Posted in
check,
detention,
forgery,
illegal,
jail,
money,
napkin,
principal,
stupid,
suspension,
trouble
Misadventure #1 - The Legend of The Napkin Forgery Caper
I was again telling the story of one of my various high school exploits/"shenanigans" when my sister suggested I write some of them down. I asked her which in particular, and between us we made quite an impressive list of things I did in high school that earned me some degree of infamy. From schemes and plots, to misadventures - doing whatever we "young hooligans" could think of doing while attending the most dilapidated school in the world.
Even though it's a giant red crap, we had some good times, we really did.
OK - On to today's story. Misadventure #1 - The Napkin Forgery Caper.
In 10th grade (before I was able to leave campus to take lunch elsewhere) I was forced to eat in the school's cafeteria. And what a joy it was!
How it generally works is that you stand in a crowded line in a stinky room (praying the smell is only the person in front of you and not the food you're about to consume). Eventually, when lunch is almost over, you'll reach a computer and type in a 5 digit code to deduct money from you lunch account. No money, no lunch, no exceptions. To enforce this, the school district spared no expense and hired a bouncer. A plumpy, 70 year old grandma-lookin lady who, through extreme grouchiness and occasional profanity, makes token efforts to keep order in the line. If you don't put in your number, she forbids you to get lunch. And you'd be thrown out of the line before you can reach the cave-like area where the food lives. But should the computer approve you with a beep, you've passed the second obstacle. At that point you select among a variety of bad foods, and then search for an empty table, in a room so stuffed with people the Fire Marshall would have a seizure of epic proportions.
But as the weeks drudge on, your lunch account eventually runs dry - and you have to put in some money. This is done by filling out a check, putting your lunch number on it, and inserting it (inside a small manilla-colored envelope) into a mystical lunch slot. (Rumor has it this slot leads to a plain wooden box, but... I'm pretty sure it goes through a few magical mario pipes and has to jump over a few kupas to get there.)
So one day I was filling out a check at lunch, after eating. Things were duller than usual so, for a laugh, I scribbled out a fake check on a napkin.
I filled it out like a normal check and pointed it toward my friend Pablo Darelli by putting his name on the envelope (even though I didn't know his account number). It was in the amount of One Billion dollars... USD $1 B in non-refundable lunch money. Perhaps the best heist ever attempted. (I could have my own movie, Sanders 1)
I signed it on behalf of Pablo's mom, using her real name but making up a particularly ridiculous looking signature. Then I showed the check to my friend Matt, who was sitting nearby. He laughed and I deposited the check into the lunch slot.
I hoped one of the old hags who ran the cafeteria would get a kick out of it ... a check for a billion dollars hastily scribbled out on a napkin, might just be the thing to lighten a dreary day.
But whatever happened, I fully expected to never see or think about the check again.
I was mistaken.
Lunch ended and we went to class, it was 5th period English with Mr. Wilson.
He was a really cool guy, but always had us busy working on various stupid projects, (stuff like paper-mache masks, paper castles, and board games--this is somehow "honors" high school English) So, we were working on one of these projects when Pablo suddenly burst into the room. He had a strange atmosphere about him, like a weird mix of humor, frustration, hysteria, confusion and somehow apathy. And only then did I realize that he'd not been in class with us.
"Does anyone know about a fake lunch check in my name?" Pablo asked.
"Why?"
"Because I just got grilled by the principal about it. Someone's trying to get me in trouble."
He then recounted his last half an hour, in which he'd been taken to the principal's office, and there presented with the napkin. The principal gave him a speech about ethics and the law, then expected a confession from Pablo, who'd honestly never seen this "check" before in his life. When my friend wasn't forthcoming with a confession to his "crime", the Principal bluffed that he'd "asked (Pablo's) teachers and the writing on the napkin matched (Pablo's) handwriting." (Which, for the record, is ridiculous. My handwriting is much hastier and more illegible, and Pablo's has a weird slant to it like he's writing in italics.)
