Episodes in Bullying #2

     Remember that one story I already shared from 5th grade? The time I threw that kid's shoe across the playground and into the sandbox? I don't know if you consider that bullying. If you do, then that's the story that would go here. But I don't think giving a kid what he deserves counts as bullying, so I don't count it myself. Although I may not have realized it at the time, though, this next case has gotta be considered bullying (... I think).

     In my 5th grade class, the general punishment was writing lines. Y'know like in the intro. to the Simpsons, how Bart is standing at the chalkboard writing the same sentence, over and over again? It was like that, except on paper (lol thank God, 'cause our arms would have been damn exhausted if we had to raise 'em up all the time to write). I can't remember what I had done that day to deserve it, but I did something or other that got me lines. The worst part about the punishment wasn't really the punishment itself - anybody with an ounce of patience and a motivated attitude could bang out a couple hundred lines no problem, even if it took awhile. The issue was the timing; writing didn't take place after school. 

     It took place during your breaks and lunch, and you weren't free until you finished 'em. Even if you were a great student and finished up your work early, you couldn't even start on those damn lines 'til break/lunch started.

     Do something stupid in the morning? Miss your break. 

     Write slowly? There goes your lunch too. 

     And if you thought you could only be punished for one day per transgression? Wrong. Instead of having some sort of amnesty policy that would let students off the hook after a full day's worth of missed fun, you were just responsible for taking care of those lines. Sooner or later didn't really matter to the teacher, because if you wanted to dick around, you were just screwing yourself at that point. I guess that also prevented kids from being assholes at the end of the day - who the hell wants to end their day with the knowledge that they've got to waste time the following day with lines?

     So one morning, I was looking at missing recess to write lines. Fortunately, I had a loyal group (or was it just a pair? I don't remember) of friends that would have enjoyed recess much more with my presence. Another thing going for me was that these dudes could write fast. So, what did we do? As soon as break started, we whipped out the papers and pencils and got down to business. We scrawled those lines as fast as we could. The number of lines originally meant for just me was taken care of in a matter of minutes by the 3 (or more) of us, and soon I gathered all our papers and turned in my lines. Cue our exit from that prison-like atmosphere and into 10-15 minutes of great, childish fun.

     After recess, we went back to class to a stunning announcement: from now on, people had to write their own lines.

........................................forREALS? This was no coincidence (obviously), and I was absolutely seething. Sure, all my teacher did was close a loophole I had exploited, but try explaining that to my 5th-grade self. All I felt at the time was that something I had used to beat the system was taken away from me - and I was furious. Before lunch, someone in class told me that I had been snitched on. And by who? Well... let's just call him Derek.
     He was probably the tallest kid in class, pretty lanky. Really strong values (...obviously). Not Mr. Congeniality, but he wasn't an outcast, or picked his nose all the time, or smelled like poop (and before you ask. Yes. I did go to school with a kid who smelled like shit on a regular basis). He just happened to set me off.
     With my information, I finally had a target for my frustration (and trust me, there was a lot). Looking back at it, whoever the hell told me it was Derek could have been giving me false information, but I guess because of my rage (or, more likely, youth), I never even considered it. Sucks for that guy, but I was out for blood (...not literally).
     When lunch rolled around, I gathered a group of friends and we went in search of Derek. Y'know how people are very tribal?? The mob we formed was very reflective of that - all that was missing were some pitchforks and torches, lol. Anyways, we found him on the kickball diamond, just hanging out by himself. My memory isn't the clearest on this (maybe part of me wants to forget that I could be so mean...), so the following might not be completely accurate.
     As we approached Derek, he didn't make any attempt to get away from us. We circled him anyways. I'm positive we engaged in some sort of conversation, but I can't remember what was said. I probably said something really cliche for a childhood bully. "You know why I'm here?" "You think it was a good idea to snitch on me? Does that still seem like a good idea to you??" Probably something brief and really just a formality - I don't think anything we said was going to change what happened next.
     I end up having 2 of my friends pin his arms behind his back. After our brief conversation, I punched Derek in the stomach. He doubled over, and that was that. We let him go and just walked away. And... that was that. I got a visit to the principal's office and a call home for it, but that was all.
     So there you have it - my 2nd experience in a bullying scenario, and 1st as the bully. It's really interesting to reflect on it, for a couple reasons. One because I don't remember it too well, two because I feel like time and experience has really detached me from it.
     I guess the detachment is the most interesting part about it. I don't think I'd ever do such a thing again, obviously (and besides... I'd also need 2 accomplices, lol). Not only that, but I can't even imagine the mindset I would have to be in to want to lay my hands on someone. Over the past few years, I've noticed that my tendency when I'm upset is to be really sad and disappointed - it's kind of hard for violence to make its way into that. Although I think it's worth mentioning that detachment also applies to many of my past experiences, so maybe it's just part of something greater going on.
     Whatever the case, I hope you enjoyed reading!

