Some days I actually bordered on being cool…………..not for long, mind you.
Of course, back from Christmas break, You just fucking KNEW Foon thought this would be a groovy time for a locker search. Quiz time: If you remember many posts ago when I began life in this Stalag, our principal was paranoid drugs and cigarettes were a rampant threat to us innocent babes wandering alone in urban woods.
And you also remember the janitor was very visible days when lockers were being opened, so it was not at all a surprise.
I’m at my locker. I have a rep of taking cigs and gum and hiding them in my trumpet case ’til inspection concludes. Next to me, a whisper: “Oh fuck! I’m holding.”
It takes a second or two. [Thank God for Rock and Roll.] Steve had played me a very cool album called the Turning Point by an Englishman named John Mayall (RIP, John, I loved you]. He talked about ‘holding’ being a crime. I inferred that meant you have weed on your person.
“Oh, Jesus, Kevin,” I whisper. “Are you out of your fucking mind carrying that shit in here?”
“I was going to sell–never mind. Can you take it?”
“Oh Christ, give it to me. Right before 9th period, meet me in the boys’ shit house by the gym.”
“Oh, God, thanks!!!”
I don’t even look at the bag. Right into the pocket. I hustle downstairs, but this is not going in the trumpet case. If he gets popped or something, I’m not getting caught in his shit. I hide it in a dusty corner behind the breakers on the wall.
All’s well that ends……………blah blah. Take it, John: