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| 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.
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