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Jul. 25th, 2001
I can't believe I found this!
Jul. 25th, 2001 01:47 pmI wrote this my junior year of high school, which makes it... um... either '97 or '98. The first 1.5 sentences belong to Bill Watterson. I just felt like picking up where Calvin left off.
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"After School At My House"
It's not that I mind being chained up in the basement.
It's just that when the meat is thrown down, the rats have the advantage of numbers, and they quickly overpower me and run off with my meal.
Seriously though, it's not that bad in the basement. It's pretty peaceful... if you ignore the constant dripping from the water pipes and the rustling noises as the rats tear my homework apart to make their nests.
If I'm lucky, mom will throw down a candle and matches so I can go to sleep without the rats nibbling my toes every time I drift off. The light scares them away. Of course, she often throws down used matches as a joke. Then I have to content myself with using them as projectiles. I can hit a scampering rat from 50 paces.
It's rather boring in the basement, so I have taught myself how to speak Swahili from an old book I found. Really. You'd be surprised at what you'd find in my basement. I once found the complete skeleton of a baby brontosaurus behind the dryer. It wanted to know the way to Alcatraz.
It's been a while since I went outside. Thanksgiving weekend was a while ago, but I haven't gone back to school since then. I've just been sitting here composing odes to my feet. Mom hasn't tossed me anything for a couple of days. And I have heard nothing from upstairs.
I think my parents left.
This wouldn't be so bad ordinarily. Last year my parents left me chained up in the basement for a week while they went to the Bahamas. I survived quite well by catching rats and sucking water from the pipes that drip.
However, right now it is December and the pipes are frozen.
In addition, the rat population has learned to avoid me when I am awake.
I have been in tight situations before, but I have always gotten out of them.
I'll get out of this one too.
I'm studying a book on Houdini that I found under the lawn mower.
I'll be ready soon.
I am planning my escape.
If I can just dislocate my ankles enough to slip through the chains, I'll be free.
I can hardly wait to see the sun again.
I'll be free soon.
Wait a minute, there's a rat...
(splat!)
Got 'im!
-------------
"After School At My House"
It's not that I mind being chained up in the basement.
It's just that when the meat is thrown down, the rats have the advantage of numbers, and they quickly overpower me and run off with my meal.
Seriously though, it's not that bad in the basement. It's pretty peaceful... if you ignore the constant dripping from the water pipes and the rustling noises as the rats tear my homework apart to make their nests.
If I'm lucky, mom will throw down a candle and matches so I can go to sleep without the rats nibbling my toes every time I drift off. The light scares them away. Of course, she often throws down used matches as a joke. Then I have to content myself with using them as projectiles. I can hit a scampering rat from 50 paces.
It's rather boring in the basement, so I have taught myself how to speak Swahili from an old book I found. Really. You'd be surprised at what you'd find in my basement. I once found the complete skeleton of a baby brontosaurus behind the dryer. It wanted to know the way to Alcatraz.
It's been a while since I went outside. Thanksgiving weekend was a while ago, but I haven't gone back to school since then. I've just been sitting here composing odes to my feet. Mom hasn't tossed me anything for a couple of days. And I have heard nothing from upstairs.
I think my parents left.
This wouldn't be so bad ordinarily. Last year my parents left me chained up in the basement for a week while they went to the Bahamas. I survived quite well by catching rats and sucking water from the pipes that drip.
However, right now it is December and the pipes are frozen.
In addition, the rat population has learned to avoid me when I am awake.
I have been in tight situations before, but I have always gotten out of them.
I'll get out of this one too.
I'm studying a book on Houdini that I found under the lawn mower.
I'll be ready soon.
I am planning my escape.
If I can just dislocate my ankles enough to slip through the chains, I'll be free.
I can hardly wait to see the sun again.
I'll be free soon.
Wait a minute, there's a rat...
(splat!)
Got 'im!
Nothing like some nice humiliation to really get your day going.
Mom had called GE or SCE (Southern California Edison; power people) or someone to haul away our old fridge, but she had to go, so I was supposed to handle whatever handling was needed, being the only other adult in the house. Of course, since I had NO IDEA what might be expected of me -- would I have to sign agreement thingies? Would I have to argue with the people over whether the fridge was close enough to working to be eligible for the $35 dollar offer thingie? Would I have to know things like its serial number and how old it was, which none of us know since it's secondhand? I HAD NO CLUE, and I don't LIKE not knowing what's going to be expected of me, especially when I have to deal with people. I'm scared of people.
