Four Bullies (Part 2)

Marshall.

I was a pretty cool kid in the 5th grade. I had a bunch of friends in my class, I played on a couple of different sports teams, I went skiing every weekend in the winter, and (to top it all) I was elected ASB Class President -- a term to be served in the 6th grade. I was, for all intents and purposes, a confident (cocky, almost) popular kid. But things started to go wrong that summer...

I found out in August that I was going to be placed in Mr. Schoenfelder's 6th grade class...which was a major bummer. Hans Schoenfelder was a hulking German man in his early-60s (at that time), who had a reputation for being "old school" in his teaching methods. He had a strict code of discipline, and anyone defying him would feel his wrath (not physically, of course, because only Nuns are legally allowed to abuse school children). He had a medicine ball, and any time someone was talking out of turn, or generally screwing around, he'd send them on a "lap" around the school yard, carrying the medicine ball. He'd often send the entire class out for a lap, if they were going too rowdy. He'd put students in a push-up position and keep them there for fifteen minutes. He was laser-quick with detention, trips to the principal's office, and the revocation of the "privilege" of recess.

And since he had a corporal reputation, his class was the destination for a good number of the school misfits, in addition to the regular students (like myself) who happened to fill out the roster.

Marshall was one of those misfits.

Now, Marshall was about as close to the stereotypical "school bully" as I ever came across. He was a total coward who was the pack leader of a crew of ne'er-do-wells. He actually looked and acted a bit like Scott Farkus, minus all of the physical violence. This is because no one really got "beat up" at our school. I'm assuming it happens, of course, but maybe Arrowhead Elementary was just too milquetoast and suburban for anything that exciting. Or maybe it was the whole "threat of expulsion." Don't know. Either way, bullies did not fight...they teased.

And Marshall was a champion teaser. I had the good fortune to sit next to Marshall for a good portion of the year (Mr. Shoenfelder did not make many seating changes), and I was mocked on a daily basis. Marshall was unrelentingly sarcastic and hurtful, and I had nowhere to run -- I had to spend six hours a day next to this kid who seemed to be just praying that I'd say or do something stupid so he could make fun of it.

I tried to keep up and give as good as I got, but I was wholly unprepared for someone to burn so many calories just trying to make me feel awful about myself. I still have my D.A.R.E. handbook (the least-successful & most expensive drug education program out there). One of the exercises that we had to do was pass the booklet around and each kid was supposed to write two compliments.

So I passed mine around for the first round of compliments, and when it came back (desks were arranged in little islands of 5 desks each, Marshall sat across from me) that little sweetheart had written: "You can barely tell your face is covered in pimples from far away."

Of course, like an idiot, I'd actually given him a compliment, but the books were passed around again, and I laid into him about his freckles (I don't know if he was self-conscious about those, but I doubt it...it was just the only thing I could think of), and he hit me with another snide comment about how I dressed, or something. I don't really remember.

But that was just one example of, probably, hundreds. Like the time he threw a hand-full of pebbles in my face during a game of kickball (his only real act of violence...but they were small pebbles that were more intended to irritate than damage)...or the time he wrote insults on my desk in pen.

Basically, my day in the sun (the 5th grade) was over. Eventually I got away from Marshall, and he gave up his quest to ruin me, but the damage had been done. My confidence was shredded by the time I got out of Mr. Shoenfelder's class. My best friend had found new, cooler friends to hang out with, and Marshall had persistently shattered any self-confidence I had built up in the early grades of elementary school.

I don't know what happened to Marshall -- I think he was at my Junior High School...but we didn't have any classes together, and I lost track of him. He may very well have dropped out (I'm pretty sure he had a lot of chaos at home...and a brother who was a drug dealer), or moved away. But he never bothered me again...not because I fought back, but because we didn't see each other again.

But when I found myself suddenly in Junior High School, surrounded by equally terrified and overwhelmed kids, with no close friends to speak of, and a poor grasp of just how mean kids could be to each other, I was in for some trouble. 7th and 8th grade (8th especially) were some bad times for me, with all of those "man-to-boy" changes heaped on top of my social difficulties.

It all came to a head with bully #3 (a minor bully...not really worth his own blog entry) whose name was Jeremy. Jeremy wasn't a traditional bully -- hell, I'm actually hard-pressed to call him a bully at all. But he did perpetrate an act that I considered to be fairly ruinous on my self esteem, and I thought I should mention it.

Yearbooks were a new thing for me, and the stress of getting them filled out was almost not worth the effort. It was a measure of one's popularity, and getting those "hot girl" or "cool guy" signatures was definitely braggable...especially if there was a phone number attached, or the message was long.

But I wasn't gunning for the "hot girls." I wasn't even really gunning for girls at all (I had, maybe, three female signatures in that 7th grade year book). I did have some people that I was friendly with, and it was normally no problem for anyone to sign a book with something along the lines of "Have a great summer." I signed the books of people I didn't really like that much, and vice versa. It was just what you do.