Episodes in Bullying #1

     Y'know, without really realizing it until after a good number of years, I've been involved in a LOT of bullying - both as bully and bullied. The first time I was ever bullied happened so long ago that this blog is going to come out really short (because I don't remember it very well). That's okay, though, because I haven't written in a while and I just want to try and get back into it.
     Whenever I tell someone I used to be a bully, they're typically nonplussed. I'm not certain why, because I consider myself a pretty nice guy. And wouldn't you be surprised if a pretty nice guy used to be a bully? I guess it's because I tease/make fun of people a lot... but still. I guess I'm still coming to terms with people's perception of me.
     Anyways, my first participation in an act of bullying was on the wrong end. If you're part of the school of thought that bullies are bullies because they've been bullied...well, then, this must've been the start to my bullying future.
     I was just hanging out after school one day, waiting for my parents to pick me up. One by one, my classmates began to leave me. My parents must've been awfully busy that day, because even after my classmates' departure, I was left standing around and kickin rocks while the rest of the kids at school left too. After what felt like forever (but was probably just 15-20 minutes, y'know how that can feel like forever to a kid), it was just me.
     But this wouldn't be a story without anyone else in it, right? While the number of kids around me dwindled, I noticed Jay in my periphery. I didn't really get along with the guy, so even as the rest of my classmates left I kept a good distance between the two of us. By the time everyone else was gone, though, there was just the two of us.
     I'm not really certain how it happened, but before I know it, Jay's standing next to me and we're making some small talk. Basically he was trying to engage me and I was being curt with him. At some point, he got his hands on my backpack. I can't remember if he had asked for it and I had (foolishly) given it to him, or if I just had it off and he picked it up from the ground. Whatever the case, he now had possession of my backpack.
     In Kindergarten, I had a 101 Dalmatians-themed backpack. Y'know, buncha puppies are captured to be made into dog-skin fur coats and a bunch of other dogs team up to find them and bring them home. Lovely movie - and I certainly loved that little red and white backpack with a few of the dogs from the movie on it. It was precious, honestly.
     So he's got my cherished backpack in hand at this point, and I don't remember what happens next. Did I go the "Hey! Give that back!" route? Did he tease me while playing keep away? Violence never occurred to me, and even if it did Jay was about 3 times my size (...like, literally. He was probably triple my width.) and could have whooped my ass. What I DO remember is that he tossed my backpack in the middle of the street. Like, without any type of provocation. Just because he could. Dick move, right?
     Anyways, he starts hooting and guffawing at my expense while I walk out on the street to go get my backpack. I didn't cry then, and I'm pretty sure I didn't cry when I told my mom what happened. I just had a great sense of exasperation - like why the FUCK would someone do that?? I didn't even do anything! I didn't even wanna TALK to the fuckin' guy! He walked over to ME.
     Anyways, you could see why this would frustrate a 5 year old without a strong grasp on the (un)fairness of life at the time. Heck, I still don't quite get it now. But to stop myself from going off the topic, there you have it: my first encounter as the victim of a bully. It sucked ass, I didn't like it, and it definitely left me feeling like Jackie.

   

The Race

     In high school, I played on the football team. My position was as a lineman - for those of you unfamiliar, they're generally the biggest (read: tallest & heaviest) dudes on the field at any given time. Not that I was very tall (I can't say the same about not being heavy, lol), I just got lumped into the position. Anyways, linemen are typically (read: always) the slowest guys on the team. Any receiver, quarterback, and your average turtle could outrun a lineman.

     Slow as we are, though, even within the positional group there is differentiation. I.e. there are the slow, the slower, and the slowest linemen. I was definitely in the "slow" group (read: faster than the rest of the fatties). On the other end of the spectrum was a fellow named Derek. His real name is a lot more distinct (it's an ethnic name), but I think Derek will be my go-to cover-up name for the antagonists in my stories. I hate that guy (LOL jk...kind of...) Anyways, the closest animal I could relate Derek to is an ox. This guy was huge (especially at my high school full of Asians, where there weren't that many people taller than 6'). Anywhere from 6'-6'2", at least 230 pounds (and it wasn't all fat, either). I remember standing on the sidelines at one of our games against Independence where he picked up and body slammed this running back that looked like a child compared to him. It was pretty rad, to be honest.

