A Cigar Box

 "DO YOU REMEMBER THESE?"

The other day, someone posted this picture, with the above caption.

Tales Out of School

REMEMBER THESE??    We all usta have 'em!!  

Way back in grammar school, I had one in my desk, full of pencils and other such shtuff.  I also had lots of books, notebooks, and other junk in my desk, and I was neither neat nor organized. There eventually came a time when enough got to be enough.

I had a teacher in seventh grade, whom I remember well. Ms. Morgan was from Oklahoma, and her favorite expression was: "GOOD CORN!" Our school was a strict, authoritarian institution, which is fine--- if you like institutions!

My desk was just like the other children's desks, except that I put in much more than that small space was ever intended to hold .

The desk had finally attained CRITICAL MASS!!

Right there in the middle of Ms. "Good CORN!" Morgan's hysterics - sorry, HISTORY, class, my pencil cigar box pops out of its precarious spot and falls to the floor with a terrible crash!! Pencils, pens, stapler, erasers, paper clips, glue, an oil can, a spark plug wrench, and a few things I couldn't identify spattered out onto the floor rolling off in all directions, in a cacophony, tumult, and confusion that would surpass even Aunt Clara's entrances in a Bewitched episode! 

When the dust cleared, I bent down, red-faced, and began to pick up the pieces of my dignity from off the floor while everybody watched. That day, Snickers wasn't a candy bar, it was the prevailing sound heard in the classroom. 

      I finally finished the 52-pickup-stix game, and the teacher resumed speaking ex-cathedra  of Pax Romana. I crammed the King Edward cigar box back into my already overflowing desk, from which it had just fled. 

What I needed was an Air Force LOADMASTER to help me with my logistical nightmare. Instead, I was so nervous and embarrassed over all the whoop-la, that all I wanted to happen was for class to get back to normal.     

          

        Normality perhaps played out somewhere in a parallel universe, but not in this one. In Ms Morgan's seventh Grade History class, history repeated itself, when the doggone box popped out once again at a most inopportune moment. 

That was it: I was voted off the island! Ms Morgan' patience had likewise reached critical mass, and she not-so-kindly sent me to stand outside the room in the hallway that lead to the office.

       It was while contemplating my unique predicament that my nemesis and bane of my scholarly existence, the school Assistant Principal, saunters by. Spying me loitering where no loitering is ever allowed, she inquired of me just how it was that I came to find myself decorating the hallway like a Terra cotta flower pot. 

    Rather than go into unnecessary details involving pencils and erasers, I presented a more concise version of the event: "Ms Morgan kicked me out if the class." I was too honest for my own good!

    Now, this lady  had a way of making hands down the most cynical, sardonic smirks I have ever seen in my life. She said:"Oh, she DID, did she??" That smirk told me there was more to come... and there was: "Well, I'm kicking you out if the HALL!" No, this was not a get-out-of-jail-free card that would pardon me of my transgressions and allow me to return to class. Rather her simple gesture with her right index finger pointing toward the office sealed my fate. 

            I don't recall what punishment was forthcoming... I mean it really WAS an accident... followed shortly thereafter by another accident...

    You can't make this stuff up!!

I am sure I had to do some pedagogic penitence and to promise faithfully that I never again would be party to classroom "pencillary" mayhem. I believe I had to stay in after school and clean and rearrange my desk. I also bought a sealable plastic pencil  box, relegating His Highness King Edward to a less perilous place atop a bookshelf back home.

Yeah, I remember cigar boxes in school!!!!!