Anyway, Pablo scoffed at this asinine accusation. A reaction that didn't go over well with the principal. "You realize this is a serious offense, don't you?"
"No."
"This is forgery."
"Riiiight," Pablo responded. "A forgery... On a napkin."
Eventually they released him, with no evidence to prove he'd done anything--since he didn't. And after that, he came up to class - needing to track down the real culprit.
Upon hearing this story (and letting my explosion of laughter settle down) I confessed the crime and leisurely made my way to the principal's office after class. On arrival, The Man couldn't see me yet, so I had to wait.
I sat impatiently, contemplating the consequences of my actions. Deciding, ultimately, on two things.
1. I shouldn't be punished since it was obviously a joke. And anyone who couldn't see that deserves to - well, have a career in the public school system. And
2. If they did punish me, it was still totally worth it - and I'd do it again.
The principal called me in and I confessed the non-crime I had committed. He gave me a very sober lecture about how I'd broken the law and, according to him, could go to prison. I stifled my laughter as best I could, but I'm sure a chuckle escaped. Fortunately this escaped notice.
Eventually, he brought up the subject of various detentions and suspension he could submit me to, and asked what I thought. I said I had no opinion. "Whatever you want," I told him, but added a little speech about how I hadn't realized it was illegal and that I was sorry, blah - blah - blah. I can act the part when I need to, but in this case I think even the most naive person could not have believed I was sincere. Still... he let me off. Probably because I could have easily challenged any reprimand.
So there you have it.
I am an almost-convicted felon on charges of Forgery and Conspiracy to steal funds from the public school system ... in the amount of one billion dollars in lunch money credits. Clever, isn't it?
By my estimation (not correcting for inflation) my one billion dollars should be just enough to give me lunches every school day for almost 4 Million years...
Looking back on it, I still wonder about the old lunch lady who found the check... and why, exactly, she thought it was necessary to sound the alarm and march to the principal's office. Instead of just throwing the napkin in the trash with an amused chuckle.
But whatever. It makes for a good story.
I was again telling the story of one of my various high school exploits/"shenanigans" when my sister suggested I write some of them down. I asked her which in particular, and between us we made quite an impressive list of things I did in high school that earned me some degree of infamy. From schemes and plots, to misadventures - doing whatever we "young hooligans" could think of doing while attending the most dilapidated school in the world.
Even though it's a giant red crap, we had some good times, we really did.
OK - On to today's story. Misadventure #1 - The Napkin Forgery Caper.
In 10th grade (before I was able to leave campus to take lunch elsewhere) I was forced to eat in the school's cafeteria. And what a joy it was!
How it generally works is that you stand in a crowded line in a stinky room (praying the smell is only the person in front of you and not the food you're about to consume). Eventually, when lunch is almost over, you'll reach a computer and type in a 5 digit code to deduct money from you lunch account. No money, no lunch, no exceptions. To enforce this, the school district spared no expense and hired a bouncer. A plumpy, 70 year old grandma-lookin lady who, through extreme grouchiness and occasional profanity, makes token efforts to keep order in the line. If you don't put in your number, she forbids you to get lunch. And you'd be thrown out of the line before you can reach the cave-like area where the food lives. But should the computer approve you with a beep, you've passed the second obstacle. At that point you select among a variety of bad foods, and then search for an empty table, in a room so stuffed with people the Fire Marshall would have a seizure of epic proportions.
But as the weeks drudge on, your lunch account eventually runs dry - and you have to put in some money. This is done by filling out a check, putting your lunch number on it, and inserting it (inside a small manilla-colored envelope) into a mystical lunch slot. (Rumor has it this slot leads to a plain wooden box, but... I'm pretty sure it goes through a few magical mario pipes and has to jump over a few kupas to get there.)
So one day I was filling out a check at lunch, after eating. Things were duller than usual so, for a laugh, I scribbled out a fake check on a napkin.