     Anyways, there's more to the ox comparison than just his awesome strength: the dude is slow. I'm not talking just ox slow. I'm talking tortoise slow. I'm talking snail slow. By the time I took my baby steps I probably could have beat him (at the age of 18) in a race. It didn't help his sluggish reputation that his reflexes were awful as well; Derek was slow as hell already without giving everyone else a head start. Needless to say, he was easily the slowest guy on the team.
     Moving on, I happened to be the TA for Derek's physics class. As I strolled through the class one morning, I said something about his speed (or lack thereof) and how he was the slowest guy on the team. I'm not sure if he believed it or not, but y'know what this guy says?
     "No I'm not."
     I don't usually open my mouth about something unless I'm pretty confident, so before I could even give it any thought I shot back (albeit somewhat hesitantly):
     "Uhhh... yes you are."
     "No I'm not. There's someone else that's slower than me."
     The weird part of this conversation is that, for a very short period of time, my mind actually ran through the possibilities. It was senior year, and I'd been on the team since I was a freshman (Derek had only joined the team recently). I knew everyone pretty well after 4 years, and could name the slowest guys in a heartbeat. No one came close to Derek, in terms of slowness. Not one single guy, I was certain of it (or at least, I thought I was certain). But if I were to believe Derek, he was making the claim that somewhere on our roster lay someone that moved so glacially that even Derek could outpace him?? ...
     "Well, who is??"
     I mean, if the guy had a feasible answer, maybe I'd end up feeling the fool after all. I didn't really know what to expect. How could he know the team better than me?
     "You are."
     His response was literally jaw-dropping. As in, I stared at him with an open mouth and this dumb look on my face (y'know, the one where you squint at someone in disbelief?). But my surprise was brief. I asked, "Are you kidding me?" while I guffawed at his dumbass response. Was he joking? Was he serious? Did he even believe himself? Now, anybody who knows me knows my laugh. It is rather hearty, to say the least. Amidst my booming laughter, he chips in:
     "Nope. You're slower than me."
     If he was a funny guy, I would've thought he was just deadpanning, playing it real well. But he wasn't being funny - he was being dead serious. That snapped me out of my laughter and into a pretty aggressive mode.
     "Derek. Do you even know what you're talking about? I might be literally 2 times as fast as you."
     "No you're not, man. I'm faster than you."
     So, being teenage males of the prideful sort, we made a bet to race a hundred meters (the straight part of a track). Since I felt in my heart that he was the underdog by a long shot, I offered to let him set the stakes.
     "Alright, loser has to shave their head."
     If you didn't already know this about me, I have a strong affinity for my hair. I've never styled it in a particular way or even looked at it in the mirror much. It's pretty distinct, it grows in a funny way, but mostly I just like it. and I hate cutting it. At this point it was probably 4-6 inches long (which is short compared to now, but that was still longer than most men's hair and I was loathe to part with it).
     His hair, on the other hand? Maybe an inch long. He already kept his hair so short that shaving it wouldn't even mean a damn thing. whereas I would be losing many months of growth. Lame, right?
     Well, still thinking I had the advantage, I agreed. A feeling of trepidation began to creep into my psyche at the prospect of having to lose my hair, but whatever. We struck the bet and decided that the race would take place that very day after school let out.
     At break or lunch, whichever, I found my good friend Jordan to tell him about the race. Also, I'm not changing his name because I don't need to. He's the guy who has been commenting stickers on everything on Facebook for the past week or so.
     Anyways, I tell him about the race and he suggests we use the razor he's used to trim his pubes. Without any other options I kind of just went along with it without consulting Derek. I mean, I thought I was going to win the race anyways, why would it matter to me, right? And if I lost... well, that's karma for you. Or for me, rather. So throughout the rest of the day, word spread about the race (if I ever had a hype man, his name was Jordan Epperson).
     By the time we got out of class, my sense of anticipation was running pretty high - I was ready to run all over Derek, but the prospect of losing my hair to some pube trimmers played in my mind as well. An errant trip or other minor mishap could easily spell my doom. Whatever, though. Nothing I could do about it at this point.
     Quick aside: before making my way down to the track, I hit the locker room to change. Ran into the basketball coach/PE teacher in his office who says:
     "Oh cool, are you guys doing that right now? I gotta see this."
     After some walking "Hey, loser doesn't get kicked in the balls or anything, right? 'cause I can't be there for that." LOL (and I reassured him that no, no ball-kicking was happening that day).
     Moving on, we get down to the track and there's maybe 20-30 people gathered around to witness the spectacle. I don't really remember much at this time, I think my adrenaline was getting going and my mind was zoning. We probably went over the ground rules, maybe warmed up a little bit, but before you know it, there we were: side-by-side at one end of the track, waiting for the customary "Ready, set, go!", with someone manning a camera at the finish line.
     I already told you guys about his slow reflexes, so I was expecting to be ahead of Derek every step of the way. Whether it was because he wasn't as slow as I thought or because my nerves were shot, we got off to the same start. Not only that, but I distinctly remember being absolutely astonished as he matched me step for step. Alas, we were only to remain in sync for the first 3 steps.
     Whereas I continued to pick up steam, he did not (or at least, not nearly as fast). After those 3 steps, I took off like a rocket (well...relatively, of course) and could tell that I was leaving him in the dust. I ran into the finish line with my arms up, relieved that the result was exactly what I thought it would be (even though I was surprised at the outset of the race). & with that, the razor came out and the shaving commenced. and that's how I won the most thrilling race of my life.

