoscopy, I knew that meant it was a pain in the butt.
I soon realized that some of the stuff written in this book didn’t quite uphold the promise of the advertiser.
It turned out the book was filled with questionable content. There were words that I never even heard that just sounded wrong rolling off my tongue.
The next day, there was a huge story on the evening news that blew the lid off that book.
Mom confiscated the book within seconds of that airing.
She may have taken my book, but she couldn’t take my memories (or my notes that she knew nothing about). I reviewed those notes relentlessly for future reference. I wanted to be able to retrieve them from the back of my brain when I most needed them.
So while I may not have been a boy scout filled with the knowledge from a field guide to nature, I was definitely empowered with knowledge that I need in the jungle that is my life.
Discuss the Incident on the Bus
So it has come to this? I knew all of this free writing stuff was just a way to get me talking about what happened that day on the bus. Like I told you before, I didn’t do anything wrong. However, if you insist on making me tell you EVERY detail, here we go.
It’s funny how so many things in life connect at one moment. Last Monday was an example of this.
That morning, I boarded the bus as usual. I found my typical empty seat somewhere between the members of both schools. I thought it would be just another average Monday until the bus turned down a road it never turned down before.
The bus stopped and opened its doors. A new student? In the middle of the year no less? Even though a flash of excitement shot through me, it quickly faded once that student boarded.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. The bus picked up the dirtbag pubby who stole my backpack! I told you earlier that I had seen him once before. He rode home one Friday with two pubbies named Dirk and Nelson. He was only visiting them at that time. Besides him running by me in the rain, I hadn’t seen him since. Now he was boarding our bus. Unfortunately, Dirk and Nelson were seated right in front of me. So naturally, this cretin found the empty spot next to me.
While he was making nice with the goons in front of me, I couldn’t help but notice something familiar.
I looked it up and down to make sure I had the right one. Same olive green fabric. Same black leather straps. He sat there rubbing his prized acquisition right in front of my face!
He must have caught me looking at his – no wait – MY bag, because he turned to me and gave me a polite nod of the head.
What a jerk! He was rubbing the whole pubbies-are-better-than-cathies thing right into my face. So you know what I said?
That’ll teach him.
The bus stopped at City Side first, before heading over to St. Guadalupe’s. Between the times we introduced each other and him being dropped off, I analyzed the situation. This Sante character didn’t know that he was wearing my backpack. Advantage: Ben. If I could figure out some way to get it off his back, then I could sweep in unexpectedly and reclaim it!
He got off the bus, not expecting my plan for revenge.
I was utterly useless in class that day. I was so driven by the thought of avenging the theft of my bag, I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I think there might have been a test that day.
Unlike most people, I had only myself to count on. I had no allies in this plot. The act would likely be one (me) against three (Sante + Dirk and Nelson).
Was I prepared to have my head beat in by these three? No. But I started analyzing the probability of that happening.
I don’t go to their school. There is never a time where I would run into these three guys outside of the bus – and the bus driver is always ready to stop any horseplay. So I figured I was in a better position to confront them than a bottom-feeder from their own school.
If a person like Stanley tried anything, he would surely get beat up in a bathroom or locker room.
I could take some chances since I probably will never run into these guys outside of the bus. Getting the backpack off Sante would be the difficult part. What kind of distraction would it take? I considered spilling water on him but I didn’t want to ruin my backpack.
If we happened to have the same seats as the morning ride, I could use the heater underneath the bench to raise the temperature of the bus. There is a little knob on the outside that controls the heat. Making it hot and uncomfortable might make him take my backpack off. Then when it’s time for me to get off, I can dart out the door with it.
This wasn’t a bad plan, but it depended on Sante sitting in that same seat and leaving an empty place for me. I can’t count on that happening.
There was the possibility of just flat-out telling on him, but I might suffer a greater backlash.
My reputation is bad enough. I don’t need to be labeled as the school rat on top of it.
After all these considerations, I came up with the simplest approach – confrontation.
After thinking about it longer, I came to realize that Sante was being nice to me because he didn’t yet understand the social hierarchy on our bus. He treated me as an equal. I could use that to my advantage and take him by surprise. If Sante were in an uncomfortable position, he may willingly hand the bag over.
Dismissal that day could not come soon enough. The buses pulled up to our school, having already picked up the kids from City Side. I hopped on board and found Sante seated alone - just as I hoped.
With a deep breath for courage, I approached him.
He politely moved over. So far so good. I opted to stay standing, you know, to seem more intimidating. Then I went right to my point.
The next few moments are somewhat of a blur. I am pretty sure that I transformed into someone else. My brain summoned weeks’ worth of studying insults and comebacks and started spewing them out of my mouth.
