Evil Origins: A Horror & Dark Fantasy Collection (102 page)

The Blacker the Berry,
the More Annoying the Asshole

Nothing screams
“asshole” like the BlackBerry prayer (except someone screaming “asshole”). You
have seen this: two hands meeting around the black plastic, head down. This
could be the single most annoying, addictive piece of technology ever.

If you own a
BlackBerry, iPhone, or Android, I would like to suggest you mute the volume and
then shove it up your ass. If that does not work for you, I have a few other
suggestions.

According to an
article in the
Charlotte Observer
, Robert Half Management Resources
polled 150 senior executives about their opinions on using BlackBerrys in
meetings. Eighty-six percent said people they work with often check and respond
to email during meetings, and 31 percent said that the practice is “never OK.”
How necessary is it to glance at that screen during a meeting? How often do you
get an email or text message that needs your immediate attention?

From an article
on CrackBerry.com (yes, the site is real) come a few common-sense lifesavers
for those of you who cannot part with the device. Make sure the sound is off,
and keep it in your pants. The term “masturberry” is used to describe people
who pretend to be listening in a meeting or presentation but are really
fidgeting with their BlackBerrys. We know you are not listening, so quit
pretending you are while updating your Facebook status. (Facebook jumped the
shark a long time ago. If you are still infatuated with it, you are a loser.)

If you use a
Bluetooth headset, people are making fun of you. Even Captain Kirk looked like
an asshole when this shit was on
Star Trek
. (I don’t know if it ever was
on
Star Trek
, but it should have been.) In addition, if you whip out the
Berry in a social situation, people will hate you. Quit big-timing us and turn
the damn thing off while you are out at dinner or having drinks with friends.
Plus, it is simply rude to have your head down when you are supposed to be
conversing with real humans.

***

Conflict is
never fun (unless you play in the NFL, in which case it’s a job requirement).
Most of us are raised to avoid it, to deescalate, or acquiesce. Compliance is
the grease that keeps the wheels of society moving forward. However, it is too
easy to overlook the fact that significant change does not take place without
conflict. Numerous historical examples, such as the women’s suffrage movement
of the early twentieth century, the rising protests of the Vietnam War, and the
cultural relevance of “Pants on the Ground,” prove that it takes conflict to
evolve. If everyone sought conflict, the result would be anarchy. But if we
allow an identifiable contingent of our leaders, coworkers, and teachers to
push the edge of “acceptable,” we might find a loopback dynamic of change that
benefits everyone.

JUST DON’T DO IT
WITH ALL CAPS!

Wired

After
a life of crime as Tracy Marrow and before a long-running stint as 5-0 on
Law
and Order SVU
, Ice-T released
Home Invasion
in 1993. On one track,
the rapper grumbles, “Suck my motherfuckin’ dick.” I couldn’t think of a better
place to listen to this track than in an elementary school.

The
business manager of my school in the mid-‘90s was a unique character. Born and
bred in the Northeast and an enlightened member of the Good Ol’ Boys, Kevin had
a sick sense of humor. He loved beer, women, and pranks. If you have ever
gotten into a pissing contest with someone like this, you know that the stakes
escalate quickly.

I
had always been a closet techie and knew my way around the PC. The school was
an Apple shop, but the business office relied on Windows. Back in the day,
audio on the PC was a luxury and not something people expected. Getting a song
from a disc onto the computer was tantamount to the parting of the Red Sea. As
soon as the idea popped into my head, I knew I had to do it.

I
grabbed my copy of
Home Invasion
and slammed it into the 2X CD-ROM drive
on my Packard Ball 386. (I know what you’re thinking. That was one sexy PC. I
had a 250-MB hard drive. 250 MB, bitch!) I managed to save “suck my
motherfuckin’ dick” as a .wav file and copied it to a floppy disc (which was
really hard plastic). I took the disc with me to school like a pusher
concealing his stash.

Kevin’s
office was across the hall from the headmaster. I wish I could say this
factored into my plan, but it did not. Looking back on it, it could have cost
me my job, but I was too young to think more than a day ahead, anyway. I snuck
in after the maintenance staff had unlocked the offices but before Kevin had
arrived. I copied the heinous .wav file from the floppy disc to the system folder
on his C: drive. I went into the primitive control panel and chose the Ice-T
.wav file to play on startup. The final preparation was jacking the PC speakers
up to ten before sneaking out of the office. The entire operation took no more
than three minutes, and nobody was the wiser.

I
remember teaching the first few periods with a giddy stutter, like a tween
anticipating that virgin trip to the mall. I joked and laughed with my
colleagues, most of whom annoyed the shit out of me on normal days. I kept one
eye on the door, waiting for Kevin to come through the hall distraught by the
phantom voice ordering him to suck some dick. Motherfuckin’ dick, at that.

Morning
spilled into afternoon, and I had no sighting of Kevin. At this point, I
believe the first shadow of doubt descended on the day.

What
if the headmaster heard it and fired Kevin on the spot? He’s probably being
brought up on charges of lewd conduct, being grilled by the local police at
this very moment. . . 

These
thoughts worked their way into my head like a song from
Cats
. I taught
the rest of the day as a mindless automaton (more like a typical teacher), not
really thinking or caring. By three that afternoon, I could not take it
anymore. I had to visit Kevin.

When
I first saw him, I knew I had scored. He smiled his George Thorogood-esque
toothy grin and shook his head.

“I
knew it was you,” he said.

“How?”

“Who
else could it have been?”

“Tell
me about it,” I demanded.

The
Old Man of the Sea began to reel in his catch.

