Stanley's Detention

Stanly squirmed uncomfortably as he waited for the principal to return.  He knew he had really done it this time; there would be no talking his way out of this.

He could hear voices from the outer office but not enough to tell what was being said.  His hands felt a little sweaty and he felt a little sick, like he might throw up.

Stan looked around the office.  The only way out that he could see was to climb out the window.  The other door in the office was to the principal’s private bathroom. Maybe, he thought, there was another window in there that would be easier to climb out of, and once in the bathroom he could lock the door, giving him more time to make his escape.

The more Stan thought about the principal returning, the more he panicked.  No one he knew had ever been inside the principal’s private bathroom.  This offence alone would land him in the school record book. He’d be famous, if he survived. 

Suddenly Stan no longer heard any talking from the outer office.  It’s now or never, he said to himself. He slowly and quietly slid himself off the chair and tip-toed to the bathroom door.  Stan reached up and turned the doorknob. “Rats!” It felt locked. “No, wait.” Stan turned it the other way and the knob turned and the door opened.  Reaching the knob was hard. Stan hoped he would be able to reach the light switch.   As he stepped inside the bathroom, the heavy door closed automatically behind him.  He could see light coming in from a window but not enough.  He still needed to reach the wall switch.  He stretched up and felt along the wall, it had to be here somewhere.

The tips of his fingers felt a bump. This had to be the wall plate around the switch.  Stan gave a little jump and he felt the switch, but not enough to flip it on.  He scrunched down low and jumped as high as he could. It worked but suddenly there was a very loud rattle. Not only had the light come on but the exhaust fan as well. 

Stanly was sure the whole school could hear the fan making this awful noise.  He was going to have to work fast.  It looked like he might be able to turn the waste basket upside-down, stand on it and then climb up on to the edge of the sink. Once up there he should be able to reach the window latch.

Stan heard the recess bell ringing and he could hear all the kids yelling as they ran out onto the playground, but he couldn’t let this distract him. He was now all the way up and standing on the slippery edge of the sink. He was thinking his friends would never believe that he’d gotten this far.

As Stan reached up for the window latch he heard the office door open and then close. The principal must be back in his office.  Stan looked over at the doorknob. He had forgotten to lock it. Surely the principal could hear this stupid fan making such a racket. The last thing he needed was to get caught in his private bathroom, and certainly not standing on his stupid, private sink.  He knew how upset everyone got whenever somebody wore their shoes onto the gym floor.  He could picture the principal’s head actually exploding if he should see shoes up on his sink.

Stan snickered out loud at the mental image he had just created, but stopped quickly as someone knocked on the bathroom door.  Stanley froze. 

“Is anyone in there?” a voice from the other side of the door was asking.  Obviously they could hear the fan rattling, and maybe whoever it was just heard him snickering.

Stan held tight to the edges of the wall mirror, then reached over to the toilet with one foot and pushed on the handle to flush it.  Now he wouldn’t have to answer with his little kid voice.  Whoever it was would have heard the flushing sound and realize someone was in here under normal circumstances and they’d go away.

“Knock, knock…  Are you alright?” the voice inquired.

Stanley suddenly got the feeling that his plan of climbing out the window was not going to work.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Stan called back.  There was no reply.

He carefully tried to climb back down onto the upside-down trash can but he was running out of things to hold onto.  Climbing up seemed so much easier, he thought to himself.

Again he heard the outer door open and then close.  He wondered if whoever had just been in the principal’s office left.  That would be great, he thought.  He could just scurry back out and sit in the chair like he had never left.  Yep, I was here the whole time, he could see himself saying.

As soon as Stan was again safe on the bathroom floor, he put the trash can back the way it had been and he headed over to the light switch.  He was going to have to jump for it again but this time to shut it off.  This was going to be harder to do as the switch was now pointing up.  Stan was going to have to jump higher to get his finger tips to the top of the switch to pull it down and off.  He looked at the door and was wishing he had something to wedge it open, because once the lights were off he didn’t want to have to feel around for the doorknob.

Stan unrolled some toilet paper and pulled the door open just enough to stick the paper in the doorjamb.  As the big door once again closed itself the wad of toilet paper was just enough to keep it from clicking closed.  Stan was very pleased for coming up with that idea, but now came the light switch.  Just maybe he could once again use the trashcan trick, he thought.  He carried it over and quietly upended it.  Using the wall to study himself, he climbed up and quiet easily flipped off the lights.  There was just enough light left in the room for him to put the can back.  Once it was right-side up and in place, he went back to the door and pulled it open.

