As many of you know, I was expelled from the Driver’s Education class I was taking. Fortunately, I was able to persuade Clark, our insecure complete dong of an instructor, to let me back in the class providing that I followed a few of his “simple rules.”
1) No Angry Birds during class.
2) Only speak when acknowledged by the teacher.
3) Recognize that this is not a comedy club where I get to try out new material.
4) Practice appropriate hygiene.
Whatever.
At any rate, the Saturday class passed without much incident, even though I didn’t have time to shower in the morning, but on Sunday a new student began to attend our course. Around 19, he was a “Dude.” He wore sunglasses and a t-shirt that said, “The Party Starts Here,” couldn’t stop talking about his hangover and kept answering all the questions the instructor asked correctly.
I hated his guts.
It was clear to me that regardless of the shackles Clark had imposed on me, that I absolutely had to step up my game to maintain my Alpha status in the class. And so, I immediately began to speak over Gio, belittle the things he said and answer every question I could. The other students looked up to me as their leader, and I couldn’t have that authority challenged.
You should know that in an effort at making “learning fun,” our moron of an instructor offered us treats whenever we answered a question correctly. If you knew what the speed limit was on a rural road, well, he would throw you a rice cracker. Gio had quite a stack of them, so I started to call him “Rice Cracker.” He took this as the challenge it was.
“Why you be doggin’ me, old man?”
“You’re going to make an excellent pizza delivery driver one day, Rice Cracker.”
“I could break you like a twig, Grandpa, don’t you be testing me.”
I was quiet for a little bit here.
Later, Clark divided the class in half to play a Driver’s Education game of Jeopardy. I completely fucking shone.
“What is a continuity line, Clark?”
“What is 0.08 percent alcohol, Clark?”
“What is drowsy driving, Clark?”
Every time I nailed another question Gio would make a “Pffft” sound, the sound of a loser.
I gave him a hard look, “Not so tough now, are you Rice Cracker? Brains over brawn, brains over brawn.”
And then Gio, who might have Road Rage issues, called me a Bitch and slapped me across the face.
Clark began to blow a whistle that he kept concealed beneath his shirt and the building security guard came to restore order and escort Gio and I off the premises. Apparently, this sort of thing happens more often than you’d think.