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Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Mrs. Devito and the Stoned Classroom Story

When I was 16 I thought there was nothing I couldn’t get away with. One day during lunch I smoked a few joints with some friends and sauntered into my English AP class with red eyes and an extreme lack of focus. I sat down and completely zoned out for a few minutes. The bell rang and I snapped back to reality… slowly realizing… I was much more stoned then I ever intended to be in a classroom. Damn that notoriously potent BC bud. My teacher Mrs. Devito was a petite young blonde woman with glasses and a very soft, soothing voice. We got along just fine because I loved the subject and tended to grace her with my presence more often then not. I was almost always the first person to hand my test in, then spend the rest of the class reading or finishing overdue assignments. I never did homework, and nervously glanced at the board behind that listed the daily class activities. The universe was on my side that day. We had our midterm coming up and she was letting us use the time to study. I had an entire 2 hours to do whatever I needed to, and she would never have to know how incredibly high I was at that moment. She also announced she would begin by reading us a few chapters of James Frey’s ‘A Million Little Pieces’. A very visual, descriptive story of one man’s struggle through a rehabilitation program. Mrs. Devito chose the very gritty chapter when he desperately needs dental work done, but cannot be administered drugs of any kind as a clinic rule and is fully aware and feeling every little bit of pain. Then the universe turned on me. My tiny little teacher had a massive cough attack that wouldn’t stop. She turned directly to me, eyes catching mine for just a second too long, handed me the book and hauled ass to the bathroom without a word. The entire class was staring at me. I broke into nervous sweats and fumbled with the pages, trying to find the spot she had just finished. Oh crap oh crap….oh crap… I wish I had been paying more attention. I started at a random paragraph thinking no one would notice. Of course the fat girl at the very front of the classroom turned around and piped in with a “we’ve already read that part” in a tone that not only made me feel completely retarded, but sounded very much like she was envious that the teacher had given the book to me instead of her. I threw her my most sinister glare, her eyes went wide and she turned back around without another word. A friend took pity on me and showed me where to start. I don’t know if I can even describe what it felt like to be completely fucked up and read a play by play of some guys teeth getting pulled out while he was fully aware and conscious. Out loud. To an entire classroom. It was not fun, and after that day, I never again showed up stoned to English class. My teacher told me a few months later she could smell the weed as soon as I walked in, and gave the book to me on purpose.
Touché Mrs. Devito. Touché.


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