Stealing is wrong. I know this. But... there are circumstances where “borrowing” things is totally justifiable. Of course, the rightful owner of said “borrowed” property is not likely to agree.
The high school I attended has undergone a complete remodel since I graduated, so my memories live in a non-existent space now. The old school was built in the early 1960’s and therefore had some peculiar architectural features. First of all, the color scheme made zero sense. Our school colors were purple and white and yet, they purposely painted a large portion of the school hideous shades of turquoise. There were “louvers”—I series of vertically rotating metal panels— on the windows. These were meant to manage the amount of natural light in the classrooms, but only made that asbestoses-laden building look and feel even more like a prison. There was also a roughly 3 foot gap between the top of the lockers and the ceiling. This is where the story begins.
On part of the second floor, this space was filled with dozens of stuffed birds. A lot of people never really noticed them, but I did because I’ve always found taxidermy a bit creepy. I don’t like being starred down by the glass eyes of a dead animal. Perhaps this is why I was rarely tardy for class. Who wants to hang out in the hall with your pals under the freakishly watchful eye of a deceased pelican?
One day during my senior year, my good friend Jaicee and I had stayed after school for a Key Club service project. The activity had taken place in one of the rooms with the birds. When it was over, I caught sight of a large white bird that seemed to be watching me. A shiver ran up my spine. Then I had an idea. Our friend, Trent, had been having an extraordinarily lousy week and needed cheering up. ..and I knew just how to accomplish that.
See, Trent had a deep and abiding love for a character on MADDTV called “Miss Swan”. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this character, I have provided the clip below.
The formula for every Miss Swan sketch was the same. This small, sassy Asian woman with limited English is placed in a situation where somebody needs specific information from her and to the extreme frustration of all involved, she cannot provide it. Nowadays, this kind of stereotyping could draw a lawsuit, but the show got away with it for years. We loved it. We had our Miss Swan impressions perfected and busted them out whenever the situation called for it (which seemed to be anytime we were asked a question). So, in my mind, there could be NOTHING funnier and guaranteed to pull my friend from the depths of his current despair than to come home to find a stuffed swan in his room.
Somehow, I got Jaicee to agree to this plan. Then we had to figure out how to get the bird across town. Just getting that thing down from its perch above the lockers was a task. It was larger and heavier than I had estimated. We stood on desk tops to reach it and carefully lowered the thick wooden base to the floor. The bird stood waist high and was covered with several decades of dust. We attempted to cover it with an empty trash bag, but to no avail. The neck was too long. Half the bird was left exposed. But we couldn’t waste time. We had to get out of there.
I told Jaicee to get her car and meet me behind the school with the engine running. Before making a run for it, I poked my head into the hallway and looked around for any witnesses. The coast was clear, so I grabbed the bird and began walking quickly toward the stairs. The Mission Impossible theme song was playing in my head. Adrenaline surged through my system as I imagined what would happen if I got caught. My exit route would take me within 30 yards of the front office. What if somebody saw me? What if it was the principal? Or that scary secretary? Somehow I feared her more than the real authorities.
Before I could finish imagining the worst case scenario, I had made it to the car. We put the swan in the trunk and sped away. Half a block later, we got the giggles. Gradually, it went from a light hearted, “oh-my-gosh-can-you-believe-we-just-did-that?” giggle to a nervous “oh-my-gosh-can-you-believe-we-just-did-that?” giggle. But we successfully suppressed the guilt while we fashioned a small black wig (remarkably similar to the one worn by Miss Swan) out of craft paper. I very nearly wet my pants laughing when we placed it on the bird. We also made a sign containing some sentence incorporating every Miss Swan catch phrase we could think of. It was perfect.
We pulled up to Trent’s house and were pleased to find that he was still at work. His Grandma opened the door. At first, she was confused as to why we wanted to put a large bird in his room. But, our town had some peculiar traditions for inviting and/or responding to an invitation to a school dance so she probably thought it had something to do with that. We sat the swan on his bed, being careful to factor in the curve of the neck so that it was starring directly at the door. It was disturbing and hilarious all at once.
On the way back to my house, Jaicee began to look pale and the nervous giggle was back. I think this might have been the first rule she’d ever broken in her life. I felt bad for having made her an accomplice. “How are we gonna put that back?” she asked. Good question. I started thinking about the scary secretary again. Crap.