Chicken? Not this guy

     This story's really short, but not short enough to fit into a status...so I opted to just share it here. 

     My whole life, I've been pretty athletic. I'm not talking award-winning, eye-popping feats of the body or anything like that, but just enough to not embarrass myself whenever I engaged in sporty endeavors. In elementary school, this included the game "Chicken." 

     For those of you who aren't familiar (where were you in elementary school? living under a rock?), 2 kids start out on opposite ends of the monkey bars. You go towards the middle, and when you reach the other kid, you kick them so that they drop to the tanbark before you do. I mean... I guess you could've also punched and or bit, but those aren't really tactically sound considering you'd have to take your hand off the bars or risk getting your face kicked in...

     Anyways, one day in either 4th or 5th grade (I think it was 5th grade), I was getting set to go across the monkey bars during recess. I noticed there was someone at the other end, let's just call him Derek (but that's not his real name, and no this is not about Derek Lui LOL). 

     Before I continue, let me tell you a little bit about Derek. He's an alright guy, as far as kids go. He's actually fairly nondescript - nice and not noticeably smart or noticeably stupid. No major characteristics to make him very likable - not witty, or outgoing, or whatever else it is that kids like. But his one major failing was pretty significant - this kid was a goddamn crybaby. I mean, anything that could be even slightly construed as offensive would get him going. Basically, this kid was looking for any and every excuse to shed some tears. It certainly annoyed the hell outta me and definitely hurt his social standing. To make matters worse, he wasn't very athletic, so it's not like he spent much time playing tag or basketball with the rest of us. He was pretty much a loner.

     So I see him across from me on the monkey bars, and I make it clear that I'm not trying to play Chicken. I'm not really in the mood for such a confrontation, plus I know I'm much better at this game than he is. He should be grateful I'm not forcing him to play (read: lose) against me. I know it and he knows it, so he agrees that we'll just make our way across the monkey bars in peace. I start making my way out, bar after bar. When we meet at about the midpoint, I'm maneuvering to turn myself 90 degrees so I can get past him without any contact. It's at this point that he decides to wrap his legs around me and yank me off the bars, laughing his ass off as he does so.

My thoughts as I dropped to the ground:

•      ...are you kidding me? 
• Have you no sense of gratitude? 
• I mean jesus christ, Derek. I coulda kicked the crap outta you if I wanted to, but I didn't. 
• We even agreed BEFOREHAND not to engage. Why the shenanigans, buddy?? 
• Uggghhhh. 
• Why must you do this?!
•  I don't want to be an asshole, but you're making it really difficult on me right now. 

     ...and then I hit the tanbark. If you can't tell, I wasn't amused at all. What could I do? Pull him down? I mean there was no point, considering I'd already been dropped. Not to mention that he was fat, so it wasn't really worth the labor. Maybe treat him to a dick punch? Tempting, but not something that occurred to me at the time. 

     Fortunately for me, while I was standing there fuming, I noticed that one of his shoes had dropped from his foot in the course of his dastardly betrayal of our agreement. I picked it up, and he stopped laughing. This was, once again, my opportunity to act as the purveyor of karma's immediate retribution - and I wouldn't fail.

     "Hey, give that back!"

