Saint Crapintines Chocolate Clambake

If it's not already largely apparent, I am far from being commodore Suave, and I don't try to be. Because of this condition I call "dorkalitous" I am in an eternal state of loathing that day in February which is supposed to be about Saint Valentine. I don't think if Saint Valentine went around giving people chocolate instead of marrying early Christian couples, he would have been remembered as much. Though perhaps if he did, he wouldn't have been sentenced to death by Claudius II, unless he gave him those chalky hearts with stupid sayings on them. What is "very fine" all about anyways?



As a young American child, you would be forced to participate in the ritual of being forced to give treats to the rest of you classmates, wither or not you liked them. These were the years in which I actually enjoyed Valentine's day, as I knew I would without a doubt receive candy to make myself sick with. Yet, this feeling of excitement was not meant to last, and disappeared during the sixth grade. Up through the fifth grade, you would be placed in one classroom for the entire day, much like cattle placed in dairy barns to feed and be milked. As we were being milked, we were placed into a lull, which the school overlords felt could be covered up by red, pink, and white paper, and the exchanging of confectionary.

Though we were given the freedom to set up a NAFTA of children exchanging candies, the products were usually far from delectable. Many of the children (or more likely their parents) were cheapskates, and only purchased sub-par chalk based candies with rather uninspired sayings written upon them. Or very bland heart-shaped lollipops with a suspicious white detailing which often poorly applied.

Yet, starting in sixth grade, we were no longer confined to one teacher, and one group of children the entire length of the school day. So it became a rarity that I received anything for Valentine's day, and by rare I mean rare. It was about as rare as finding a dramatic movie that resonates within you when it has David Spade in the lead role. Upon one hand I can count the number of Valentines I have received in the past ten years, they number two. One was from a friend of mine in middle school, it was a Hello Kitty brand card without Hello Kitty upon it. The other came from February 14th 2011. As I woke and walked to class I noticed a piece of paper tucked underneath my windshield wiper:



If you may be confused by what this means you likely don't watch the British car show Top Gear. Which has a "tame" racing driver who sets the lap records for all the cars reviewed on the show, and apparently knows two facts about ducks (both of which are wrong.) As I Christmas gift I received this sticker:



Though it's far from a romantic gesture, it's much better than being ignored by someone who may peak your interest. So it becomes much more important than those imaginary Valentines you may receive, like a honey baked ham or a hardy handshake. Plus the heart with hyphen on either side is a nice touch.

Becoming rather bitter over time (we are talking plain radish and black coffee bitter,) after years of unaffection, I have found a sort of light at the end of the tunnel. The day after Singles Awareness Day is blessed with the mark down of candies, which "bachelors" like myself can horde and feast upon in an attempt to fill the void in our souls with chocolate, peanut butter, and cherry flavored hard candy. It seldom works. Though there is a feeling of exuberance going down the aisles grabbing those sweets which chumps paid top dollar for only twelve hours previous.

Something on the Inside of the Bus!

Nearly all American school children have been forced the experience of having to ride around in those large yellow coffins known as the bus. The joyous time children would have driving along in what was essentially a hallway with wheels, the bumping of the wheel well, and the chipping of teeth on the seat in front of you when the breaks were applied. Over the years I attended public school, there were many a trip where we took the mustard eyesore, whiter it was riding home, or going to some abandoned concrete structure for a field trip.

Though I would sometimes receive a ride home from my parents, I would usually ride the bus home during my elementary school tenure. Though I don’t remember my specific bus driver from second and third grade, but I do vividly recall my driver from fourth and fifth grade, as she was fit to be tied woman both years. I’m not sure if this is her name, but I think she was Miss Maybry, or possibly Mayapple, or at least that that’s what the nametag above the windshield read. Her face was not unlike a melted snow monkey, but that might also be my memoires muddling up the truth, but she wasn’t the nicest lady in the world.

Everyday, at three when the school day was done, we would have to go into the gym to wait for the busses to pass though and let children on. Whenever my bus came along the teachers would usher us out to the bus, where the driver would give us a stone-grimace as we would walk on-board, and hang our heads in shame. Once we were all loaded onto the bus, the door would close, locking us inside the iron rectangle, preventing our freedom to escape. Seeing as we were children, we did feel the need to talk to one another on the ride home, but apparently our volume level was too much for Miss Mayparade.

As we were driving along we would talk, and make some noise, but apparently it was far too much for the driver, as she would slam on the breaks in the middle of traffic and yell at us. So after slamming my head on the metal bar supporting the seat in front of me, I would look up at the blurry vision in front of me and see her face turning back and screaming “Sit down and shut up!” perhaps she always mad because she never got to watch Oprah as it was on while she was working. So, the bus route would take twice as long as she would make us quiet down if our noise level ever got above ten decibels.

Yet, despite her constant shouting and threatening us with garden rakes, she was nice to us on one occasion. It was the Friday before Halloween, and we were all eager to get off the bus, and go home were our parents would yell at us instead. But on that particular day, she would say happy Halloween and give us a zip lock bag full of commercial brand candy. Seeing as we were children, we happily accepted the gift, and went on our merry way, not realizing the fact that this was the same woman who spent most of her days screaming at us, and was likely trying to poison us with her candy. The bus held fifty children that day, only three survived.