Ah! But then I remembered that the school was conducting standardized testing with the sophomores the next day, which meant the juniors, seniors and most of the teachers didn’t have to come until 10:00 am. This would leave most of the school empty in the early morning and give us time to replace the borrowed bird with no harm done. Jaicee nodded in agreement, but she still looked conflicted. I assured her that it was all gonna work out! Nothing could go wrong....
That night I got a phone call from Trent. I could barely understand him though the laughter. Remember , our original objective was to cheer up a friend. We had clearly succeeded. After he caught his breath, he asked where it came from. I related the events of the day. He got quiet. “Um....how are you gonna to put it back?” he asked...in the same nervous tone Jaicee had used. I told him the rest of the plan and arranged to pick up the swan early the next morning.
I arrived at the school at about 8:00am, shortly after the fist bell would normally have sounded. Just as I had hoped, the halls were vacant. I slipped past the front office, up the stairs, and down the hall to the scene of the “crime”. Almost home free, I reached for the door handle and heard a sound in the distance. I whirled around to see what/who was there. It was nothing. But my heart was pounding now. I reached for the handle again, only to find it was locked. Crap.
I looked around again, hoping that noise might have been the janitor. My father taught me early in life to always be nice to janitors because: a)it is a thankless but necessary job and b)they have keys to everything. But, alas, my pal with the Pinesol was nowhere in sight. I considered going to look for him, but change my mind when I heard another noise coming from the chemistry room next door.
Before I could react, the door opened and there stood the odd little man responsible for my knowledge of electrons. He looked like Elmer Fudd, but his speech reminded me more of Yogi Bear. He had this way of starting a sentence in a low tone and steadily rising to the end, regardless of whether it was a statement or a question. He had sense of humor, but very few students understood it. Fortunately, I was one of them and had racked up a ton of brownie points the previous semester by laughing and cuing my classmates to laugh at the appropriate moments.
I remained calm and greeted him enthusiastically. “Good morning! How are today? Uh...can I ask a tiny favor?” I told him a loose approximation of the truth...that I had borrowed something from the English room next door and wanted to return it, but needed a key. He paused and looked at me suspiciously, but agreed to assist. I sighed in relief and thanked him. Maybe I was going to get away with this after all.....
He stepped into the hall, pulling the keys from his pocket. So close. I was so close to being finished with this feathered fiasco. Then he stopped abruptly. He had seen the black webbed feet and poking out from under the plastic bag. He turned on his heel in a very military fashion. “What is this?” he demanded, but didn’t wait for an answer. He pulled the bag off the bird. It was still wearing the little black wig. I started to stutter a response, but stopped when I caught his gaze. You know all those cartoons where extreme anger is demonstrated by the person turning red and steam blowing out of their ears as a train whistle screams. Yep. That’s what happened. “That’s MMMY bird!” he emphatically stated in his signature ascending tone. Crap.
Despite knowing that I was caught and probably going to be punished, I had sooo many questions. Why? Why did he own a stuffed swan? Did he own them all? Had he shot and stuffed them himself? Why did he keep them at school? [Actually, that one answered itself...if you were his wife, would you want those creepy things in your house? ] How did I manage to bump into the ONE person who was guaranteed to be enraged by my actions? Was making a friend laugh really worth this much trouble? And exactly how much trouble was I really going to be in?
While all these questions were racing through my brain, the livid chemistry teacher was wagging his finger and saying things that started with “In my day.....” and “That’s a thousand dollars worth of feathers in that sack, missy!” I don’t remember the rest of the lecture. I was too busy imagining what would happen next. I expected him to march me down to the office and turn me over to the scary secretary. But he didn’t. He pulled the paper wig off his prize swan and threw it in the trash. I offered, in a shaky voice, to put the bird back on its perch, but he said he’d rather I leave immediately.
For the next week at school, I was on edge, expecting at any moment to be called to the principal’s office and informed of a suspension or something. Jaicee felt guilty—but also really relieved—that she had not been there to share the blame. And so, we waited. But nothing ever happened. I still don’t know if not reporting me was as act of mercy or psychological game (letting me imagine the worst and punish myself). Or maybe he just didn’t want to remind the administration that he was keeping a flock of dusty, creepy birds on their property.
Jeanette you are an amazing writer and I seriously almost peed my pants reading this, what an awesome friend you were to go through so much trouble to cheer up a friend. Oh and Jeremy and I LOVE Swan!
ReplyDeleteI LOVE THIS STORY!!! oh our good old high school. smootie, you are the best. :)
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