     I don't know if he meant it, or if we were already at the point where both of us knew what was going down, but there was no way in hell I was just going to hand this scumbag back his shoe. They say to treat others as you'd like to be treated, and this kid just treated me like a real asshole - so I treated him right back.

     "Go get it," I told him, chucking that shoe with all my might. It flew out of the tanbark box, across some dirt, and landed in the sandbox. If that's how he wanted to play at recess, he could hop his ass one-legged across the way to get his shoe back. I didn't really give a damn if he was capable of it, or if he had to get his sock dirty by walking across the tanbark, dirt, and sand. 

     Revenge firmly in hand, I stood in place to watch his pitiful reaction. He released his grip on the bars, landing on the foot still housed by a shoe. He slowly began to hop his way towards his shoe in a really dejected manner - shoulders slumped, downcast facial expression. But before he got there, he stopped at the edge of the tanbark box and sat down. And do you know what this motherfucker did next? Do you remember his one major failing??

     Yep. Instead of taking what he got like a man, he turned on the water works. Before you know it, a crowd of students have circled him and are asking him what's wrong. Without even saying a word - PROBABLY 'CAUSE HE WOULD'VE LAUGHED OR SMILED, GIVING AWAY HIS ACTING JOB AS A VICTIM - he pointed at me as his sobs continued. And this one girl - really nice girl, I've known her all my life and I can say she's got a heart of gold - goes "What's WRONG with you, Minh?!" Even filled by righteous anger, I felt pretty awful when she said that. But the deed was done, and I obviously couldn't explain away my actions, so I just walked away, really exasperated at how I kept getting the short end of the stick in the span of just a few minutes -_-. 

     I could say something about how being spiteful just ends up screwing you over, or how I would have been better off just taking the high road in that situation. But I'd be lying to you if I said that. Throwing that shoe gave me tons of satisfaction and a story I still enjoy. Don't get me wrong - I know it was wrong, but I mean... does that mean you and I can't get a kick out of it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯?? 

The Illusion of Progress

     Although I don't have a very active presence on social media, having a FB and IG account still allows me to see the things you all post - a snapshot into your day at work, some thoughts you might have, and/or some interesting event or other, sometimes accompanied by photos. One type of post that really sticks out to me is what I'll call the "Obstacle(s)-Overcome" post. They can take many forms - a quote, a rant, a picture with some inspiring words - but the main feature of an OO post, as I will refer to them from here on out, is that the author has overcome some obstacle or other.
     After perusing my news feed, I have now concluded that these posts exist largely on Instagram. Or that people don't post these things in the morning. Or that only a handful of people post them, none of whom are currently active. Whatever the reason, I couldn't find any at the time I'm writing this, but thankfully they aren't necessary to my writing - they just help illustrate what I'm referring to.
     Getting back to the matter, what interests me about these posts is that they always illustrate some strength or other. Sometimes it's the strength to move past trauma, sometimes it's the strength to be independent, and still others it is the strength to go to work. Whatever the case, the point is to show progress. The idea that you are better than you were before.
     Let me take a second to give you an idea of my sense of competition. One time in elementary school, I think it was 5th grade but I'm not sure, I was playing some steal the bacon. The other team was stacked - the teacher somehow put all the goddamn athletic kids on one team. And in elementary school I wasn't fat & athletic yet - just fat. I was still competitive, though, and was winning my battles. My teammates, on the other hand, were not. It was driving me off the wall to the point where I might have even been turning red in the face. I mean don't ask,  because I can't even tell you why, but for some reason I was treating that game like my personal Super Bowl. I needed to win, but my shittier-than-shit teammates weren't helping. And I was not shy about getting in their ear about it. I was running my mouth up until the point when a handful of girls grouped up to yell at me. I mean, they literally formed a huddle, counted to 3 or some shit, and yelled, in unison, "MINH! IT'S JUST A GAME!" Hahahah, boy was I a fuckin' asshole.
     Anyways, the point of the story is that I get it. I get the need for triumph. The need to be better - and the glorious feeling that comes with. However, these OO-posts are interesting in that they recur fairly frequently and from the same people. This led me to think about how we consider progress - defined by Google as "forward or onward movement towards a destination."
     I'm gonna use math in my analogy, but don't sweat it - it's really basic and easy-to-understand. Let's pretend we're learning math, and we start with 1+1. Then you move on to 1+2, then 1+3, and so on and so forth. Before you know it, 1081953 + 92041 is easily calculated - you've come a long way from 1+1. Imagine if your teacher set you a problem - 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 + 7 & that you don't know how to multiply. So to solve, you're just counting. Starting with 7, and adding 10 more 7's. Of course, given some time, you work it out and end up with 77. But if you knew how to multiply, you would have come up with 77 much faster. In this situation, I gave you two ways to solve the problem; one is much faster than the other. Of course it's fine to use addition - it gets you to the same spot, just slower.
     I just want to point out the fact that even though you may feel successful or like you've made progress, the truth is that ...well, you might still be doing addition. And like I said before, that's okay too. I just wanted to bring to light the fact that that progress you hold so dear might not be progress at all. & when you feel burdened or things aren't going quite right - you might just need a fresh (read: different) approach to life.

