It’s Good To Be The Prick: Part 4
The Beginnings...
Through tear laden eyes and a stuttering whimper, my eight year old sister exclaimed to me, “But I don’t want to go to jail”. These words will forever be etched in my mind. For these are the words that made me realize exactly why I have been placed upon this god forsaken planet; to be a prick. Some may call it a curse to others, but I like to think of it as a gift to be used for self entertainment, and sometimes…revenge.
My sister and I, who are a couple of years apart, used to constantly be at each other’s throats. It’s not like it was my fault. I mean, I was the first born and everything was just fine until she came along. At first it wasn’t too bad, as I could still get away with just about anything. Then she grew older and learned how to speak and say things like, “He did it” or “It’s his fault”, and there ended my care free childhood.
I can vividly remember the beginning as if it were yesterday. I had a long set of Hot Wheels tracks running from the top of the stairway to the bottom. I was amazed at the speed that gravity provided for my micro-sized race cars, and adding a shoe on a random step to provide a jump just made it that much more exciting; but it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed, if you will, a money-shot. I needed a glorious way to end each magnificent race with more than just a light thump on a plaid couch pillow. I needed…shaving cream.
As my sister watched and sometimes even helped, I spent hours creating little shaving cream mounds at the end of the track, and then letting each car blast through them with incredible velocity. My god was I having fun, but then it all came to an abrupt ending. As my father came walking up the stairs, his face turned a burning shade of red and his nostrils flared out like a raging bull. He gave us both a look that would have made a grizzly bear cower in fear, took a slow and deep breath and screamed, “Why in the hell is there shaving cream all over the god damned wall?”
I froze in a state of terror, but of course my sister exclaimed, “He did it!” and took off running to her room. My father, being the sweetheart that he is, took a piece of the rubberized plastic track and proceeded to beat the holy hell out of me with it. With every syllable came a stinging sensation on my back, legs, or ass. I didn’t comprehend a fucking word that man said while the beating ensued, all I could do was scream on the outside, and think about revenge against my sister on the inside.
Many months later came the opportunity that I had waited for. As both my parents worked, I was able to get a hold of any mail that was sent to our house before they even knew it had arrived. I was used to seeing the occasional letter from a teacher that would describe my negative actions at school, and I was always able to snatch it up before my parents were the wiser. Well, one day I saw what I thought was such a letter and said to myself, “Great, what did I do now?”. Upon opening it and to my surprise, it wasn’t about me at all; it was about Li’l Miss Do-No-Wrong. Apparently sis had a library book that was a little over due. It was a standard library template letter with a box in the middle of the body where one could type the nature of the letter. Typed in the box was the name of the overly due book and “Please return by (such and such date) or you will be charged for the ten dollar price of the book”. Well my mother had a typewriter, and I had an idea.
I took the letter, carefully lined it up in the typewriter, and after the part where it said you will be charged for the ten dollar price of the book, I typed “and will face a five year minimum prison sentence”. I then went to my sister’s room, found the book and hid it. Vengeance was just around the corner. I took the letter to my sister, showed it to her and said, “Holy crap sis, you are in big time trouble now. Where is the book at? You have to return it or mom and dad are going to kick your butt…and then you are going to jail”. A look of panic engulfed her face as she ran to her room to look for the over due and missing book.
I sat downstairs with the T.V. volume turned low and laughed to myself as she frantically tore her room apart. I gave her about a half of an hour before I went up to her room and asked, “Did you find it yet?”
Scared to death and shaking, she looked at me and said, “I don’t know where it is. I can’t find it”.
As calmly as I could while holding back my laughter, I replied “Wow, I guess you’re going to have to go to jail. That sucks. Did you know they have big furry rats in jail?”
Her eyes welled up with tears and her bottom lip began to quiver. “Rats?” she asked.
“Yep, rats, big rats…the size of dogs”.
“But I don’t want to go to jail…I don’t want rats to eat me” she cried.
At this point, I didn’t know what exactly my cockles were, but I knew they were feeling well warmed. I then said, “OK, I have an idea. You give me ten dollars, I’ll go buy a new copy of the book, drop it off at the library, and no one will know the difference”.
“But I don’t have ten dollars”, she replied while crying even harder.
I said “Hmmm, well I do. Tell you what; I’ll buy the book and take it to the library tomorrow. Since you get a dollar a week for an allowance, for the next ten weeks, you give me your dollar and we’ll be even. But whatever you do, you can’t tell mom and dad”. After I made my offer, her tears had stopped and she looked at me like I was the greatest brother a little girl could ever have. She then agreed to my terms and we had a deal.
The next day I took the original book back to the school library, dropped it off and paid a little under a dollar for the late fees out of my own pocket. So basically, for an investment of about one dollar, I got my dollar back plus nine more over ten weekly installments; I was a very enterprising young man. I also felt like I somewhat got emotional and monetary based revenge for the beating I was left to take alone.
After stopping by the local 7-11 after school one day the following week, I was walking home with a comic book in one hand, a Baby Ruth candy bar in the other, and my allowance was still in my pocket. It was that day that I realized my calling in life. I realized: god damn, it’s good to be the prick!
by
VooDoo