The outer office was empty.  Stan smiled as he scooted back into the chair he had waited in originally.  That was just enough adventure to keep his mind off of his impending doom.  He had momentarily forgotten all about his crime and upcoming punishment, but now remembering it, just as quickly his smile disappeared.  He sat quiet, just fidgeting with his fingers and wiggling his shoes in the air when he suddenly remembered the small wad of toilet paper.  It must have fallen to the floor when he pulled the bathroom door open, he thought to himself.  Someone is sure to see that, he mumbled.  He stared at the bathroom door but thought better of trying to retrieve the wad of paper.  He just closed his eyes, sat back in the chair and tried to relax.

Stan wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep but he felt hungry.  He got himself off of his chair and walked around the principal’s desk to see the small clock that sat next to the picture of what he assumed was the principal’s family.  It was 6:17.  The time on the clock didn’t make any sense to him.  How could it possibly be 6:17, he thought.

Stan went to the window and pulled back the blinds.  It was way too dark outside.  Why had nobody come to yell at him?  Where was everybody?

Stanley ran to the office door and opened it.  There were no people.  No one was at their desks, and only the exit signs over the doorways were lit.  He couldn’t believe it.  They had forgotten about him.  Everyone had gone home and just left him there.  Was this his punishment, he wondered.  Why hadn’t his parents come for him?  Weren’t they worried, wondering where he was?

Stan stood there for a minute just thinking all kinds of thoughts, and getting more scared by the minute.  He had never heard the school this quiet.  He wanted to go through the outer offices and into the hallway but he was too frightened.  He turned and went back into the principal’s office and picked up the receiver on the desk phone.  He was trying hard to remember his home phone number but at the moment his thoughts were a jumble.

Maybe I should call 911.  Boy, that would surely get me into trouble, he thought.  He put the phone to his ear and dialed what he remembered to be his home number.  There was no change in the dial tone. No beeps, nothing.  He hung up and then picked up the receiver and tried it again.  Again there was nothing, just the study dial tone as if he hadn’t dialed at all.

He tried to think back, before he had fallen asleep.  Maybe the recess bell he had heard wasn’t the recess bell at all.  Maybe it was the last bell, and the kids weren’t running out onto the playground but heading home because school was out.   But where was the principal?  Why didn’t he ever come back into his office?  Wait… he remembered someone had come into the office while he was in the bathroom.  Was that the principal, or maybe it was Ned, the janitor, waiting around to clean up.  And maybe, when he heard me in the bathroom he thought it was Mr. Parker, the principal.  I should have never gone in there, Stan thought to himself, as tears started running down his cheeks.

Stan couldn’t face wandering around the dark school hallways to get to the front door, and besides, he thought, they are probably locked.  He picked the phone up again and pushed 911.  This time the phone did work.  A woman’s voice came on and asked him what the nature of his emergency was.  By this time, however, he was crying harder and having a hard time talking on the phone.  He wanted to say that his name was Stanley and he was locked in the school, but incoherent blubbering was all that was coming out over the phone.

It was right about then that Stan could see car headlights pull up in front of Mr. Parker’s window.  Then another set with flashing police lights.  Stan hung the phone up and ran to the window.  He pulled at the blinds and swung them wildly back and forth, trying to signal where he was.  As he peeked out he could see that it wasn’t his rescue at all.  Someone was getting a ticket. He could see the policeman standing by the driver’s window of the first car.  He was leaning down and they were talking.  Stan wanted to bang on the window to get their attention.  He started pounding on the glass with his fist but the little thuds he was making against the glass were not being heard over the running car engines.

Stanly wanted so much to be home.  He wanted his dinner and he wanted to be with Larry, his brother, and even with Nancy, his older sister, who was always so mean to him.  He kept swinging the blinds back and forth, hoping someone would notice, but they didn’t.  Why hadn’t his parents come looking for him, he wondered. 

Surely, if not Nancy, Larry would have noticed he hadn’t come home from school.  Stan collapsed onto the floor and cried, wondering what his family had for dinner.  He wondered how they could all sit around the dinner table eating while his empty chair sat there looking them in the face.

