Thursday, 31 May 2012

Campus Security

Now, some may choose not to believe that I went to college, but I did. I've been told that no college would allow me in. I've got just one thing to say to those people........ money talks. Ha! If you have grants or cash, you'd be amazed how many universities will welcome a C student with open arms.

So I went to a smaller private university in LA. On weekends most students took, off leaving a few of us left with nothing to do, and stranded because we didn't have cars. Need I remind you what happens when Johnny has nothing constructive to do.

Things started of simple enough. The school, like so many others, was cheap and their choice of security was a perfect example. If the rent-a-cops weren't 70 to 80 years old, they weighed over 300 lbs. and could barely walk. For the older ones, working the night shift meant they got to sleep somewhere other than with their ancient wife, and sleep they did. This of course provided me, and anyone else with nothing to do and an active imagination, great opportunity. Things started out pretty mellow, pics with us hanging on the sleeping guard. One slept so soundly we were able to re-position him, remove his hat and take turns wearing it. Of course the pics got around and that dude was fired. Sorry bro, but you had it coming. His replacement was significantly younger, but in that 5 foot nothing and 300+ lbs. range. Apparently he had been warned that there were trouble makers in our dorm so he was an ass to just about everyone. We didn't care for that. So me and a couple of my room mates were walkin' back up to the dorm after dinner. It wasn't even dark out yet and that fat little fart was already sound asleep. Comfortably slumped over in a chair blocking the main entrance to the dorm, chest full of crumbs left over from whatever small child he had eaten, and a pool of drool on his collar directly underneath his chin. Hmmmmmm......what to do???

College triggers a gene in all young people.....the slob gene. As a result of the student residents being plagued by this gene, there was all kinds of shit littered about the dorm. I noticed a particularly large stack of plastic trays from the cafeteria that had been used to transport food and never returned. Perfect! So me and.....well, for the sake of protecting my friends....let's just say "we". We grabbed the trays and proceeded to the third floor balcony directly over where lard-ass was sleeping. We divided the trays into two equal piles, each taking half, we held them over the edge of the balcony and let them fall. The noise of the trays hitting the concrete floor around lard-ass could be heard through the entire dorm, not to mention the in-human sound that came out of him. Heads were popping out of windows and doors looking to see what happened. Lard-ass started out flailing in his chair for about 10 seconds. Once he remembered where he was he bolted up and immediately looked up at us when he heard our laughter. He was pissed! Now normally I wouldn't be too concerned about being chased by a guy that large and out of shape, especially when he'd have to climb stairs. But when I saw him clear the first flight I knew he had a ton of adrenaline pumping through him and we needed to run. Our only saving grace was that the guards were not given keys to the actual residence hallways, so we locked ourselves in ours and remained there until we could hear him lumber back down the stairs. From that day until the day he was fired, we had to watch out for him when he was on duty.

Now about a year later the school changed security companies again. The new company must have been a family run business. All of the guards were Filipino, never spoke English unless they were speaking to one of the university personnel, and they were mean. It seemed like once again, there was need for a lesson to be taught.

So one night we're walking back onto campus through the main entrance. It was about 1 AM. There is a guard booth at the main gate, and a guard is always stationed there. Guess it had been a quiet night because the 70 year old guard in the booth was reclined in his chair and sound asleep. I mean out! You could hear the bastard snore through the glass door. We began to discuss what we could do to the guy as we walked past the booth and up the hill towards our dorm. By the time we got to the dorm a plan had been formulated, and all it required was some fishing line. 15 minutes later we are back down at the guard shack quietly wrapping the nearly invisible fishing line around the guard booth....again, and again, and again.....you get the picture...until we ran out. We then took a hidden position up the hill behind some bushes. One of my friends picked up a water logged LA Times, Sunday edition and lobbed it as high as he could in the direction of the guard shack's metal roof.

BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!

The best way to describe what happened next would be to ask if you've ever caught a bee in a jar, waited for it to calm down and then shook the jar. Yep same kind of thing. Dude wakes up in full panic mode. Reaches over to push the door open and get out, but it won't open. Something is holding the door shut! Now he's really freaking out. We were going to go down and let him out but his adrenaline got the job done. He eventually pushed with enough force to break the fishing line and escape. Without making a sound he sprinted to his car, jumped in and took off.

For some unknown reason a couple of us were called into the student services center the next day. It seems the security company had quit citing that the campus was haunted and their guards felt the spirits were evil and attacking them. I guess the resident director wanted to know if we had seen any ghosts around campus lately.

Friday, 11 May 2012

OMG! You put what in the burger?

Like the vast majority of people in the entertainment industry I've done my time in the restaurant industry, probably more time than most. As a result I can testify to the fact that all those fucked up stories you hear about what goes on beyond the view of patrons.....IS ABSOLUTELY TRUE!!! Here's just one example.

I was in a band at the time, we had promise and caught the attention of a few notable people. Anyway, as a band we were family, and that stretched to include a small number of people not in the band. One of these people was the girlfriend of the other guitarist (from here on out referenced at "the guitarist"). To this day she is still like a sister to me, despite the fact that I'm lousy at keeping in touch.