So about an hour ago now my brother got a call that they would be here in "ten to fifteen minutes". Half an hour or so later they showed up -- nice of them to take longer and give me more time to get worked up and worried! The boy opened my door to tell me that the people were here (he didn't knock, NOBODY EVER KNOCKS), and then had the gall to say "It's a good thing you put on pants!" Yes, Jeff, thank you for making me sound like a perverted freak in front of strangers. I'm not a sicko. I'm just usually too lazy to change out of my nightclothes. But try telling absolute strangers that.
So I walk up to the guy from GE or SCE or what the hell ever, and he just sort of looks at me, as if I'm supposed to get the situation going! I don't even know what's going on, mister, you're the one who does this as a job, YOU tell ME what happens next! So I say something like "um, I'm apparently the resident adult here", and he asks me for ID. And as I'm walking back to my room I'm thinking oh crap. The DMV took my old ID and I haven't gotten my new one yet. Truly brilliant system. Take my ID, I don't get the new one for two weeks minimum, and if I need to prove my identity in the meantime? OOPS!
I checked the receipt I'd gotten anyway, but of course it didn't give any identification details. Stupid DMV. So then I had to go back and tell the guy that I didn't have my ID, and then -- RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME -- he took out his phone and informed someone that there were no adults here, only children! UM, HELLO! A PIECE OF PLASTIC DOES NOT MAKE ME OLDER!!!
And then he told me to reschedule, and left. Thus, all the worrying I went through over what I'd have to do, all the stress of having to deal with people I didn't know who would want me to sign forms or make decisions or whatever, all that... was wasted. Worthless. We're gonna have to reschedule and if I have my ID by that time then I will have to go through it all over again.
Sometimes I hate being me. NOBODY I know would get frustrated and angry enough to cry after something this meaningless. NOBODY. Only stupid old me.
Mom had called GE or SCE (Southern California Edison; power people) or someone to haul away our old fridge, but she had to go, so I was supposed to handle whatever handling was needed, being the only other adult in the house. Of course, since I had NO IDEA what might be expected of me -- would I have to sign agreement thingies? Would I have to argue with the people over whether the fridge was close enough to working to be eligible for the $35 dollar offer thingie? Would I have to know things like its serial number and how old it was, which none of us know since it's secondhand? I HAD NO CLUE, and I don't LIKE not knowing what's going to be expected of me, especially when I have to deal with people. I'm scared of people.
So about an hour ago now my brother got a call that they would be here in "ten to fifteen minutes". Half an hour or so later they showed up -- nice of them to take longer and give me more time to get worked up and worried! The boy opened my door to tell me that the people were here (he didn't knock, NOBODY EVER KNOCKS), and then had the gall to say "It's a good thing you put on pants!" Yes, Jeff, thank you for making me sound like a perverted freak in front of strangers. I'm not a sicko. I'm just usually too lazy to change out of my nightclothes. But try telling absolute strangers that.
So I walk up to the guy from GE or SCE or what the hell ever, and he just sort of looks at me, as if I'm supposed to get the situation going! I don't even know what's going on, mister, you're the one who does this as a job, YOU tell ME what happens next! So I say something like "um, I'm apparently the resident adult here", and he asks me for ID. And as I'm walking back to my room I'm thinking oh crap. The DMV took my old ID and I haven't gotten my new one yet. Truly brilliant system. Take my ID, I don't get the new one for two weeks minimum, and if I need to prove my identity in the meantime? OOPS!
I checked the receipt I'd gotten anyway, but of course it didn't give any identification details. Stupid DMV. So then I had to go back and tell the guy that I didn't have my ID, and then -- RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME -- he took out his phone and informed someone that there were no adults here, only children! UM, HELLO! A PIECE OF PLASTIC DOES NOT MAKE ME OLDER!!!
And then he told me to reschedule, and left. Thus, all the worrying I went through over what I'd have to do, all the stress of having to deal with people I didn't know who would want me to sign forms or make decisions or whatever, all that... was wasted. Worthless. We're gonna have to reschedule and if I have my ID by that time then I will have to go through it all over again.
Sometimes I hate being me. NOBODY I know would get frustrated and angry enough to cry after something this meaningless. NOBODY. Only stupid old me.
(no subject)
Jul. 25th, 2001 09:14 pmMom just got home about seven or eight minutes ago now, and predictably, the very first thing she did was get angry that the fridge was still here. And she's still angry. And yelling. And occasionally screaming profanities. And she hasn't even gotten around to coming in here and yelling at me, the person at "fault", yet. That's when the fireworks will REALLY start flying.
Please kill me.
Please kill me.