You know, I've always been a smartass. I think I've been a know-it-all, wise-cracking, pain in the ass since the day I was born. Ask my mother - she'll tell you about countless times I've been a little too smart for my own good. Really, that should be the title of my biography - So Damned Smart, He's Retarded.
I remember, way back in high school, our English teacher was explaining a Thesaurus to the class room. "It's a book that can be used to find similar words. Say you're writing, and you need another word for 'sad' so you don't keep using 'sad' over and over again. The thesaurus will give you other words. And it does this for many words in the English Language. Go on, someone, think of a word."
I raise my hand, that gleam in my eye.
"Yes, Dave? What word?"
"Synonym. Is there another word for 'Synonym'?"
She sighed, shot me a glare, and said "quit being a smartass."
I'd like to think that, as I grow up, I'm becoming a mature, sensitive adult. But, I'm afraid this may not be the case.
I was shopping with my mother, who was a bit stressed out. "I wish I didn't have to do all this shopping for Christmas. I wish there was a way I could get out of doing it every year!"
"But there is," says I.
"What? I'm all ears."
"Convert to Judaism. Or Hinduism. I hear there are plenty of interesting cult options open, mom."
She sighed, rolled her eyes, and said, "Quit being a smartass."
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Dave and Crystal Meth (!?)
Okay. Way back, in the late 1990s, I was in a health video produced by the Capital Region District called Teens with Diabetes. It was an education video, made by diabetic teens who were up front about how they dealt with their disease.
Victoria is not a large city, and people have recognized me from the video. Of course, I get embarrassed by it - I was around seventeen at the time, wore awful 1999 clothes, and had a part where I played guitar (to show that diabetic teens are just like "normal" teens... as if I'm ever "normal" anything).
The guitar part, in particular, embarrasses me. Imagine a really lame late 90s metal riff, on a crappy guitar, on an even crappier amp. Now imagine a guy that is struggling to play this riff, while at the same time trying to look like he's not actually struggling at all, and trying to look "cool". While standing in front of his bedroom wall - plastered with rock star photographs. Oh, yeah. And he's making a guitar face.
Point is, I've been trying to forget that video for years. Flash forward to yesterday, at around 10:30 p.m/
After a quick stop at the grocery store, I hopped into Tim Horton's to get some tea to drink on the walk home (it was cold out!). And a girl comes up to me - someone I used to work with, a few years ago. Someone who is, shall we say, a little dull. And someone who has a loud voice.
GIRL: Hey, Dave! Dave, right? I saw you in a video in my class today!
DAVE: Oh, that? ...You saw my diabetes video?
GIRL: Yeah, in health class... wait, Diabetes?
DAVE: I was in a diabetes video years a-
GIRL: No, it was a video for Crystal Meth!
(People in the Tim Horton's turn to look at me)
DAVE: Crystal Meth? No, I was never in a crystal meth video.
GIRL: (Adamantly) no, you were. I saw it.
DAVE: Ha ha, trust me. I've never been in a Crystal Meth video. I would remember if I had been.
GIRL: No, you were. You totally were. It was you. David Percival, right? How would I remember your last name, if you weren't in the video? (helpfully, as if I'd forgotten - presumably because I was high on meth, or something) You were talking about how you don't want to do meth.
(People in the Tim Horton's look at me even more warily. )
After this, I manage to convince her that she was wrong. That she had watched many movies in class, and got my diabetes video mixed up with a meth video. She realized her mistake, and then realized that she had basically told everyone in the Tim Horton's that I was a meth addict, and sheepishly apologized.
At around this time, two guys stumbled into the Timmy's, obviously on some drug or another. My guess would be, um, Meth. A few people in the Tim Horton's who had been eavesdropping started to laugh. My companion blushed.
So, it's a funny encounter, and I'm laughing about it now. But the next part kind of scares me. See, this girl is going into the nursing program... the same program, in fact, that I will be enrolled in.
To put it another way... some time in the nearish future, I'll be watching a lame, super embarassing video of myself, in a class of cute girls who will instantly realize that the geeky guy on screen is, in fact, the very same guy that is sitting next to them in the classroom. The guy that is, at that very moment, trying to bury himself under his backpack and notebook.
Maybe I should just start taking Meth now?
Victoria is not a large city, and people have recognized me from the video. Of course, I get embarrassed by it - I was around seventeen at the time, wore awful 1999 clothes, and had a part where I played guitar (to show that diabetic teens are just like "normal" teens... as if I'm ever "normal" anything).