Through teary eyes he noticed a cockroach crawling down the leg of Mr. Parker’s desk.  The last time he had seen a cockroach he had been in the nurse’s office with a bloody nose.  Suddenly he remembered; when the nurse’s assistant tried to call his parents the nurse told her she had to dial 9 to get an outside line.  A small spark of hope lit up in Stan.  He got himself up off the floor and picked up the phone.  As he did, he saw a second pair of headlights sweep across the office wall, as another car pulled into the lot out front.

As Stan pushed 9 on the phone he could hear a lot of commotion outside.  As the dial tone changed in his ear, the commotion that had just been outside was now coming from the outer office.  He heard strange voices but then he heard his mother calling his name.  Stan dropped the receiver just as the office door burst open.  He could see his mother coming in with his dad right behind her.  He suddenly found himself up in his mother’s arms being hugged almost too tightly, but Stan didn’t care.  He had his arms around her and was not about to let go.

In the excitement Stan could see a policeman, the principal and his brother and sister following close behind. Suddenly Stan felt safe again.  Everyone seemed to be talking at once and Stan could see the policeman was having a time of it keeping his dad away from Mr. Parker.

What surprised Stan most of all was what happened next.  As his mother was hugging him, crying and spinning around with joy, he saw his sister walk over and kick Mr. Parker in the shin.  Stan closed his eyes and smiled.  It seemed Mr. Parker was the one in trouble now.

The End

Scoreboard

 

 

 



Going out for dinner...

 

We pick a place that has good food.

 

We always look for cleanliness.  If the place isn’t clean – we don’t go.

 

Price is always a consideration.  We don’t want to be ripped off.

 

Good service, that’s high on the list.  We don’t want to be ignored.

 

 You can tell a great deal about a place just by looking around.  What’s important to them; our comfort?  Our enjoyment?  Our safety?

 

 

 

 

The Powers of the Imagination

 

The universe is full of pesky little things that inhibit our ability as a species to think beyond what appears to be our natural limitations.   Of course anyone believing that natural limitations exists should read: Parker’s,

The Remembrance of the cow.  It is a distinguished account of Earth’s history, as told by a bovine.  Having its foundation in instinct and observation it holds no humanistic attributes to alter or clutter its report.

Critics of this work however have suggested that although these bovinastic utterances describe with a great deal of accuracy, events along a time-line,  97% of this view was with its face to the ground – chewing.  The remaining 3% of information has been discounted by the courts as herd-say.

The Writer Within

This is not a How Too article, nor will you lose any weight by following its simple guidelines.  It is meant to inspire creativity in you – the writer.  Yes you, the one who should be writing instead of reading this.   By the way, I have removed the guidelines for clarity.

I wrote this as a result of many long and tedious years working against myself.  I was going against the grain.  I was a writer.  I knew I was a writer and loved to write.  I loved the English language, the power of words and the ever present challenge of spelling those words correctly. 

The problem was, I worked in a factory.  I was working with my hands and spending my life trying to fit into a world that lacked punctuation.  I was surrounded by humorless, goal oriented managers whose language was expressed through charts and graphs, none of which seemed to have a plot.

I may not be able to teach you creativity but I can lead by example.  I can share with you some of my random thoughts; I can create pictures in your mind and tell you a few stories.  By the end of the journey you will see that you never need to have film in your camera.  You can go through life with a blank canvas, fresh brushes and no paint.  Your mind is the film; your thoughts are the paint.

So go ahead…  Turn the page; explore the inner workings of this blog.  Wander about and ignore reality for the moment.  Lose yourself in the swirls of emerald green, and in the startling black and white of the second hand.

 

 

 

I’ll wait here.

 

 

 

A Construction of Thoughts

This is not the way to anywhere; it is simply a construction of thoughts, void of entrance fees and scurrying children.  I expect that upon its completion it will lay here like some deflated philosophy, absent of direction, yet spilled about its edges a partial truth. 

Just as truth often leaves a strain of regret behind, there is also an unmistakable aroma of accumulated yesterdays.  It builds and permeates until it moves as you move; it travels as you travel, ultimately being acknowledged as a part of you.

It is the natural order of things that you not be separated from your past.  We are a total makeup of our history; a readable road map to all who see us as we are.

Just as I have constructed this with my hands, marking exact locations, drilling precise holes to fit mental rivets, and shoring up with thick welds those ideas too heavy to stand on their own, its very existence remains now as a footprint.  I was here and these thoughts - now affixed to my past can be read by those who see me as I am.

 

 

Last Seen

A young hooligan tried to snatch her purse. The old man clobbered him and stuffed his body in a storefront doorway.

They were last seen simply walking away.