Life Lessons Derived From Card Games (Rule #2)

Rule #2: The material world is zero-sum.
     I'm not sure if these are lessons or observations... maybe they're interchangeable for the purpose of this series, but I just wanted to throw that out there. Anyways, hope you find this illuminating!
     When I win money playing poker, someone else is, by necessity, losing money. There's no two ways around it: my gain is made possible by someone else's loss.
     There's no anecdote for this - literally every time I win a hand at poker, someone else loses. This applies to most, if not all, forms of competition. Basketball, football, golf, spelling bees, and so on and so forth. If it produces a winner, then it also produces a loser (oftentimes, many losers).
     Similarly, when we consume (in terms of using, not strictly eating/drinking), it comes at the expense of others. When I say consume, I am referring to anything and everything - from the things we eat, to the things we wear, and even to the technology we use. To be provided for, someone else must be doing the providing (unless you are doing everything yourself. That means producing your own food, clothes, whatever device you're reading this on, and so on and so forth).
     How are we being provided for? Sure, it might be lovely that a dollar menu exists at every fast-food chain, that we can grab new clothing for as little as 10-20 bucks, and that every 2 years, we can upgrade our phones to something exponentially more advanced than whatever it is we had before (especially considering my old-ass phone...). But at what cost?

     There are a myriad of consequences. Consider the poor conditions of animals who are farmed to feed our appetite for meat (and if you aren't aware, there a gazillion and one documentaries/youtube videos to illustrate the point). Or the underpaid, overworked, and/or otherwise disadvantaged workers who craft our shoes, shirts, and uniforms. Or even the workers who contribute some bits of your smartphone - some, most, or all of them work in conditions that are absolutely deplorable. Although it's easy to ignore these things because they don't get sustained time in the media, that doesn't mean they don't exist. And unfortunately, it doesn't mean you're free of blame either.
     One common response to any problem is that people just "don't know what to do" (it's a feeling I'm not unfamiliar with). In many cases, such a response can hold water. In this situation, though, I'm not really sure that it does. Problems often have more than one solution. But if you can't come up with any alternative, sometimes you just have to go with what you know. So if we consume too much, what's the most obvious solution? To consume less. Barring some miracle, that probably won't solve the problem itself. But it's one step, and it is certainly more worthwhile to do something different in the hopes of making things better instead of wringing your hands and feeling bad about things. So, y'know, if you consider your needs - the need to wear something new, the need to eat meat with every meal, or the need to have cool tech - if you consider those needs so important that they warrant the continued existence of a slave class, that's okay. But after reading this, you definitely can't plead ignorance.


(And honestly I would hope that that's not okay with you, but hey ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I realize that we all have different priorities.)
   
   

Chronicles of the Moon (Episode 1)

                For those of you who don’t know, my senior year of college was a breeze. I came back to get my minor in Education, and that consisted of just a handful of upper division classes and some 80+ hours spent as a teaching assistant in a kindergarten class and a 3^rd grade class. Even years 1-3 were not too academically challenging – I struggled with tons of new ideas, sure, but there was never a time where understanding truly escaped me; I balanced it by making sure to take lots of classes.

                Anyways, I kind of had a lot of time on my hands. Struck with this boredom and driven by the knowledge that this was my last year at school, I really wanted to do … something. Anything, really. But what could I do? Somehow, the idea got into my head that I should moon a class. Don’t ask me where it came from – I honestly do not know where most of the things in my mind stem from, but they’re typically funny and interesting, so I try to give them weight. And no, I didn’t sit around thinking about some cool shit to do. Literally the way it happened is that, I was talking to my roommate one day, and said something along the lines of “You know what would be dope? Mooning a class.”

                And once I put it out there, there was no going back.