I was amazed; I actually delivered an appropriate response. I wasn’t the only one surprised. A crowd quickly formed around me. Both pubbies and cathies looked on with stunned faces as the lowly “egg-boy” picked a fight with one of the cool kids.
The crowd ooooooed. Nobody really had any idea what would happen next. Those kids, Dirk and Nelson, tried to get his back, but I held them off just fine too.
Those two clammed up quick. A few of the cathies snickered and pointed as the two pubbies turned backed around. Sante had a moment on the offensive, but luckily I had an equally effective response.
I got laughs. A lot of laughs.
One might say too many laughs.
Sante got really mad. He turned bright red and looked like he was on the brink of punching me. At that
point, I shouldn’t have added fuel to the fire.
The other kids loved it. I loved that they loved it. I never felt that level of admiration toward me before. It was comforting. The problem with not getting positive attention too often is that when it happens, you feed off it like it’s candy. At that moment, I had a truckload of chocolate sitting before me.
With students from both schools cheering me on, the time had come to end the fight and get my pack back. I went in for the kill.
Now, I know I was out of line from the moment I started this engagement with Sante. I said some fairly crumby things, but this one stung the most. You see, the problem was that it hit a little closer to his chest than anything else since he, as I later found out… was really abandoned by his birth mother (It probably wasn’t because he was ugly, but just regular reasons).
So with a dagger to the heart, something happened that I didn’t expect – he cried. And it wasn’t a gentle whimper. He balled. Tears streamed down his face and he started hyperventilating. Then, when he looked up and saw the eyes of twenty bus riders staring back at him, he couldn’t take the embarrassment. He pushed me out of the way and ran off the bus.
The bus didn’t roll out until about ten minutes later because the driver and several other teachers went looking for Sante. They could not find him within that timeframe and the driver had to leave without him. For the kids on board, their days were set back a few minutes. Some got home later than expected, and I’m sure the school got some angry phone calls from parents. That’s why many of those kids call it the “bus incident.”
For me, who had to get off the bus before it was permitted to leave, I think “fiasco” would be a better word to describe this incident. After the school called my parents, I had to help find Sante, who could have been anywhere. The whole time that me, some teachers and some school aides searched, Sister Ellen lectured me on why it isn’t divine to call people names and make them feel lesser than they are. I argued the fact that it isn’t divine to steal other people’s belongings either. She quoted some Bible passage about why it isn’t good to seek revenge. I stopped listening.
Eventually, we did find Sante.
Sister Ellen made us shake hands and swear that what happened will never happen again.
Some interesting facts came up during our open and moderated conversation. Firstly, it turned out that Sante did not steal my backpack after all. He even proved it.
I was grasping for straws. I knew it was his, but I just didn’t want to believe it. I had been wrong the whole time. And I must have been pretty dumb and oblivious to lose the bag in the first place. These notions were not sitting well with me.
Teachers made me apologize, but to be honest, I would have anyway. I genuinely felt guilty about the whole ordeal with Sante. I treated him in a way that I never would want to be treated. I explained this realization to Sister Ellen, and she said that she wouldn’t punish me. Instead of having a week’s worth of detention, however, I got something far worse.
I pointed out that her assignments were, in fact, punishments because they are in response to an action that she deemed undesirable.
She said that an opportunity to explore oneself and to improve should not be viewed as a punishment. I still disagree with her.
At home, my parents were not as willing to take the reform approach.
They kept asking me if I knew how much my school costs them. I did not. They never told me. Apparently knowing how much it cost would make me not do bad things? I didn’t understand their angle.
When the dust (and my parents) settled, we all realized there was one big thing missing in this whole story. My backpack.
My mom went on a tear, which included yelling at my dad for covering me. She told him that I wouldn’t have been in such trouble if he did the right thing and helped find the backpack in the first place.
My dad made a call to the library and sure enough…
Once I heard where they found it, everything made sense. I emptied my bag and hung it off the chair.
Once I saw Sante with the same exact bag, I was so caught up by the thought he stole it, I just assumed it was gone. I never bothered to turn around.
Lessons Learned
I learned that jumping to conclusions can get you in trouble. I learned that treating people poorly makes you feel bad too (and can result in consequences like writing ridiculously long essays).
There was one other thing that developed from this whole fiasco. Something unexpected happened the next day that made me realize an important concept.
I learned that by standing up for myself (even though I was wrong), I got some newfound respect. And instead of people calling me “Egg-boy” or ignoring me altogether, they were actually calling out for me. And using my actual name!
And I’m starting to enjoy that…

Will Ben ever learn his lesson?
Will uniforms be the new “it” fashion?
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About the Author
Penn Brooks is a former cathy with 12 years of parochial experience under his belt. He currently lives in New England, where he writes, draws and avoids wearing plaid ties.
pennbrooks.com
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