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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Tarrasque Wrangler" data-source="post: 2376532" data-attributes="member: 7473">High school for me was a wonderland of petty thievery and vandalism.  If I hadn't had one of those faces adults just wanted to believe, I'm sure I would have been summarily expelled for some of the crap I pulled.  As it was, I didn't get so much as a suspension.Junior year I was paired up in English class with my dark twin Jarrod.  Jarrod was one of the most devoted teenage subversives I've ever met, and we constantly goaded each other on.  Our English teacher was a Grade-A clueless dingbat, and we took advantage every chance we got to practice our mischief skills.  We sat in the back of the class, naturally, and we'd had a lot of fun with the wall back there.  We'd kept up a graffiti conversation with a girl who had the class at a different time, and we'd made a kind of solidified sludge in the chalkboard tray behind us out of instant coffee and various sodas. One day we had a substitute who was a campus regular, this mousy yet vile woman named Mrs. Katz.  She puts on a movie for us and promptly leaves the room.  Hell ensues.  People talking, people making out, etc.  For some reason I decide it'd be a great idea to get out my Zippo lighter and liquify that sludge in the tray behind us.  I think we were going to paint with it.  I light it up under the tray like it's a burner on a stove, Jarrod and I giggling the whole time., when all of a sudden I hear this shriek: "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"  I whip around and there's Katz.  Creating the only light in the entire room (movie on, remember?) made me stand out like a sore thumb.  She takes the lighter from me and marches me down to the school office, where she explains that I was trying to "burn the school down".I'm sent into the vice principal's office and I'm pretty scared.  He looks at the lighter and asks me if I smoke.  "Nope."  Then why do I have a lighter?  "Useful tool?"  All of a sudden a lightbulb went on over my head.  Our graffiti wall had recently been scrubbed, and while our teacher couldn't prove it had been us who did it, she did make it our responsibility to make sure no more graffiti magically appeared.  So I told the vice principal that, and said that Jarrod had thought he'd seen some new graffiti on the wall in the dark, and we wanted to make sure there was something there.  So I'd used my lighter to make a little light to see by.  Pure American bullplop.So of course, he bought it hook, line and sinker.  I didn't have a reputation as a "trouble" kid, and teachers and administrators always kinda liked me for some reason.  So the v.p. gives me back my lighter with an admonishment not to bring it to school anymore, and sends me back to class.  You should have seen the look on Katz's face when I cruised back in grinning.So I'm not sure any of that was embarrassing, but it did frickin' rule.  Here's one that was all egg on my face, though.Later that year, I was about a week away from Prom: tickets purchased, tux rented, dinner reserved, girlfriend asked out.  I had already heard about a couple of "undesirables" who'd been kicked out ahead of time for getting in trouble at school, so I figured some line-toeing might be in order and decided to cut back on my fun until this Prom thing blew over.  But I was getting antsy.One day our history teacher brought in a sack of oranges from his tree to share with the class.  Everyone took one, and of course I went for the nastiest, mutant-looking orange in the sack.  I had no intention of eating it.I found Jarrod after class on our morning break, and being disciples of Beavis and Butthead, we decided to play some "orange baseball".  Jarrod found some hefty stick to serve as a bat and I pitched.  Now, for some reason, of all the possible ways we could have been standing, he decides to stand with his back to a window, so my strike zone is the building behind him.  I had a pretty strong arm back then, but my control was lacking, and this orange was seriously oblong.  This thing goes sailing over his head and right through my Trig teacher's window with an explosive shattering sound.Every head in our mini-quad looked over at me, mortified.  A campus security woman ("narc") appeared out of nowhere screaming like a banshee, "Who did that!  Who was it!"  Everyone just started laughing hysterically.  I threw up my hands and backed away, calmly saying "I did that.  My bad," but inside I'm thinking holy crap, they're gonna take Prom away from me.So the narc runs up to me and asks me why I threw that at a window.  I said, completely straightfacedly, that Jarrod had wanted the orange so I tossed it to him (note: not strictly a lie), but my toss went wide.  I omitted that I had gone into this perfect pitcher's windup and the toss was more like a split-fingered fastorange.  The narc says building maintenance will fix it, and then walks off to tell another vice principal.  And that was it in terms of discipline, except for the really embarrasing part: I now had to go to my Trig class (it was my next class of the day), and explain in front of my kindly old teacher and the entire class that I had shattered the window with an orange.  It was like they couldn't come up with nicknames and jokes fast enough.  "OJ" was my favorite.</blockquote>

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