                Derek wasn’t game to do it himself, but he was with me every step of the way: planning, talking about the logistics, and most importantly, egging me on (which, let me clearly state here, was a very important factor. I needed encouragement to unlock the hilarity within).

                With regards to planning, the most important decision for us was the timing.  I wanted to do it during a final because that’s when everyone would be quiet and a mooning would cause a real ruckus – y’know, kicking the door open so that everyone’s attention is captured, big ol’ shit-eating grin on my face because I know what’s about to happen, turn my back to the door, pull my shorts down and expose my posterior.

I mean, just imagine: seated at a desk in the middle of a 3-hour final, you’re concentrating pretty hard because – hello, this shit matters – when suddenly the door slams open. You look up and there I am, with my million-dollar smile, and you’re wondering why in the hell I’m just standing there – is this guy gonna come in? is he even in this class? What the hell is he just standing there for?

You’re anxious because GODDAMMIT YOU’RE TRYING TO TAKE A TEST – but at the same time you can’t help but be distracted and before your brain can come up with any sufficient answers – there it is. My big, pasty ass - for your personal viewing pleasure.

Perfect scenario, right? I mean, if you don’t understand the appeal… just quit reading. You and I, we don’t share a sense of humor, and it’s probably best if we just stop trying to be friends. In the event, however, that you do find this situation absolutely, knee-slappingly hilarious…read on.

 Even though I painted the perfect picture for how I wanted things to go down, Derek talked me out of it. His line of thinking was basically: it’s a final, the mooning has the potential to be really disruptive, people could end up getting screwed…. Alright, fair. I put my hands up and surrender perfection in the name of responsible pranking. I’m far from perfect, but I’ve rarely not given other people consideration. So we settle on the next-best option – the very last lecture of the quarter, on the Friday before Finals Week. We reason that people are going to be on the cusp of cramming and that a last-minute laugher could provide some much-needed stress-relief before they go into exams. Although, to be completely fair, a mooning would be hilarious regardless of the timing. Again, though, that’s just your friendly neighborhood Minh & Derek… always thinking about how we can help others… don’t mind us… hahahaha.

So that’s how we settled on a day – now we had to nail down a specific time and location. I sent out a text to a couple of my friends, asking them when their last lectures were. One of the replies came from Goblin (we’ll call him that because… that’s what I actually call him) – Friday, 1:00pm. It fit into my schedule, it fit into Derek’s schedule – perfect. We told him our plan and he was all for it – who doesn’t approve of a good mooning anyways??

Fast forward to the night before the big day, I ask Goblin what lecture hall he’ll be in so Derek and I can conduct some reconnaissance. The next day, we case the joint about an hour before Goblin’s lecture is set to start – it’s one of the bigger lecture halls at school. It’s set up like stadium seating – if you enter the lecture hall from one of the two entrances at the top, there is a downward slope to make it to the front of the class (where the professor lectures). These top entrances are not really ideal for the job – we’d have to get everyone’s attention for them to turn around and look up. Kind of a hassle, so we’d prefer something else.

We head down to discover that there are two ways to get in at the bottom of the lecture hall, placed opposite each other. On the left hand of the lecture hall is an entrance, right behind the lectern where the professor lectures – far too close to the professor for my comfort. The other way in is not officially an entrance – they are exit doors that only open one way (for students heading out of class, not for people to get in). Unfortunately for me, this is also THE prime location for two reasons: it’s across the hall from the professor (a good 70-100 feet of distance, I’d guess) and at the bottom of the lecture hall (where everyone’s attention will be during class).

Having already decided against the top entrances, we had to come up with a solution. What could we do? Well, the “entrance” we wanted at the bottom consisted of double doors. Well, why’s that important? I don’t think this goes for every set of double doors, but for both doors to be closed, they had to be closed in a certain order; in this case, the door on the left had to be closed first in order to close the right door. Simple solution? We positioned it like we were trying to close the right door first such that it propped both doors open. If you don’t understand… the bottom line is that we found a way to make it work. Excellent.

We left the lecture hall, knowing we’d be back soon enough. We headed to the library because we had about a half hour to kill before our return. My nerves were already pretty high just checking out the lecture hall and envisioning how it would go down – I was really committed to this, but the anxiety just kept building as we waited for the time to pass.

I got a text from Goblin: “Are you still doing it?” I checked the time to see it was 1 – 20 minutes had already passed! Y’know what they say – time flies when you’re about to show a bunch of strangers your ass. Or… something like that. Anywho, I texted him confirmation and we gave it a few more minutes before heading out. I was going to make my appearance after the class got settled in – about 15-20 minutes into lecture.