I filled it out like a normal check and pointed it toward my friend Pablo Darelli by putting his name on the envelope (even though I didn't know his account number). It was in the amount of One Billion dollars... USD $1 B in non-refundable lunch money. Perhaps the best heist ever attempted. (I could have my own movie, Sanders 1)
I signed it on behalf of Pablo's mom, using her real name but making up a particularly ridiculous looking signature. Then I showed the check to my friend Matt, who was sitting nearby. He laughed and I deposited the check into the lunch slot.
I hoped one of the old hags who ran the cafeteria would get a kick out of it ... a check for a billion dollars hastily scribbled out on a napkin, might just be the thing to lighten a dreary day.
But whatever happened, I fully expected to never see or think about the check again.
I was mistaken.
Lunch ended and we went to class, it was 5th period English with Mr. Wilson.
He was a really cool guy, but always had us busy working on various stupid projects, (stuff like paper-mache masks, paper castles, and board games--this is somehow "honors" high school English) So, we were working on one of these projects when Pablo suddenly burst into the room. He had a strange atmosphere about him, like a weird mix of humor, frustration, hysteria, confusion and somehow apathy. And only then did I realize that he'd not been in class with us.
"Does anyone know about a fake lunch check in my name?" Pablo asked.
"Why?"
"Because I just got grilled by the principal about it. Someone's trying to get me in trouble."
He then recounted his last half an hour, in which he'd been taken to the principal's office, and there presented with the napkin. The principal gave him a speech about ethics and the law, then expected a confession from Pablo, who'd honestly never seen this "check" before in his life. When my friend wasn't forthcoming with a confession to his "crime", the Principal bluffed that he'd "asked (Pablo's) teachers and the writing on the napkin matched (Pablo's) handwriting." (Which, for the record, is ridiculous. My handwriting is much hastier and more illegible, and Pablo's has a weird slant to it like he's writing in italics.)
Anyway, Pablo scoffed at this asinine accusation. A reaction that didn't go over well with the principal. "You realize this is a serious offense, don't you?"
"No."
"This is forgery."
"Riiiight," Pablo responded. "A forgery... On a napkin."
Eventually they released him, with no evidence to prove he'd done anything--since he didn't. And after that, he came up to class - needing to track down the real culprit.
Upon hearing this story (and letting my explosion of laughter settle down) I confessed the crime and leisurely made my way to the principal's office after class. On arrival, The Man couldn't see me yet, so I had to wait.
I sat impatiently, contemplating the consequences of my actions. Deciding, ultimately, on two things.
1. I shouldn't be punished since it was obviously a joke. And anyone who couldn't see that deserves to - well, have a career in the public school system. And
2. If they did punish me, it was still totally worth it - and I'd do it again.
The principal called me in and I confessed the non-crime I had committed. He gave me a very sober lecture about how I'd broken the law and, according to him, could go to prison. I stifled my laughter as best I could, but I'm sure a chuckle escaped. Fortunately this escaped notice.
Eventually, he brought up the subject of various detentions and suspension he could submit me to, and asked what I thought. I said I had no opinion. "Whatever you want," I told him, but added a little speech about how I hadn't realized it was illegal and that I was sorry, blah - blah - blah. I can act the part when I need to, but in this case I think even the most naive person could not have believed I was sincere. Still... he let me off. Probably because I could have easily challenged any reprimand.
So there you have it.
I am an almost-convicted felon on charges of Forgery and Conspiracy to steal funds from the public school system ... in the amount of one billion dollars in lunch money credits. Clever, isn't it?
By my estimation (not correcting for inflation) my one billion dollars should be just enough to give me lunches every school day for almost 4 Million years...
Looking back on it, I still wonder about the old lunch lady who found the check... and why, exactly, she thought it was necessary to sound the alarm and march to the principal's office. Instead of just throwing the napkin in the trash with an amused chuckle.
But whatever. It makes for a good story.