Jeremy and I sat next to each other in 4th period math class, and we were friendly (he was a smart guy, I was smart, and we got along, from what I recall). So, even though we weren't super-close, I thought he might want to sign my year book.

But there was a problem. When the time came for me to ask, he was talking to someone else. So, I figured, when he was done talking, he could sign...so I put it on his desk.

Jeremy, in a super-douche-bag move, noticed me putting the book on his desk, and responded by sliding it off of his desk onto the floor. He then resumed his conversation as if I didn't exist.

Hoping no one was watching (and sure that no one was...because no one ever really is watching), I quickly scooped up my yearbook, and pretended to read it as my face flushed with embarrassment. That was the end of my 7th grade year, and it cleared the way for a pretty terrible 8th grade that included, among other things, the last and most powerful bully I was to face down, and a story that still makes me proud to this day.

Four Bullies (Part 1)

I have a problem.

Wait, let me back up a second.

I have an "issue." My issue is this: I really don't like with how most writers treat the issue of "bullying." It's a super-popular topic that you will see in any show or movie set in a school of some kind, but it's very rarely done well, in my opinion.

Now, I was not picked on excessively in school -- I can remember four bullies that I had to deal with at some point in my school career (I eventually became friendly with three of the four -- the fourth one either dropped out or moved away or died...). But I think I learned a thing or two about bullying in that time, and now, when I watch movies or TV shows that handle the topic of the "school bully" or "picking on the nerds" I get annoyed -- it's never quite right. Freaks and Geeks did a pretty good job, but there was still too much of that corny "name-calling," "book-slapping," and "locker-door-slamming" bullcrap that really doesn't happen in real life (from what I've observed).

A little background before I dive in. I did not run with the "popular" crowd in high school. I didn't run with the "nerd" crowd either. If I had to describe my high school clique, it would something along the lines of "the smart-asses." My best friends in high school were intelligent guys who really just enjoyed making fun of everything -- kind of hard to classify, really. I was friendly with all kinds, but the ones I would actually hang with were, for the most part, nihilistic jokers.

Now, personally I had all the makings of a nerd. I got good grades. I was heavily involved in band and theater. I played D&D (secretly) every weekend. I tucked my shirts into my jeans, and parted my hair to the side. I drove a moped to school. And (generally) I had more friends that were "nerds" than "jocks." Finally, (with one notable exception) I did not play team sports.

But I managed to avoid antagonism, for the most part. I never had to worry about getting beaten up, or teased, or any of the crap that I know some other kids went through. I managed to get through pretty cleanly...except for these four different bullies.

First up was Ronnie (name changed because at least one person reading this will know who I'm talking about). Now, Ronnie was my best friend Eric's neighbor, and we used to regularly play basketball in his back yard (because his house featured a basketball court). Ronnie was a year older than me, and about a foot shorter (he was Filipino)...but, while he was friendly with Eric, he never really warmed up to me. I think he may have sensed that I was not "cool," and, consequently, needed to be taught a lesson as to my proper social position. So Ronnie went out of his way to embarrass me at every opportunity -- especially when I'd play basketball (because I was terrible). He'd also make fun of me when I'd talk, never really directly insulting me, but more mocking the tone of my voice, or repeating a stutter, or little things like that. But his barbs were mainly just words -- sarcastic taunts and insults -- with one notable exception.

Things with Ronnie went bad during one of our regular games of basketball. I was in the fifth grade (I think), which would have made Ronnie a sixth grader. Now, my typical tactic in basketball was to hang out near the rim and try to block incoming shots, or rebound misses (because I was tall). As I recall there were probably something like six of us playing that day. Now, because I was terrible at basketball, and because Ronnie was so short (but very good at basketball), at one point during the game he drove the lane and I accidentally fouled him. For some reason this foul made Ronnie go ballistic, and he started screaming at me as I walked to the other end of the court. When I turned around he had taken some kind of "karate" stance and was bounding toward me menacingly.

I didn't quite know what to do -- I wasn't sure if he was just trying to scare me -- so I started backpedaling away. But as Ronnie closed the distance he jumped up and kicked me hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I doubled over in pain and wheezed for a minute in the middle of the basketball court. Once I caught my breath, I staggered out of his yard to the sidewalk.

Now this still kinda' bugs me to this day. What I should have done was one of two things -- either said "fuck this" and walked home with my dignity, or gone back in and got myself into a proper fist-fight. But, instead, I think I stood outside of his back-yard fence for a bit and cried. And after a couple minutes of that I went back to the basketball court and finished the game...as if the jump-kick had never taken place.

This bit of violence put an uneasy end to whatever relationship I had with Ronnie...and probably did a good bit of damage to my friendship with Eric (which eventually dissolved completely by the 7th grade). But I never really got harassed by Ronnie after he kicked me that day. Maybe he felt bad about it. Maybe he'd just made his point. Either way, he pretty much left me alone for the rest of the school year.

