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Published:August 22nd, 2009 17:11 EST
School Thug Life (Part 3)

School Thug Life (Part 3)

By Rouben Alikian

1) Sadly, Lebanon is plagued by assassinations in fiery explosions and this story takes place in a bygone harvest of a handful of such soul reaping episodes.

 A long time ago in a middle school far, far away, I had the distinct pleasure of having my left ear ache from time to time. Distraught by this, my mother decided to experiment some recently dug up traditional medicinal potion on my sinful flesh.


 Thus I emerged one morning to get picked up by the school bus with an earful of honey wax mixed with olive oil. The hearing effect was peculiar, to say the least, as even the Dodge bus` distinctive engine roar, that reminded me of a main battle tank, now resembled a kitten purring in my lap.


 Mathematics class began with an eerie explanation of Pythagoras` dark legacy, but I could barely hear anything and acted like a blind bat by constantly turning my other ear to discern the teacher`s words. Soon enough, my odd behavior attracted the geometric prior`s attention and she pointed her devilishly red lacquered finger at me with a question that seemed to resonate from the bowels of an abyss for me What`s wrong with you today? "


 Without losing any of my cool, I sprang my thuggish eyes up at her and concocted an answer that would sound more believable in a modern era. A grenade went off right by my head last night. I`m concussed " "


 Squeezing her eyes at me in disbelief and sensing that something seemed amiss despite last night`s very prominent explosion that rocked Downtown Beirut like a tactical nuke, the teacher quickly retorted with a voice that could cut steel. That`s a mouthful. "


 A bit touched by the unsympathetic approach that was shown, I decided to respond in kind and resorted to the only possible explanation, the truth. What am I supposed to say? That I`ve got voodoo wax up my ears? That`s kinda lame, miss. "


2) Exam time. The dreaded period of any semester that weeds out the weak and plays the seesawing cello on the nerves of those who actually care. It`s like the inquisition. The hour approaches and you know that the rack awaits to squeeze the fruits of listening from you by the power of the pen and the piece of paper that spells out mindcrawling questions like in an interrogation.


 We`ve all been there and need not rave of it like Vietnam by remembering the times with a mournful You weren`t there, man " "


 And like anyone who actually cares about the grade and happens to be a borderline hypochondriac, I quaked with fear during my exams and felt my hands shivering like in the remorseless Siberian cold. To counter this evil, my mother resorted to a more neolith approach and stuffed me full of Xanax.


 After an exam that scraped its questions through me like a panther`s claws, I came home with eyes as big as flat tires and the first thing I heard was mother`s question Did the pills help with your anxiety? "


 Still trembling from the formulas I was supposed to solves and seeing images of the math problem like flashbacks from a Tarantino movie, I suddenly came to realize the answer and divulged it in a post mortem voice. Mom, if someone wants to feel anxious, there aren`t enough pills in the world to calm them down."


School Thug Life (PART 1)


School Thug Life (Part 2)