I know. Right about now you're asking yourself, "geez, what the hell does this have to do with burgers?" Relax, you'll see.

Just like in any family, sometimes shit hits the fan. Someone does something really fuckin' stupid and needs to be punished. The guitarist was, I don't know, I guess getting bored of the relationship with his girl and started treating her like shit. Shortly after, he broke up with her and continued to treat her like shit. On several different occasions I had to sit with her as she cried on my shoulder because of the things he was saying about her to other people.

Now I was raised right. I might have my moments, but there are some things that just aren't acceptable. The little fucker crossed the line. Being that I considered both of them family I went to talk to the guitarist. When I brought the subject up he told me to fuck off and that he didn't care what I thought. At that point it became apparent to me that a lesson needed to be learned.

I worked at a burger place....kind of a family place with a build your own burger theme. You know, the ones with the open kitchen behind the cashiers where you can see all the cooking going on. Well, at least you think you can see everything, LOL. The guitarist was a regular customer of the restaurant. He always came in and ordered the same thing, 1/2 pound burger cooked well. Knowing all of this provided me with an ideal canvas on which to illustrate his lesson. The next time he came in I was waiting for him.

The grill we cooked burgers on was huge, and we cooked a ton of burgers on any given day. These flat-top grills have to be cleaned frequently during a shift. A scraper is used to get some of the gunk off and a pumice stone, sort of like sand paper, is used to remove the really stuck on stuff. All of this....um.....residue is pushed into a gutter at the front of the grill that runs into two large vats underneath both sides. This is also where all the fat and grease from cooking all that meat goes. Those vats sit under the grill all day, the contents swirling and festering like the brew in a witches cauldron. Mmmmmmm.....yum.

So in walks the guitarist with a bunch of his friends and I see him. Time to teach the lesson. I've had one particular burger sitting in a corner of the grill where the temp is low. The burger started out medium, but over several hours has slow cooked to the consistency of shoe leather. The only reason it still looks like a burger is that it's been marinating in a puddle of grease and fat that it was left in. This was the beginning of the lesson. When the guitarist placed his order, I slid the burger into the middle of the grill to warm it up a little, and let him pass the point where he could see what I was up to. I then lifted the burger up with a spatula and proceeded to reach down and submerge it in one of the vats under the grill. I let the burger sit in the vat for a couple of minutes to soak up anything that it could. I then placed it back on the grill to heat it up.  My buddy was working the other flat-top toasting the buns. I asked him to make a special one for the burger and he was more than happy. Normally he applied a special....um fake butter to the buns to toast them. Not this time. He proceeded to hork up every bit of smokers phlegm he had in his lungs and apply it to the bottom part of the bun and put it on the grill. The top was placed on the floor to soak up the spilled fake butter from there (He was able to pull this off easily because the buns were actually kept underneath that grill and pulled up when needed. So it looked no different from the other side of the counter where the customers were.) When the bun was toasted and on a plate, I lifted the burger and quickly slid it onto the bun and passed it down the line for delivery. After the guitarist picked up his order I asked one of my waitresses to keep an eye on him and make sure he enjoyed his burger. A short time later she returned to inform me he had eaten the entire burger and was happy with his meal.

At this point it's important to understand that his lesson is only half over. You see that burger was like a time-release pill, working it's way through his digestive system. All the fat, grease, oil and pumice residue turning his intestines into a fire hydrant just waiting for it's cap to be loosened. When he wasn't at school the following Monday, I knew the lesson was a success. A couple days later I was talking to a mutual friend and I heard the whole story.

In the evening after eating the burger the guitarist ended up taking a new girl to the movies. I guess somewhere near the end of the movie the guitarist must of tried to sneak out what he thought was a fart.........the cap loosened. Apparently the smell all but cleared out the entire theatre. His new girl bolted, dry heaving. The movie was cut short and when the house lights came on my mutual friend said the guitarist looked like he was sitting in aftermath of a mudslide. After crafting a large jumpsuit out of a trash bag to prevent any more, um, leakage from escaping his pants he left the theatre.

Holy shit!!!!! I so wish I had been there to see all of it. I guess he thought the cause was the fake butter in the popcorn he ate because he ended up calling the health department and reporting them.

Now I know this wasn't really an effective lesson because he couldn't possibly have made the connection between his rectal explosion and his poor treatment of women, but it made me feel like I was a participant in Karma's biting him in the ass. I saw him come into my restaurant a couple more times before I quit that job. I never fucked with his food again, but every time I saw him it made me laugh a little inside.

Tuesday, 8 May 2012

The Ultimate Classroom Cropdusting

So we returned from the marching band trip without so much as detention. You wanna talk about three guys feeling like they could get away with anything, that was us. Upon our return we realized we had....um ...leftover supplies. We gave the silly string shit to Jesus. You would have thought he was a 4 year-old on Christmas. Ever see a 300 lb. person skip? Anyway....

