“Remember when the police called our house and said they had you in custody?” my mom asked the other day.
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Not one of my finer moments.”
“But you were just trying to do something nice,” she consoled me.
And for the record, I wasn’t ACTUALLY in police custody. In fact, I was sitting at the dinner table, completely oblivious, as my mother said, “What?!” into the phone and then gave me an ominous look. Here’s the whole story:
I was fourteen and I’d just started grade 9. I was in the bathroom at school when two girls came in. I knew one of them—“Mary Jane” had been a neighbour a long time ago, and the last I’d heard, she’d gotten into some kind of mysterious “trouble” and had been sent to juvenile detention. She was tough-looking, and so was the girl she was with. But Mary Jane recognized me:
Mary Jane: Hey. How have you been?
Me: Good. How about you?
Mary Jane: Not bad. So my friend and I have a problem. We really need to get jobs and make some money because we’re homeless. But we don’t have any ID. If you loan us yours, we can get jobs at the Fall Fair and be able to afford a place to live.
Me: OK. Here you go.
Yep, I handed over my Social Insurance Card, my birth certificate, AND my library card to these two girls without a second thought. Unfortunately, as it turned out, they had both just escaped from the juvenile detention centre where they had been sentenced to live for various crimes. So they WERE technically homeless…At any rate, they used my ID to try and get jobs at the Fair, someone recognized them, and they were re-arrested. But the police were confused at first about the identity of the girl Mary Jane was with, hence the phone call to my house. And then I had to go down to the station to pick up my ID. Instead of a tongue-lashing by the cops though, I got this:
Police Officer: Are you OK? The girls said they really threatened you and made you give them your ID.
Me: What? No, they didn’t. I felt sorry for them, so I just gave it to them.
Police Officer: Seriously? Because they were looking at additional charges for threatening you.
Me: Nope.
Police Officer: Then we need to have a serious discussion about what you did.
Apparently, you shouldn’t give anyone, let alone fugitives from the law, your identification. Something about “aiding and abetting” was mentioned, but I don’t remember much else since I was crying at that point. Part of it was because I was scared sh*tless but it was mostly because I realized in that moment that I would NEVER be a badass. Nope, I didn’t have a real rebel bone in my body. And it’s remained true for the rest of my life that, whenever I did something reckless, I was either too worried to enjoy it, or I got caught, which always takes the fun out of being “devil may care”. Essentially, I am a Goodass. Here are some examples:
1) The only time I skipped class in high school happened to be on the day of Parents’ Night. I’d completely forgotten about that fact, and had spent a glorious hour in the girls’ bathroom with a couple of friends, gossiping and smoking (yes, I smoked as a teenager, but in true goodass fashion, I developed asthma, so no glamourous smoking rebel life for me—just a wheezy one). Anyway, my parents came home from Parents’ Night really pissed off:
Mom: Where were you today during Social Studies?
Me: In class, of course, why?
Dad: Mr. McMullen wondered how you were feeling, since you were ABSENT.
Me: What? Me? No, I sit at the back—he must not have seen me…
Mom: Nice try. You’re grounded.
2) When I was teaching high school, I decided one day that I was going to bring a comfy chair into my classroom. I put it on a dolly and was just wheeling it into the building when the head custodian saw me.
Custodian: No upholstered furniture allowed! They cause lice!
Me: What?
Custodian: Take it away!
Well, I was pretty steamed, and baffled by her logic regarding the lice, so I waited until the next day, and when the coast seemed clear, I enlisted another younger staff member to help me get it on the elevator to take up to my room. We loaded it, all nervous and watchful, but there was no one around. We rode up to the fourth floor. Then the elevator doors opened, and there she was, like some kind of giant wizard, waving her arms around:
Custodian: I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor! You shall not pass!! Also, take that chair right back down, and don’t try to sneak it in again!!
Us: Yes, High School Gandalf.
Custodian: Fly, you fools.
3) A few years ago now, all the stores instituted a policy where you have to pay for grocery bags. But at the Zehr’s self-checkout, the machine asks you to indicate “how many bags you wish to purchase”. And so for years, I thought I was being a tiny bit of a badass by always indicating “0”, because frankly, I didn’t WISH to purchase ANY damn bags. I justified it by blaming Zehr’s for being semantically challenged. Then, a couple of weeks ago, a friend pointed out that Zehrs donates the money from the bags to charity, and now, instead of feeling like a rebel, I just feel guilty for depriving the children, and if they don’t get toys for Christmas, it will be all my fault. So now, I always pay for one more bag than I’m actually using to make up for it.
4) When I’m taking the train home from Toronto, I always have a glass of wine from the bar cart. It’s not particularly good wine, and it costs $7 for a very small glass, but still, it’s nice at the end of a long week to start early. A while ago, a friend at work gave everyone this new wine that came in cans. I tried it and it was actually pretty good, and not very expensive. “And the best part,” said my friend, “is that it looks just like a soda can so you could drink it on the train and no one would ever know!” So that Friday, I got on the train with my secret can of wine. Then the bar cart came:
Janet: The usual?
Me: No, I’m fine thanks.
