COLUMBUS DAY

          My whole school is psycho and my history teacher is the maggot of the millennium. Why do I say this? Before you raise your eyebrows hear me out.

         Mr. Greg Grossman, who is my history teacher, has been insisting that we don’t pay enough attention in class. If he ever heard his own droning day in and day out, he‘d be snoring through his bulbous nose too. But warthogs like him never see themselves as they are.

         This morning in history class Mr. Grossman started to yak again. After yesterday’s long lecture, I knew he’d be up something so I decided to pay attention for once. This is what he told us about Christopher Columbus. At least this is the way I heard it.

         “This sailor whose day we’re celebrating every year, never really had Gucci loafers or fine tailored suits. His suits looked vulgar, crass, and gaudy even though they were made by the leading tailors of his day. Moreover he had to cook his own food on the ship. True, the ship used to have a cook but he was knifed by the natives and probably was cooked by them. They call it karma. If you cook so much, you get cooked.

         So Christopher made a big fire in the middle of the deck over sand and boiled dry provisions they carried in large casks. When the crewmen were lucky enough to catch some sea bass or even an occasional barracuda, that fish went directly from the hook into the boiling pot. By the way, that’s how the chowders as food were invented. Otherwise, no one would touch a bowl of chowder if they hadn’t been too hungry like these brave men of the sea.

         The queen had donated some of her best wines and provisions; therefore, the victuals were more than satisfactory on the ship. Only if it weren’t for the fact that the captain had to double as the cook and also if that red raging wine hadn’t been that high in alcohol. . .

                   The cooks of that era knew not to cook on the deck in stormy weather, but poor Christopher didn’t. When a gust blew through the deck and swept away the sand, he still continued with his cooking. Little did he know that the fire had eaten through the deck and. . .

         When the ship arrived its destination, that is somewhere which looked like a deserted piece of rock, Christopher, who had now recovered from his bacchanalia, found out that half of the crew was missing, obviously having slipped out of the hole in the bottom of the ship.

         Well, what can one do? These mishaps were to be expected if one were to discover a continent. Christopher knew he had to discover a continent and change the world’s flow for the sake of banquets, celebrations, wealth, and riches. But especially he wanted Gucci loafers from a new world store, even if he had to wait awhile.

         His ship being damaged, half of his crew missing, this bold and daring sailor went on with the journey on a tiny kayak crossing the oceans and arriving back to salute his queen. The queen, wasn’t amused after having seen that her investments’ return was only an aborigine’s kayak. She received Christopher like an iceberg and sent him to a place where icebergs amassed.”

         Believe me; I swear I really paid attention to Mr. Grossman’s every word.

         Well, our next period was English Composition with Miss Lisa Borak. Mr. Grossman has a crush on Miss Borak. I saw Miss Borak hanging out with another guy she called her fiancé, but the way things are between Miss Borak and Mr. Grossman, that fiancé will have to go where Christopher Columbus eventually went.

         Miss Borak asked us to write why we thought that Columbus Day was an important holiday. I raised my hand and asked her if I could use the information that Mr. Grossman had told in the history period.

         “You certainly may. I am sure your essay will be dazzling,” she said, smiling.

         I started my essay saying that I was truly grateful to Mr. Grossman for supplying us with such valuable information. Then I wrote what Mr. Grossman told us in class practically verbatim.

         Before the day was out, I was called into the Principal’s office. When I walked in, I saw my mother with a very worried expression on her face.

         “Sweetie, how are you feeling?” she asked, practically in tears.

         “The school psychologist is about to arrive, Mrs. Mousher,” the Principal said. “Let’s see what she’ll have to say. Twisting the words of a teacher shows something. I don’t know how to say this, but it is something quite unhealthy.”

         I stretched my neck to see what our principal was holding in his hand. It was my essay. Now, I'm writing this as I wait for the psychologist to finish her interview with my mother. I don't know what will happen but someone's head is going to fall.

         Didn’t I tell you? My whole school is psycho.