worstweek2

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So we three amigos were forced to boil outside in the intense heat del valle. There were only two people ahead of us in line...or so we thought. We stood there waiting for the line to move only realizing after about five minutes that the people had ordered already and had took it upon themselves to make the front of the line their own personal rest area. Upon this realization we began ordering. I COULD tell you what it was we ordered, but it's trivial, so I won't waste your time. After placing the orders the period of waiting began. It's very difficult to justify waiting 15 minutes outside in 100+ degree weather for a burger, but we did it anyway because we're stupid.
    After what felt like an eternity, the food finally arrived and we marched over to the poorly-maintained dining area. The one outstanding feature of the dining area was the shelter from the sun. There was a nice awning to hide under that kept us quasi-safe from the heat. We started talking about random stuff. How Brian was intending to ask someone to prom later that week and how I might have to talk Christina into going with him somehow if he was to be unsuccessful. We talked about Scoble's "advice" that he had given me the night before, which is far to disturbing to mention again here. Scoble seems to be very misinformed about a great deal of things, which wouldn't be such a problem if he didn't take his knowledge (or lack therof) and try to act authoritative about it. After this and some other "filler" conversation, we were ready to head back.
   For a special change of pace, we went "top-down" in my convertible back to school. On top of being fun, going top-down was a great attention grabber. However, it can just as easily attract undesired attention, which was nearly what happened twice. When turning off of Ventura on to some cross street to get to the freeway I was indecisive on whether or not to turn on to it right away, so I stayed on the left side of the right lane instead of banking right. After sitting for a second and realizing that I did indeed want to turn right, I moved over in a semi-legal manner only to notice a friendly motorcycle cop in my rear-view mirror as I fell into my position. As it stood, we were three teenagers in a red BMW convertible with the top down just having made a questionable maneuver and on top of that, my right turn signal was shattered as a result of an accident roughly two months ago. If that doesn't attract the wrong kind of attention, I don't know what does. Motorcycle cops exist for a sole purpose: to pull people over. That's it. There's no other practical reason to have a meagerly equipped guy on a bike. So I sat there waiting at the red light and realized that it was safe to turn. I informed Robert and Brian to keep looking ahead and not draw attention. While sitting in line for the freeway entrance with the cop still following, Robert suggested that I get out of the car and run. I can only assume he was kidding. I merged on to the freeway with the cop still behind me. As I continued to travel down the 101, the kind gentlemen decided to pass me over and accelerated ahead of me, and my stress was finally relieved.
    The second instand of unwanted attention almost occured upon our arrival back at school. Keep in mind that I was to be shot on sight if I returned back to school that day. I made it a point to come in the back entrance to school as to avoid any "disciplinary entanglements". I dropped Robert off in an inconspicuous spot, but Brian had to be dropped off right in the Senior parking lot. I was lucky enough to escape with my life that day because Dean Hauca was undoubtedly preoccupied with other disciplinary functions as I was able to drive through the center of school without consequence.
    I drove back home with the comfort of the wind blowing through my nappy hair and luckily, there was ample gasoline to get me through the journey. While I was sure that my dad had already discovered my disciplinary problem, I was still in the red in terms of being able to talk to him, so I again avoided confrontation for pretty much the remainder of the day. And again, I became increasingly thirsty in my seclusion in my room. No new supplies had been purchased this day for me to drink, so I was once again stuck with the same disgusting lack of choices as to what to endulge myself in. I began contemplating the moral imparative of returning to my dad's good side and what could really be done to do so. Stupid ideas that seemed reasonable at the time on how to go about making me dad talk to me again began running through my head. I considered the direct approach: going up to him and saying that I know that he got the call and just taking it from there. However, my inherantly wussy nature kept me from taking any action, so I just continued about my business in my room.
    By the time dinner came around, I had practically gone totally nutz from the lack of nourishment and from prodding myself about what I could do about talking to my dad. To my surprise, the dinner turned out to be pleasant and I was able to speak freely without any consequence about my day.
    After that, there was a whole lot of nothing and I went to bed only to rise Wednesday morning really....really...really tired. When I arrived in D block Physics once again, Kruse was not in attendance, so we spent the class effing around with the managerie of half-functional lab equipment strewn about the classroom. I spent a great deal of my time playing with a hand-powered generator and used it to momentarily light up a tiny light bulb. Afterwards, a glass stirring rod about ten inches in length caught my eye, so I promptly snatched it up. By this point in my life, I had already stolen one object of minimal value from the physics lab: a suction cup with a handle on it that I used for a short period of time to carry around my bowling ball until I got a proper bag. However, I had long since lost track of this device, so to replace it, I stole the glass rod. I justify stealing things from school because I know that it's my parents' obnoxiously high tuition that buys the stuff in the first place. I could tell that this was a very special rod. It was very clean and smooth and could be used to magnify things when held sideways. I started banging on my knee with it to the beat of the rhythm in my head, which was more than likely "My Heart Will Go On" by the acclaimed punk band TruFiction. The rest of the block progressed without anything interesting happening.
    Next on the agenda was Mr. Shaffer's religion class. I arrived there with my glass rod still in tact and immidiately whipped it out and started beating on my knee with it once again. This went on for about five minutes when tragedy struck: my treasured glass rod broke clean in half. I know from being a stupid, curious individual that when glass breaks, it's pieces are sharp, so I had to dispose of it. I looked around for a minute and then the only thing in my little area of the glass was a Bible which was stuck in the shelf. I grabbed the Bible, opened it up, shoved the two halfs of the rod into Mark Chapter 13, closed it back up and shoved in back into the shelf. I knew that some unsuspecting religious zealot would probably end up with the pieces falling all over themselves, but the consequences didn't concern me. I was tired and religion class was becoming boring, so I took a nap. A few minutes into this nap, I felt a sharp pain in my back, and I was too dazed to determine what was going on. It ended up being the girl behind me jabbing one of the Bibles from the shelf into my back between two of my ribs, and it hurt like the dickens. In my confusion I nearly elbowed her in the face for her offence, but I was somehow able to keep my composure. Had it been one of my friends, they would've most certainly have been punished to the full extent of the law. I can only assume that this whole incident was a direct result of me tampering with the word of God, and it was in fact the word of God that punished me for it in the end.
    Nothing more happened that day. The only thing that happened on Thursday of any importance except for Julianne and Liz showing up for a couple hours. We watched TV and then went to the park and chased bunnies, which was mildly amusing, but because of my edginess, it was tragically unfulfilling. It seemed as though even the most pleasant of activities could possibly shake me from my morbid state that was a result of a continually compiling series of misfortunate events. Friday involved an unusual amount of running around with Julianne to the various activities of people I don't really care about. Her younger brother Steve had to go to piano practice in Thousand Oaks and Liz (known to many as Shmiz) and I tagged along.
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