As Derek and I walked to the lecture hall, we (or was it just me?) were getting more and more excitedly nervous. To be honest, there were plenty of things I was feeling. Giddy and happy for sure – this was gonna be hilarious. Nervous, too – could I really go through with it? I’d never done this before. and some reluctance for good measure – as long as I hadn’t actually done it yet, I could still save myself and just call it quits.

We continued on and made our way behind the lecture hall to make it to the back entrance. We dropped our backpacks off outside the building – no point having extra weight to run away with, we could grab ‘em as soon as we’d made our escape. The plan was for us to make our way to the bottom of the lecture hall. I would stand in the doorway, turn around, and display my ass by pulling my shorts down. Derek’s part was to kick in the door. Somewhere along the way I realized how difficult it would be to have to throw the doors open, turn around and expose myself for a couple seconds before covering up and running away. The time saved by having him there was real precious – this certainly wasn’t a one-man job. So anyways, he’d kick open the door and run away, leaving me to entertain the masses for a good few seconds before making good on my own get-away. Sweet and simple, no?

Alas, Derek and I arrived at the double doors we propped open to find that… they were no longer propped open. Whether by chance or not, someone had literally shut the doors on our dreams. What could we do? We went to the other set of double doors – the one right behind the professor’s lectern. Also closed tight. We were all out of options, and couldn’t go through with it at all.

But wait! The hell kind of story about mooning could this be if there were no ACTUAL mooning??

Right by the doors was the handicap button that reads “Press to Open” with the blue picture of the person in a wheelchair. This could be it – maybe the doors were locked while lecture was going on, but this button could be our savior if that wasn’t the case. There was still the issue of being so close to the professor, though – I could hear her lecturing, but I couldn’t place just where she was. I texted Goblin asking which side of the room she was on, and he told me she was on the end where I’d originally planned to commit the mooning. Just like in my last story, things just happened to be perfect for me.

Welp, the only concern then was whether or not the button would activate the doors. Although far less dramatic than actually throwing a set of doors wide open, Derek still fulfilled his role by pressing that button. He left, and I stood there facing the doors to see if they would open. Instead of swinging open like we’d originally planned, these doors were inching open. Anyone who’s seen an automated door knows exactly what I’m talking about. I’m not sure if time slowed because I was so nervous or if the doors were ACTUALLY taking that long to open, but as they did, I could see – through the tiiiny crack between the doors – that someone was standing <5 feet away from me, facing the class. The professor was still on my side!

If there was any time to call it quits, now was it. The doors were opening at a glacial pace and even if people saw me, all I was doing was standing there. I could still just turn around and walk away.

My level of commitment was stronger than that, though. If the doors wanted to open slowly, I figured the class would just get a reeeeeal long view of me. The nerves disappeared when I decided on my course of action. I turned around, pulled my shorts down, and started to wiggle my ass. It was at this point I realized I had no idea how the hell long I was going to do this for. In my head I just started counting.

As captured in video (…which will remain unshared except for private viewings), the teacher’s reaction was first to glance back to my ass. Realizing what she was looking at, she then turned forward at the class as if to say “what in the WORLD?!”. She then turned her gaze back to my ass…only to discover that I had vacated the scene. She turned back to the class, resting her chin on her hand as if in thought, and then threw her hands up in the air. I mean… I can imagine what was running through her mind. Astonishment – after all, how often do professors get mooned? Confusion – who was I and what was my purpose? Amusement – hahahah, a pasty ass. If that isn’t worth laughing at, I don’t know what is. I mean, a stranger just shook his bare ass in her direction – how else was she gonna take it?

The class chuckled and the professor continued her lecture. I ran away, laughing my ass off, heart racing a mile a minute. Even as I’m writing this out, I’m not certain what the hell was so thrilling about it. I mean, I certainly didn’t have any investment in this particular class – it was full of students I didn’t know and a professor I had never even heard of ‘til that day. Even the reaction wasn’t great – it’s not like the class exploded in laughter upon sighting my ass. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Regardless…it was hilarious, and I felt thoroughly accomplished with myself. I mean, how many of you can say hundreds of people have seen your ass? Hahahaha, not too many, I bet! So anyways, that about sums it up for the first time I showed a bunch of strangers my bare booty. There are 2 other instances (hence the “part 1” in the title), but honestly I’m not sure if they’re worth telling. Hope you enjoyed!