I Was a Bad Kid: The Doorstops

_{When I was a kid, I'd set up booby traps in the bush that could potentially take out my older brother.} ^{I never got in trouble for that.  Most of them didn't even work.}

I built my own little house in that bush.

^{That's where I'd go to hide.}

I used to do a lot of things I had to hide from when I was a kid.

The bus ride home was a long one.  I lived out in the middle of nowhere.  First kid on the bus; last kid off.  If I got in trouble at school, that bus ride home felt like a journey to a distant star; I always felt like I'd die before I get there.  As soon as I stepped off, I knew I'd have to face the music.

I remember that day.  The day my parents found out about the doorstops.

I thought I'd get away with it.

^{Why did I have to show off?}

For three weeks, every day, like clockwork, I'd ask the teacher if I would be allowed to leave so I could use the toilet.

I hated that part about school.  Why do I have to ask this guy if it's okay to take a piss?  Does everyone really need to know?  He's going to say yes anyway so why can't I just leave quietly, do my thing, come back, sit down like nothing happened.  And why am I the only kid who has to take a piss every single day?  Do these other kids wear diapers?  What's going on here?

Of course, once released from that prison cell, I'd dawdle in the hallways, after being told not to dawdle in the hallways.

I'd walk down to the gym to see what those kids are doing.  I'd sneak past other classrooms to see what some of my friends were up to.  I'd venture through the library and try to make a noise so everyone looks at me and goes shh!

Eventually I'd make my way to the washroom furthest away from the class I was supposed to be in.  I liked that one.  That's where all the big kids went.  The washroom for the little kids like me always had shit on the floor or worse; bare asses.  I hated walking in and seeing a bare ass.  You could try to tell these kids they don't need to pull their pants all the way down just to stand at the urinal, but they never listened.

Then I'd dawdle in the washroom.

^{Not that.  Get your mind out of the gutter.}

I was a smart bad kid.  I knew if I did something stupid in the big kid washroom upstairs and on the other side of the school, nobody would suspect I did it.

So one day I decided to kick the doorstop out from under the door.  I wanted the door closed but the people who made the rules wanted these washroom doors to remain open because one kid kicked the door open one day, sending another unsuspecting kid flying across the washroom with a broken face.  The 'open cautiously' and 'stand clear' signs were not enough to prevent kids from destroying each other, apparently.

Once the doorstop was free, I picked it up, placed it inside of a toilet bowl, watched it float on the water, then flushed.  It was exciting watching the small wedge of wood go around and around then eventually get sucked into the void.

This became a daily routine.

^{I was now hooked on flushing doorstops down the drain.}

I kept the janitor busy for three weeks.  Even the new 'please stop stealing the doorstops' sign was well written and deserving of a reward.  I'm sure he became a doorstop making expert as well.

So I was on week three of being anti-doorstop.  I did the usual look around, kicked the doorstop, then noticed my friend Chris standing there, of all people.  He was one of the good kids.  He asked me what I was doing.  I said, "Watch," then flushed the damn doorstop down the toilet, right in front of him.  I thought he'd laugh but instead he shook his head and quickly walked away.

I heard the rumors of a flood on the second floor.

^{Kids were saying the steps looked like a waterfall.}

Word travels fast on the playground.  I was approached by one of the girls in my class.  She asked me if it was true.  Of course I didn't admit to causing the flood.  I didn't even know about the flood.  I flushed doorstops.  Creating floods wasn't my style.  I didn't tell her I flushed the doorstops though.

That was Friday.  The bus journey home was short and sweet.  I enjoyed my weekend, thoroughly.

Then Monday rolled around.

^{It was just before noon when I got called to the principal's office.}

I was nervous, no doubt about that.  No dawdling in halls on this day.

The nice lady pointed at a chair inside the principal's office, told me to have a seat and wait for the big bossman to arrive.

I noticed a clear plastic bag on his desk.  Inside of the bag; about eight doorstops.

I admitted to it.

^{"Yes, sir.  I flushed those doorstops down the toilet."}

Chris tattled on me.  They had to spend money on a plumber over the weekend.  He had to remove the toilet and snake the drain.  That's how they found the evidence.  That's what caused the flood.

My punishment was surprisingly light.  I was to sit on the bench in the busiest of hallways.  Kids were not allowed to sit on that bench unless they got in trouble.  Everyone walking by knew I did something bad, but they weren't allowed to speak to me.

I could hear my mom yelling over the phone as I sat there on this bench near the principal's office.

Longest bus ride home,

^ever.

Mom's car wasn't in the driveway when I got home.  I quickly ran inside, changed my clothes, grabbed a snack, and headed for the bush.  I did not want to get yelled at.

It was about five o'clock when I heard the car coming down the road.  My heart started pounding.  Sure, I was hiding, but my parents knew exactly where I was.  Where I spent my time was no secret.

I heard the calls.  I refused to go to the house.  It got quiet.

Then I heard a scream and every curse word known to humanity.

^{Mom triggered one of my booby traps.}

She took a tree branch to the face that was meant for my brother.

I was banned from renting Nintendo games for two months and they took the spark plug out of my dirt bike for setting traps.

I never flushed another doorstop again.

Credits: _{All art and images seen here were produced digitally, by me. "Me, at nine years old. True story."}

^{© 2018 @NoNamesLeftToUse.  All rights reserved.}