Our arsenal of foul smelling weapons still had enough ammo to make someone's life a living hell. It was just a matter of who. I'm not sure if they were just a little bit smarter than me, or if they just lost interest in the idea of using the shit to prank on campus, but they turned the fart spray and sulfer bombs over to me. Blinded by my desire to put the hurt on a couple of ass holes that had wronged me, I didn't stop to think about the fact that on campus there were a lot more authority figures and a hell of a lot more people mulling about all the time. If I had thought about it I would have realized that there was an extremely high probability that I was gonna be seen when I pulled another prank. That little red fucker with the horns, sitting on my shoulder, just kept jabbing me in the neck with his pitchfork and screaming, "DO IT!!!! DO IT!!! DO IT!!!"

Early May on campus, sunny, about 80 degrees. I was walking through campus, ditching a class. I was walking past the music building, a two room older building with no AC. This building was the home of all the school choir groups and all the bands. There was always noise floating outta that place. In the warmer months all the teachers in the surrounding buildings would complain because the choir teacher opened up all the windows in his room to try and cool it down. So every classroom surrounding his classroom had to listen to choir practice every day.

So I'm walking through campus with the little red fucker screaming at me and I am now being assaulted by an exceptionally unpleasant round of singing coming from the choir room. Now I was irritated and the geeks in the choir were already on the radar for my next prank. Hmmmmmm......why not now? As I walk closer to the music building I reach into my back pack and remove the last can of fart spray. I keep the can close to my leg to conceal it as I get closer to the building. When I get within 10 feet of the windows I walk right up against the wall, directly under the windows.....extend my arm, raising the nozzle of the can to the level of the first row of open windows, and pull the trigger. The timing was perfect. The students were singing at full volume so they couldn't hear the sound of the spray. They were far enough away from the windows that there was a delay before the smelled it. And I just sprayed as I walked by. At the end of the building was a trash can, so as I walked away I just quietly tossed the fart spray can into the trash. I then continued to walk off to my locker, and then on to my next class on the other side of campus.

I had no idea the riot I just put into motion.

What I share next is based on what I heard from witnesses at the scene.....

Within seconds of my departure, the choir class was enveloped by the fart spray. The reaction was described to me as absolute pandemonium. Howls of discomfort, gasping, coughing...... All the noise caught the attention of whatever band was practicing in the room next door and the instructor decided to investigate. Bad idea! Opening both classroom doors created air flow that sent the fart spray not only into the band instructor's nostrils, but into her classroom as well. The entire building has not been gassed. The choir students, being the drama queens they were, decided they couldn't handle the smell in their classroom and moved their practice outside. This in turn pushed the teachers in the surrounding buildings to the point of sheer revolt. I was told one of the science teachers (also a football coach) almost punched the choir teacher. The assistant principal had to be called in to diffuse the situation. It was at that point that things got bad for me.

You see the music instructor was painfully aware of the fart spray due to its use on the marching band trip. She was also aware of who was in possession of it. She was pissed because my little prank messed up her day. And later she told me, she wasted not time in passing my name on to the assistant principal and informing her about the unknowns regarding what set all of this off.

I'm sitting in algebra when a runner (freshman ass-kisser working for the office) came in and handed my teacher a note. FUCK!!!! John....you have been summoned to the office. FUCK!!!!!! I didn't see this coming..... how the hell did I get caught. Shit! I still have the other stuff in my backpack. Should I dump it, no the runner is following me. Crap! I calm myself. "You can get outta this. You've escaped worse before." The little red fucker on my shoulder is laughing his ass off. Shit! "OK...just deny, deny, deny."

The AP pulls me straight into her office, literally by my shirt collar. Holy crap, she's pissed! Never seen this woman with the same look on her face I'm seeing now. Little scary.
"Give it to me." Her voice has the hiss of a viper.
"What?" I say.
"Don't fuck with me!" She never swore. I knew this was bad and so did everyone in the office because she was so pissed that she didn't even close her office door.
"I'm not. What did I do?" I tried to sound as innocent as I could. Was pretty proud about how it came out.
I could feel the eyes of everyone in that office glued to the back of my neck. I'm pretty sure they all thought they were about to witness a murder.
"Give it to me." Came the hiss again.
"Gi......" My words were cut off abruptly.
"Listen to me you little shit." Her voice had lowered to almost a whisper, but not in a 'I'm calming down' kind of way. "I have an entire choir class outside in the middle of the quad rehearsing! They are disrupting 10 classes around them, including a very pissed of and highly aggressive science teacher! I had to use myself as a shield to keep him from hitting the choir teacher! And there are 15 girls all saying they need to go home to change their clothes because they smell so bad! Now, GIVE ME THE GOD-DAMN CAN!!!!!!"

I was about to try one more time but was stopped dead in my tracks.
"Before you say another word mister.... you are staring down a loaded double-barrel shotgun. One shell had a three day work detail sentence. The other shell, a three day suspension. The next thing you say and what you do next will determine which bullet you're gonna take."

At this point I knew better than to try and escape. I said nothing. Opened my backpack and removed the remaining can of fart spray and the sulfer bombs. I took my discipline slip for the work details and left without saying another word.

Would have loved to been a fly on the wall in that place after I left.