Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Stolen Tweety Bird

The Sept. Magazine Drive always kicked off with a huge stuffed animal; the animal would reside in the homeroom of the daily winner. In reality, the winning homeroom rarely saw it; Mr. Gamble took it all the time. Now for some unknown reason people take me far far too seriously at times, which means I can get away with a great deal.  Back to school night around 1997  I made a ransom note out of pasted letters like you see in cartoons. Gamble's room at that time was in the so-called math hallway, so I could see clearly into his room from mine, so as people left I watched Mr. G lock that gigantic yellow Tweety bird into his closet. Back in those days the closet keys were all the same famous 10 K key, so I just waited for him to leave, walked nonchalantly down to his room, unlock his closet (I can't tell you how late at night this now is), swipe Tweety and leave the note prominently displayed.

The next day poor Mr.Egan is complaining he wants the Tweety and Ms. Dennon is yelling at Gamble about something like enough is enough turn over the bird. I approach the conversation.  I ask innocently about the missing bird and quickly point out there is a suspect of one.  John Gamble starts telling me that he locked up the bird which he did indeed stead as per usual and now this morning voila , no bird.  I keep a poker face , which is one reason besides reputation that makes this possible. He shows me the ransom note  and I say, "Gee I don't know what to tell you but someone got you this time."

Homeroom starts. The numbers are given for the magazine drive; my 214 (now known as 212 bc of He who Must Not Be Named) is second.I whip open  the closet (this is a room who has hard me say be quiet or after school detention for talking during announcements or prayer and pledge for the second year, humor is not on the high list of expectations for me) and pull out the Tweety, shouting,  "You deserve Tweety, our homeroom is the best!"  Needless to say the noise was tremendous and we eventually hung him out the window for Mr. Gamble to see.

Later I confessed to Mr. McGown about the noise and the theft of said stuffed animal. I also admitted that I was technically attrite rather than contrite. He said he figured that.

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