Let's Immortal!

There's a number of reasons why I did it.

Firstable, it's been on my mind, ever since Alana told me about when she was a little kid on a field trip to a historic McDonald's and her entire class spontaneously trashed the place. That story made me laugh hysterically. I wonder what I would've done if I was a teacher there, and know I couldn't be responsible; I'd probably join in.

Then I started thinking of my old high school days, when our class would inexplicably goad Ian into doing his Quasimodo impression (we had seen the classic Hunchback of Notre Dame in an English or History class, and it affected us strongly). Once the name Quasimodo was said, you knew it was on. Within 15 minutes, no matter what was happening, Ian would crawl on his desk and beg for our pity, and the entire class would throw paper at him, reminiscent of the poor Hunchback's "crowning" as the King of Fools.

The teachers could never stop this. As Richard O'Brien writes, "It was as if she were riding a giant tidal wave, it would be folly to fight against it - her only chance would be to ride it out - adapt - and perhaps also - survive." They had no choice but to pause their lessons and let us go through the ritual.

It still amazes and amuses me.

Secondable, I had just gotten out of dinner with my old co-workers, and I'd had a Turkish coffee, probably my first coffee in several years, so I was feeling a bit different, to put it mildly. But it's unfair to blame it on caffeine.

No, if there's someone to blame for why I did it, I blame Sarah, because I asked her, "Should I do it?" and she opened the floodgates with her tacit Yes (which was probably more like, "Sure, if you want."). Yes, I can't be blamed for my own actions, a bigger kid made me do it.

See, there were these kids waiting on the subway platform. A big group of brothers and sisters or friends, maybe fourth grade or so. They were in a boisterous mood, laughing and playing, and when the R train showed up, one said something like, "Let's get on the Retarded train!"

[Disclaimer: I try not to use the word "retarded" in a derogatory sense. It's not nice. But it's also a hard habit to break.]

Well, when those kids said that, that made me laugh a lot. And coffee-fueled memories of Quasimodo and the wish that I could've seen that destroyed McDonald's (like, just picture throwing food and drinks and salt and sugar and ketchup EVERYWHERE! OMG I love it so) and the fact that I'm the highly suggestible type, well, Sarah's mild nod was the one little spark that I needed.

So I walked over to the train doors and yelled in after them, "Have fun on the retarded train, retards!"

I quickly walked away because their mom/aunt/guardian gave me a nasty look (similar to the ones on the faces of the other adult passengers), but I heard the kids go, "Ohhh...!" as I triumphantly fled.

The train didn't leave the station, so I went back and looked in the window to see their reaction. They were pointing and yelling and clearly had just witnessed one of the most ridiculous moments of their childhood, and I raised my arms in triumph (one of my favorite gestures) and then did the gun-fingers at them, since I'm still in mascot mode. I had to let them know that I wasn't just a random crazy, but I'd made the rational decision to dis them, and then wanted to showboat in my victory.

And the Retarded train departed, taking its passengers with it, and I blushed happily at the people watching me from the corners of their eyes. It's one of those bits of harmless chaos that I thrive on.

Those kids are gonna talk about it forever, even when they're adults, about the time some bearded lunatic totally pwned them, and that's the kind of immortality that I've always wanted.