Now our school bus stop was in front of Ronnie's house, and I used to wait on the sidewalk every day (while Eric, Ronnie, and some other "cool" neighborhood kids waited in his warm house until the bus showed up). One day, for whatever reason, I was invited inside...and for the next two years, before the bus came, I'd sit and chat with the other guys inside until it was time to board. It wasn't much, but it was a friendly gesture from a guy who, I thought, didn't like me at all.

I kinda' lost track of Ronnie after that, as I made different friends and moved on in my life. I'm not sure if he stayed a little pissed-off kid, or if he settled down and found another direction in life. But I think his particular brand of bullying arose from the fact that he recognized I was trying to hang out with the cool kids, and I didn't belong. He made it his mission in life to teach me a social life lesson...which...by the time I reached Junior High...I had learned pretty well. Hell, the only reason I was trying to be "cool" in the first place was so I could hang out with Eric -- I wasn't really interested in any of the perks of "popularity." I just wanted to keep my friend.

But it was not to be. As Eric got cooler and cooler, I became less and less popular, and we lost touch in Junior High. So it goes...

Now, I just realized that this blog is going to run a bit long...so I'll cap this off here for now. I'm sure people are like "Ooh! Tyler posted a new blog entry!" Then when they see how long it is they're like, "Hmm...I don't have time to read all of this crap." And they'll close the window and move on. So...to avoid this, I'll cover bullies 2, 3, and 4 in my next three blog entries.

The World We Live In

Erika won a trip to Rome.

Seriously, she did. She entered a contest and won the grand prize.

You know what sucks? Instead of being elated at the thought of a free trip, I immediately thought, "Okay...so...what's the catch? We have to sit through a timeshare sales pitch? Is this just a scam from some very creative identity thieves? Do we have to provide transportation to Rome ourselves? Are we going to have to pay thousands of dollars in taxes to claim our prize?"

Why am I such a suspicio-phile? Well, for a couple of reasons. First of all, Erika had her identity stolen about a year ago, and I had my credit card info stolen a week ago. Neither ended up costing us a thing (thank you banks for protecting against fraud -- we crapped all over you about lending practices and the bailout bonuses etc., but when we really need your help, you're usually pretty cool). Also, when we went to the Wedding Expo two years ago, we signed every single contest entry form we could...and we got calls for the next month from telemarketers who told us "we won a trip to______! All we needed to do to claim our prize was attend a brief meeting in Renton..." at which point I'd hang up.

Scams always start out with a "too good to be true" scenario...which is why, when something that actually is too good to be true comes along I'm suspicious (instead of psyched).

So after speaking with the woman over the phone (and being on the cusp of hanging up because she was suspicious that it was a telemarketer) Erika received an e-mail from a bona-fide employee of Los Angeles Magazine (verified via several online sources) detailing the prize, and containing a Word document affidavit to be filled out and sent back within 5 days (or the prize is forfeit). All right. So far so good.

Line # three of the affidavit? "Social Security Number."

Uh oh.

Why would they need that?

Is this a normal thing?

We're not signing up for a credit card, just claiming a prize.

So we're just supposed to fax her social security number to some random fax machine?

What's with the five day deadline?

Are they just trying to scare us into sending it right away? Keep us from verifying the source?

Am I just being super-paranoid?

So, maybe you all could help me. I desperately want to believe this is the real deal, and so far, the SSN requirement is the only thing buggering me up at the moment. I found the identical contest prize offered on the MSN New Zealand website. Same prizes and everything. The SSN thing has freaked me out a bit.

But other than that, I can't possibly fathom how this could be a scam. They already had Erika's information when they called. And it wasn't an "unlisted number" that showed on the caller ID -- it was a local 323 number (same area code as the LAMagazine offices). And the contest came from a full-page ad in Los Angeles Magazine (Erika found the original advertisement), a credible publication that would probably never allow a phishing advertisement to be published (for fear of a lawsuit). And the three people CC'd in the prize e-mail are all actual Los Angeles Magazine employees. And Erika is invited to a VIP screening of Angels & Demons at Sony Studios tomorrow. And if they're going to steal an ID, why target an actress who made less than $15,000 last year?

I mean, if this is a scam, these people put a hell of a lot of work into getting Erika's social security number, from fake LinkedIn profiles, to rerouted official LAMagazine e-mail addresses, to getting tickets to a VIP movie premier...I say, hell, if they put that much effort into getting a silly SSN, they can frigging have it.

But, you see what I mean? Used to be someone would win a "major award" and they'd receive a lamp shaped like a leg in the mail, open it, and show the whole damn world what they won. If that were to happen nowadays, the winner would have the crate x-rayed before opening to check for nail bombs, then they would make sure they weren't getting billed for just opening the crate (the old Columbia House scam), then they'd make sure that shipping was already paid for (so they didn't accidentally accrue COD charges), then they'd go over the "rules and restrictions" with a fine toothed comb before cracking the crate displaying the leg lamp for the entire neighborhood.

Scam artists have ruined the good ol' "jump around and scream after you've won a prize" feeling. That really bites. But...maybe a free trip to Rome will temper that temporary feeling of doubt...maybe.