“Well,
I sat down at my computer after saying good morning to Daniel.”

“What
was the headmaster doing in his office so early?” I asked with a bit of
trepidation.

“Don’t
know. He usually doesn’t come in until nine.”

I
shook my head, feeling my heart speed up with a jagged lurch.

“Like
I was saying, I sat down at the computer and booted up.”

“Yeah?”

“I
almost dropped my coffee mug to the floor. I thought someone was under my desk.
By the time I heard ‘dick,’ I realized it came from the computer speakers. I
shut the thing down and restarted it.”

“And
you heard it again, right?” I asked.

Kevin
was setting me up better than an Ali rope-a-dope.

“Oh
yeah, I heard it again. For some reason, I looked up after an unknown black man
instructed me to suck him off, and that was when I realized Daniel had been
standing there the entire time.”

When
you hear people say, “The blood drained from his face,” it’s hard to imagine
how that feels. I no longer had to. My school lunch of mini-hotdogs and smiley
fries tumbled into my small intestine, forcing me to keep it in check. Kevin
saw my expression and went in for the kill.

“Holy
shit, man,” was the only phrase I could force over my trembling blue lips.

“He
asked me if I did that, and I told him I had no idea where the disgusting line
came from.”

I
sat still, unable to breathe.

“Daniel
said that he thought he knew who might be behind it.”

“Did
you tell him I did it?”

“No,
of course not. I like you, man. Don’t want you to get fired and then
blacklisted from teaching.”

I
am not sure if that is the exact line Kevin used, but it was something to that
effect and a stroke of pure, evil genius.

“Thanks,
brother. Thanks. Shit, man. I don’t, I don’t,” I stumbled.

Kevin
did a masterful job of holding it in.

“I’m
sure it’ll be OK. He probably can’t prove it was you.”

If
there was any doubt in Kevin’s mind as to whether or not it was me, he was
about to get confirmation. Brilliant statement, absolutely brilliant.

“As
long as nobody saw me come in here, I don’t think he can prove it was me. They
wouldn’t dust the keyboard for prints or something like that, would they?”

“No,”
Kevin replied. “I doubt it. As long as a kid didn’t hear that and then tell his
mom, it probably won’t be more than a temporary suspension without pay.”

As
Neil Young would say, the needle and the damage done. I was officially scared
shitless.

“If
you hear anything, you’ll tell me, right?” I asked, on the verge of shitting
myself in order to be shitless.

“Of
course,” Kevin said, fighting the urge to bust out on me.

I
scuttled from his office and immediately began to plan my defense. I would say
that I copied the wrong song from the CD, that I hadn’t intended to use the
vulgar line.

Of
course it was an accident,
I
rehearsed in my head.
I’m a teacher and would never do something like that
intentionally.

I
cannot remember what I did that night, but I am sure it involved lots of panic
attacks and heavy drinking.

The
next morning, I walked to the mailboxes and saw my own doom when the piece of
paper sticking out of mine had “From the Office of the Headmaster” stamped on
the top. In a hastily scribbled hand, the note said, “J.—We need to talk
TODAY.”

I
ran to the headmaster’s secretary and secured the earliest appointment
possible. If I was going to hang, I wanted to get it over with as quickly as
possible. Returning twenty minutes later, the secretary escorted me into the
office where the headmaster sat at his desk.

“Please,
sit down,” he said with the dignity and power of a man conditioned to using it
on adolescents.

I
folded my hands across my lap and stared up at the Harvard diploma hanging
above a faux fireplace. Every good headmaster’s office has one (faux fireplace
and
Harvard diploma, in case you were wondering).

“Whenja
getit?”

Nice.
That was the best slurry I could force out of my mouth while pointing at the wall.
Daniel paused and raised his eyebrows. I thought he looked a bit jovial for
what was about to take place, but you never know.

“Do
you know,” he began with a pause long enough to make me want to crap my pants,
“the rapper, Ice-T?”

I
think I may have giggled and then shuffled my feet on the beige plush
carpeting. Things from this point on are a little fuzzy in my memory.

“Yeah.”

“Are
you a fan of his?”

If
Daniel could have seen my CD collection (it’s just like a playlist on your
iPod, except each band has its own shiny circle, and each circle has multiple
songs on it. It comes with lyrics and artwork, and many CDs in a cardboard box
makes moving a bitch) he would have been aghast that Ice-T was considered adult
contemporary compared to the other jewel cases on the shelf.

“I’ve
listened to his stuff.”

“The
recording that asks the listener if he would like to ‘suck my motherfuckin’
dick’?”

I
heard Kevin’s snort before I could process what the headmaster of this
traditional, conservative, Northeastern day school had said. My head turned
like an owl sniffing a mouse, and our eyes met. Kevin had two tears running
down his face and seemed to be holding his belly laugh in with two hands. I
spun back to the headmaster, who had an index card covering his mouth while his
eyes squinted.

“Oh,
you asshole,” I murmured as both men let loose, slapping each other on the back
and pointing at me between gulps for air.

Although
I was the mark, I must declare this to be the
best reverse prank—ever.

***

Teachers fight
the use of technology because students always know more. This paradigm of
learning baffles educators who see themselves as the repository of all
information. They refuse to let go of the reins and give students the necessary
opportunity to explore the new tools.

Socrates once
said, “A multitude of books distracts the mind.” To put this perspective in
modern terms, a teacher today might say, “A multitude of websites distracts the
mind.” Resistance to change is nothing new in the world of education. In 1991,
Kenneth Hoffman wrote a piece for the Eugene
Register-Guard
in which he
defended the use of calculators as an educational tool.