|An archetypal historical scene similar to what I experienced.|
Article © 2018 Luke T. Bush
During my teen years I attended a centralized school in the hinterlands known for priding itself on offering courses that profoundly developed one’s intellect.
For example: Shop Class. This was during the Dark Ages of education. While all the girls took Home Economics, learning how to sew and bake for their future careers in housewifery, the guys had to learn manly things like how to saw wood and bend metal to make pointless crap.
Call him Mr. Ruffwood. I don’t remember the real name of my eighth grade shop teacher but Ruffwood is an appropriate moniker for someone with his demeanor.
One day in Shop Class Mr. Ruffwood warned us to watch out for a large vise attached to one table. This vise was situated at a certain height from the floor.
“Make sure you don’t walk into it.” He growled like a bear suffering from a chronic anal itch. “If you’re not careful you’ll injure your testicles. If you don’t know what that means they’re your testis. And if you don’t know what that means it’s your nuts.”
It was easy to avoid the vise because it was painted bright yellow. Even the inbred hayseeds could grok the visual alert.
One day we wrapped up early, put all the tools away, cleaned up the work area. Then we stood out in the hallway, holding our books, waiting for the bell to tell us to move along to the next class.
Mr. Ruffwood was upset that we ended five minutes early. “Look at you, standing around like a bunch of prostitutes.”
So while our testicles were never physically harmed Mr. Ruffwood busted our nuts verbally.