Off the Grass/Keep Fucking With That Trumpet

Today I ended up sharing some stories from my youth on a messageboard I frequent. They conjured up fond memories of my time as a middle school street urchin, so I figured why not share them here as well.

Off the Grass

One year when I was in middle school the faculty got real crazy about us walking on the grass at school. Like any time a lunch period let out they would have an administrator out just to tell us to get off the grass and stay on the sidewalk. It was really dumb and really weird. So any way, my lunch period lets out one day and I’m trying to get back to my class but the sidewalks are filled with kids not moving and hanging around and I’m like “Fuck this, I’ll just cut across the grass.”

So off I go. I’m halfway to the other side of the campus when I hear “OFF THE GRASS! OF THE GRASS!” from far away. I’m punk as fuck, so I just figured whatever. I’m almost to the other side anyway. The shouts grow closer and I notice a few people around me are turning to look behind me. So I turn around. One of the administrators is rushing towards me in a golf cart. Instead of running away or anything, I kinda just stood there in disbelief, thinking “Well, this is a bit extreme.”

The golf cart grows closer and suddenly one of the front wheels hits this hole in the ground. The golf cart launches forward and the administrator goes flying out of it, over the wheel, over the hood, spilling out onto the grass. Everyone started cackling like hyenas and then started yelling “OFF THE GRASS” at him. On that day the students won. It was glorious.

Keep Fucking With That Trumpet

Similar time period as the off the grass story, when I was in middle school, me and my friends Kyle and Ethan would always hangout in the downtown area of the tiny town we lived in. We loved pulling pranks and stuff on the people in the town and filming it. One day we steal Kyle’s sister’s trumpet and go downtown with it. We’re sitting in an alleyway just fucking around with this trumpet, making the loudest, most ear-rupturing noises we can. This lady peaks around the corner into the alleyway and walks away. We get the feeling she’s going to come back so we get our little camera ready. Kyle is butchering the very name of music itself when the lady comes back and just stares at us. Kyle lowers the trumpet and just looks at her a while and then says, “Hear that? It was Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star.” The lady just says, “I think you need a little practice.” Kyle tells her to hold on, that there’s one song he’s really good at and he wants to play it for her. So he runs to the end of the alley where the lady is standing, puts his lips on the trumpet, raises it, and blows as hard as he possibly can— the trumpet directly in the lady’s face. The trumpet made the loudest, shrillest, most sonically disturbing noise you could imagine. The lady jumps in surprise, terror, whatever. So much so that she topples back, trips on the curb, and face plants right in the middle of the street.

We ran away, laughing hysterically and still playing the trumpet.