The guitar part, in particular, embarrasses me. Imagine a really lame late 90s metal riff, on a crappy guitar, on an even crappier amp. Now imagine a guy that is struggling to play this riff, while at the same time trying to look like he's not actually struggling at all, and trying to look "cool". While standing in front of his bedroom wall - plastered with rock star photographs. Oh, yeah. And he's making a guitar face.
Point is, I've been trying to forget that video for years. Flash forward to yesterday, at around 10:30 p.m/
After a quick stop at the grocery store, I hopped into Tim Horton's to get some tea to drink on the walk home (it was cold out!). And a girl comes up to me - someone I used to work with, a few years ago. Someone who is, shall we say, a little dull. And someone who has a loud voice.
GIRL: Hey, Dave! Dave, right? I saw you in a video in my class today!
DAVE: Oh, that? ...You saw my diabetes video?
GIRL: Yeah, in health class... wait, Diabetes?
DAVE: I was in a diabetes video years a-
GIRL: No, it was a video for Crystal Meth!
(People in the Tim Horton's turn to look at me)
DAVE: Crystal Meth? No, I was never in a crystal meth video.
GIRL: (Adamantly) no, you were. I saw it.
DAVE: Ha ha, trust me. I've never been in a Crystal Meth video. I would remember if I had been.
GIRL: No, you were. You totally were. It was you. David Percival, right? How would I remember your last name, if you weren't in the video? (helpfully, as if I'd forgotten - presumably because I was high on meth, or something) You were talking about how you don't want to do meth.
(People in the Tim Horton's look at me even more warily. )
After this, I manage to convince her that she was wrong. That she had watched many movies in class, and got my diabetes video mixed up with a meth video. She realized her mistake, and then realized that she had basically told everyone in the Tim Horton's that I was a meth addict, and sheepishly apologized.
At around this time, two guys stumbled into the Timmy's, obviously on some drug or another. My guess would be, um, Meth. A few people in the Tim Horton's who had been eavesdropping started to laugh. My companion blushed.
So, it's a funny encounter, and I'm laughing about it now. But the next part kind of scares me. See, this girl is going into the nursing program... the same program, in fact, that I will be enrolled in.
To put it another way... some time in the nearish future, I'll be watching a lame, super embarassing video of myself, in a class of cute girls who will instantly realize that the geeky guy on screen is, in fact, the very same guy that is sitting next to them in the classroom. The guy that is, at that very moment, trying to bury himself under his backpack and notebook.
Maybe I should just start taking Meth now?
CSI
A few years back, I was in a physical anthropology class. It was a class dedicated to human biology, and the cultural and evolutionary adaptations brought on by human physiology. However, it was also pretty much a prerequisite for anyone wanting to enter the Criminology program. A large chunk of the class involved identifying human remains, using actual human skeletons. In short, it was a lot of fun.
The professor was a forensic anthropologist specializing in bones (yeah, this was before that 'bones' show came out), and she had a lot of police ties. And one day, she called in two cops.
They started talking about crime scene assessment. Early on, one of the cops asks, "So, who among you have ever watched the TV show CSI?"
Maybe three hands, in a class over forty large, are raised. He shakes his head. "Come on."
The professor sheepishly raises her hand. So does most of the class.
"Good. That's more like it. Now, how much of that show do you think is accurate?"
A few people in the class guess. Forty percent? Sixty percent? People discuss all the inaccuracies they know about the TV show - DNA sampling isn't done so quickly, forensic anthropologists do not perform suspect interviews or carry firearms, there's no nation-wide program of fingerprints, etc. The cop nods at each point, and then cuts in.
"Forty percent? Sure, sure," the cop says, turning to smile at his partner. Then he turns to face the class.
"I don't know about you... but the first thing *I* do on the crime scene is turn on the fucking light."
The professor was a forensic anthropologist specializing in bones (yeah, this was before that 'bones' show came out), and she had a lot of police ties. And one day, she called in two cops.
They started talking about crime scene assessment. Early on, one of the cops asks, "So, who among you have ever watched the TV show CSI?"
Maybe three hands, in a class over forty large, are raised. He shakes his head. "Come on."
The professor sheepishly raises her hand. So does most of the class.
"Good. That's more like it. Now, how much of that show do you think is accurate?"
A few people in the class guess. Forty percent? Sixty percent? People discuss all the inaccuracies they know about the TV show - DNA sampling isn't done so quickly, forensic anthropologists do not perform suspect interviews or carry firearms, there's no nation-wide program of fingerprints, etc. The cop nods at each point, and then cuts in.
"Forty percent? Sure, sure," the cop says, turning to smile at his partner. Then he turns to face the class.
"I don't know about you... but the first thing *I* do on the crime scene is turn on the fucking light."
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