Janet (confused): Are you sure you don’t want anything?
Me: Oh no, I’m good.
Janet: Hmmm. So you’re not feeling well. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.
I call the conductor Janet because she looks and acts just like the character Janet in that TV show “The Good Place”, which is my new favourite comedy, and our conversations usually go like this:
Me: Janet?
Janet: Hello!
Me: Can I get some wine?
Janet: OK! Here.
Anyway, after she continued down the aisle, I surreptitiously opened my can of wine. But I couldn’t enjoy it for two reasons: first, the conductor kept coming by to check on me because apparently she thought I must be sick, so I had to keep hiding it, and second, they made the usual announcement about not having personal alcoholic beverages on the train, and I started obsessing that another passenger would see that the can said ‘Sauvignon Blanc’ and not ‘Sprite’, turn me in, and I would be forced off the train at Aldershot after having my sad wine can confiscated.
I suppose in the long run, being a goodass is better for me, because anytime I do something even mildly rebellious, I just worry, and it takes the fun out of it. Like whenever I’m at Starbucks and they insist on writing my name on the cup, I tell them it’s Bob. But the barista always gives me a dirty look, and then I feel bad, like I need to explain that I’m not mocking HIM, just his stupid store policy. The only time I truly embrace my badass side is when it comes to protecting the people I love. Once K’s Grade 1 teacher was mean to her and made her cry, so I confronted the jerk on the playground and tore him a new one. Then I sat in a comfy chair, smoked a cigarette, and drank canned wine that I had triple-bagged. Like a boss.
Thanks for this post. I enjoyed it immensely. I fear we have some past life in common, ruled by an inner little surfaced rebel with a huge self conscious mechanism. You defined it perfectly, goodass.😂
LikeLiked by 3 people
I know for sure we have something in common because I coached rugby for several years. So whenever I see your name, I always feel like we’re kindred spirits in some way:-)
LikeLiked by 1 person
Cool! Never played but like to watch.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I was planning to begin a regimen of crime and debauchery by forming a motorcycle gang, and I was going to invite you, but I have now taken your name off of my list. There’s no crying in crime and debauchery… which is probably why my plans remain unrealized.
LikeLiked by 1 person
But I have a really cool leather jacket, and I promise not to cry much…
LikeLike
I think it rather nice that those two juvenile delinquents attempted to keep you out of trouble saying they threatened you for the I.D. I guess there is honor among thieves or whatever. 😉
LikeLiked by 3 people
I know–they were actually trying to protect me, and save me from a life of crime. I hope the cops took that into consideration!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I found that switch from “society is concerned about the fact that you were threatened” to “society feels the need to threaten you at this juncture” rather ironic.
LikeLiked by 1 person
From victim to criminal in one swift motion!
LikeLike
Loved these anecdotes. Thanks for sharing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’m glad you enjoy them. Living them is pretty fun too!
LikeLike
Being true to yourself is important. And of course, if there were no goodasses, who would be badasses pick on? 😉
LikeLiked by 2 people
Funnily enough, I never got picked on until I was a middle-aged woman. And then I had to reclaim some of my dormant badassery and…get a better job with nicer people!
LikeLike
hahahaha, getting kicked off at Aldershot. I don’t travel to Toronto much anymore but I would like to think that we would have a lasting GO train friendship – should I ever recognize you on the Lakeshore East train. Ha!
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s so cool that you got the reference! We could have been seat buddies, disrupting the quiet section!
LikeLike
You’ve now established the perfect alibi. No one will ever suspect it’s you shotgunning wine cans in the back of the train. That’s one of the advantages of being so good: you can get away with things, as long as you don’t slip up and try and get away with too much.
LikeLiked by 1 person
But there’s still the problem of my predictability–if I don’t order wine, the conductor gets suspicious!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Theres not a time where I don’t enjoy your posts. I am in love with the way goi write! You know as I said many times how talented you are.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Your kind comments always make me smile!
LikeLike
Why did you have your birth certificate on you? I haven’t ever carried mine.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I was only fourteen and had my own wallet, that I was thrilled to fill with all kinds of stuff. I also had my own safety deposit box, just because it seemed cool at the time. Kind of tells you about the type of kid I was, lol.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reblogged this on Dream Big, Dream Often.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I enjoyed this. Sorry to get here so late! I have kind of been offline for the week. Just trying to catch up now!
LikeLiked by 1 person
No worries–just glad you stopped by!
LikeLike
I find it intriguing that so many members of homo fatuus brutus are employed in roles for which they are so poorly suited. The illiterates who create signs such as the one you illustrate (and such things as ‘Advanced [sic] Warning’ notices*) whose grasp of English is so poor that they’re incapable of recognising the failure of their messaging are, I think, just the highly visible tip of the incompetence iceberg.
* There’s one of those down the road from me right now. If I had a felt-tip pen I’d be sorely tempted to go all ‘badass’ and scrawl “Why didn’t we get a basic warning?” on it, but I don’t, and that would probably go straight over the head of most folks anyway.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Almost as good as “This page is intentionally left blank”, lol!
LikeLiked by 1 person