Week Three Journal
Hoax Photo Journal
I could faintly hear the rear bumper being scraped away behind me, if not for the radio blasting into my ear. I thought to myself that this whole situation was a little ridiculous, considering the only reason I was hauling this plywood was to help out my girlfriend’s father, so that him and his friends could have a room to drink their beer and complain about their wives in. The irony of it is that while I’m sacrificing my tiny little Volkswagen to help him out, he’s at his house, barking out drunken orders to his friends, who were enlisted to help with this project.
Looking back in my rearview mirror, I realize that there are a few cars behind me, although they won’t pass me. I check my side mirrors and realize that my bumper is non existent, and that it is now metal scraping against the asphalt. Sparks are spraying at least ten feet behind my car. Pulling onto the shoulder, the other cars pass. I try to pretend like I don’t notice, but of course everyone is still driving slowly, staring at me like I just murdered the pope.
When the line of spectators finally passes, I get out of my car to more closely assess the situation at hand. I realize that the stack of plywood on my roof is weighing me down, but than again, so is my girlfriend. I realize how stupid it is for me to be doing this for my girlfriend’s father. I mean, he’s done nothing for me besides assume I am constantly getting his daughter pregnant.
With a little more wisdom in my head I realize that instead of helping someone else build an entertainment room, I should be building my own, or at the very least be with my own friends. My girlfriend will be angry at me, I thought. Slowly untying the plywood bundle on my roof, I realized that if this is the way she wants me to spend my Saturday afternoons, and evenings, than I don’t need to be with her. I grabbed my cell phone and called my good buddy Linehan.
“Scotty, it’s John, I decided not to help that tool build his room, what are you doing?”
“Nothing, come over the games starting in like a half hour, we got some beer, but you should grab a sixer or something just incase.”
“Alright, I’ll be there in fifteen.”
I didn’t even finish pulling the plywood off my car. I hopped in and turned the key in the ignition. Stomping on the gas pedal, I heard something thud behind me. Looking in the rearview, I saw the stack of plywood sliding off the roof, one sheet at a time. I had to get some beer and get to Linehan’s. I didn’t even take my foot off the gas.
Page 38 Exercise-“I don’t know why I remember…”
I don’t know why I remember back in grade school, when I was in the boy scouts for a year, my two best friends, Eric and Ben, and I were running around playing in the gym that the meeting was held in. There was another kid who went to our school and who we knew, but none of us had actually hung out with him outside of school. This kid, Steven, wasn’t a huge nerd or anything, he just was kind of cocky, thought everything that he touched turned to gold. Anyways, my two best friends and I were running around the gym, not really doing anything, just horsing around, when Steven came up bragging about his new hat (which, of course he was presently wearing). Being the cruel, heartless children we were, Eric promptly snatched the hat from his head and ran away, Ben and I following closely behind. Steven ran after us, eventually catching up at the other end of the gym.
“Give me my hat back guys, I just got it.”
The fact that he spoke prompted Eric to toss it to me, and me to toss it to Ben, which quickly turned into a game of keep away. Laughing, we continued to play this cruel game, until a rather large man walked up to all of us, and in a low, intimidating voice, said, “Give him the hat back.”
We all got scared and immediately gave him the hat back, not realizing the man had walked away, disappeared.
“Who was that?” said Eric, Ben, and I, in perfect unison.
“No one,” snapped Steven.
“What, why would no one care if we had your hat?” said Eric
The boy scout meeting began at that point and we were forced to stop talking, or face certain embarrassment. It was only a couple years later, when Steven was in my class at school, that saw his dad and realized that he was the man that had told us to give the hat back. I found it somewhat funny that he was so proud of his hat, but so embarrassed of his dad (for reasons that to this day, I still don’t know). Either way, we were really cruel kids.
