| Report for Heidi Crabtree | |
|---|---|
| Approved stories | 2 |
| Rejected stories | 4 |
| Summary | Shows promise |
It's sort of subtle and poetic, would someone like this?
Our school bus driver had a very effective deterrant to keep us kids from behaving badly. Hanging near his steering wheel was a makeshift paddle. It was one of those plastic six-pack holder stapled to a stick.
I rode Bus 30 every day, and I remember when someone painted over the "3," so I had to ride around on Bus Zero for a week until the driver noticed.
At one stop, a tree stood just outside my window. It was a hot spring day, and I pulled one of the tree's branches into the window behind mine. It looked funny for a minute, then I turned around to face the front. When the bus began to move the branch wanted to go with it, and "flapped" inside each window. As the bus moved, the branch snapped inside the windows faster and louder. A lone girl sat in the very last seat, reading a book. That branch hit her in the face pretty hard, and by the time the driver pulled over to see why this girl was screaming in pain, the tree was long behind.
In High School, another driver was nice enough to save items found on the bus, hoping to return them. One day a jock strap hung in right up over the driver, with a paper stating "Lost." No one ever claimed it.
You all know what happens when you leave batteries in things too long; they leak icky stuff.
Two of these dolls were for sale, and they both had nasty brown stains all over the rear part of their pink clothes.
I remember the equally nasty looks from those snotty little girls as I made comments on their hygiene.
One cheerful afternoon, someone in the lunchroom found out that hamburger buns make great frisbees! Soon, buns were flying from all directions. Then a screaming cry was heard from near the stage.
One little boy, a real whiney kid who looked like Mickey from the "Our Gang" comedy shorts, was wailing. A hamburger bun sat on his head, like a little beanie, and ketchup was streaming down the sides of his head. I laugh when I think of that over-educated teacher, standing over him, asking, "What? What's wrong? WHAT?!" As if he wasn't sitting there howling with a messy hamburger bun on his head.
Of course we spent days singing some God-awful song out of one of those kiddie music books. This particular horror was called "Tinga-Layo" and was about a Mexican bull of the same name. I only remember the chorus which went, "Tinga-Layo, run little donkey run! Tinga-Layo, run little donkey run!"
During one run-through, some boys in the back changed the chorus, shouting "Tinga-Layo...run little jackass run!!"
The room fell silent, then we all laughed as the offenders were dragged to the Principal's office by Wartface.