Okay, before I go onto another story, let me update the last update of my journal. I got my narrative back, and my English teacher was all, "OMG!!!1! This is so good." We have to write another one for her, due next Friday (the 29th). I need to start on that.
But back to the title.
My school has a strict 'No cellphone, MP3 player, pager, mace, nose ring, personal computer, illicit narcotics, and bull horn' Policy.
Knowing this, I am the one uber geeky kid who everyday turns off my cell and places it in my locker under a pile of book sox. Everyday, without fail or exception.
The other day however, I was digging in my purse for my phone to place it in my locker.
I couldn't find.
Now being well, me, I'm not surprised. I routinely forget my phone on my nightstand, and as such, I routinely have to walk home, unable to call for a ride.
So I go about day, attending the classes of all my cellphone nazi teachers.
Then we get to fifth period. Honors American Studies. When I first got there, I was all thrilled, as we had a substitute, meaning I would not have to use the pink mush between my ears for the next fifty minutes.
So there I was, supposedly listening to the sub ramble on about Pakistan... or maybe Cuba...
I don't know; its not really that important.
Then, randomly, a cell phone goes off. As a silence spreads throughout the room, I think:
"Dang! That poor soul sure has a ringtone of PWNage."
Thats when I realize that of ringtone of PWNage is coming from my purse.
My tiny, babydoll, 'why even bother' purse.
My tiny, babydoll, 'why even bother' purse that I had searched just that morning for a cell phone in.
In accordance, my internal monologue questions evolve into the following:
A.) Since when is my cell phone in my purse?
B.) Since when do I actually have my phone on?
C.) Who the floop actually knows my cell number?
Surrounded by the anticipatory silence in the room, a fumble for my purse and attempt to shut up my demented cell phone with a ringtone of PWNage.
It takes my about five minutes to find it in my ridiculously small purse, but I finally locate the phone and turn it off. Sighing in relief I look up from my phone and into the eyes of a rather bemused substitute teacher (ST). The conversation the follows is factual:
"Your not supposed to have that are you?" ST asked.
"Well, no... Not really but--" I manage to get out before being cut off.
"Is it turned off?"
"Yershelnessness."
"Excuse me?"
"Um... Yes?"
"Your supposed to get a detention aren't you?"
"Yeah. A Saturday!" That particular comment by my wonderful and friendly classmates who ' totally got my back.'
The sub looks around the room for a second before turning back to me, who had been attempting to figure out how I was going to explain this ruin of my perfect permanent record to my parental units.
"A Saturday? That doesn't sound good. Unfortunately, as a substitute, I have no authority to give you one."
And then, he was talking about whatever African nation he was talking 'bout prior to the ringtone of PWNage.
I sat there in udder shock, unable to believe this act of charity.
My classmates sat there in shock, wondering who I was sleeping with to get out of punishment.
So, as I said before, we Redheads do have all the luck.





--
Oh you are just the worst type of person
'Tis XKevin RymanX.
--
Thinking of you, wherever you are.
We pray for our sorrows to end, and hope that our hearts will blend.
Now I will step forward and realize this wish.
--
A word to the wise ain't necessary, it's the stupid ones that need the advice.
--
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