While there are several topics I could write about this morning, I'll catch you up to date with the Facebook teaser from a few days ago. The one about the woman searing laser eyes through my head.
I was on a packed morning Express 1 last Wednesday. It was obvious halfway through the route people would be standing when we got to the last stop before the freeway. I was sitting in the middle sideways seats, and I had my earbuds in while playing on my phone. I'm sure I was checking the statistics for busworthy and no doubt laughing about the silly search terms people use to find this blog.
At the last stop before the freeway, a regular rider boarded and sat next to me. I like her. She's very friendly. She usually applies her make-up on the ride into town. I sometimes watch her putting on the eye pencil (maybe not the exact name of the thingy) and I'm amazed she hasn't poked her eye out while the bus cruises down the HOV lane on I-5 like a boat on choppy water. Let's call her Mary Kay.
Mary Kay sits down next to me, and passengers continue coming down the aisle to stand by the back door. She looks at me, smiles, and makes an usually loud proclamation.
Mary Kay: "Well, I'll sit next to you because you're a gentleman. Besides, I wouldn't want her [nods to woman across from me] to have to move her purse."
Me: [In agreement of the lady across the way's lack of manners] "See?!"
At this point in the blog post, I need to give the rude purse lady a name for simplicity. Let's see...Gucci. She wasn't classy enough for a more modern purse brand name. She was sitting, legs crossed with her purse on the seat next to her. Gucci's arm was up on the purse's seat. She was splayed out comfortably and dressed in nice business casual.
Mary Kay settles herself in, and I continue my iPod/cell phone ritual. But I feel someone watching me. It's an unsettling feeling. I look up from my phone and my eyes take a second to focus. Then I see her.
Gucci's pissed at what Mary Kay said and she's doing her best to scorch my retinas out with her light sabre eyes. Really, I didn't start it or bring it up; I merely agreed. And there's no need to be hateful when you're the one at fault. Gucci stared at me, waiting for me to say something or start something, and then I think she would have hit me. I said nothing to her, just went back to my phone and thought about what an asshole that Gucci was to make people stand when she should have just held her crappy purse like a normal person. A normal person with a soul.
Halfway into the city I looked up again, and Gucci was done with giving me filthy looks. I looked out the window past her, but something caught my eye: Gucci had a tattoo on her forearm that looked like it came from a prison. It was the name "Regina" in fancy cursive. I started giggling, which turned into a full blown laugh. Gucci looked at me, then looked out the front window thinking I was laughing about something I was listening to.
Think again, Gucci.
In seventh or eighth grade I had a science teacher named Dr. Frasier. God love Dr. Frasier. He was really tall, really thin, and he had an old scar on one of his temples. It looked like he'd had a pretty significant head injury, but he was still able to teach. He's the right age to have been in Vietnam, so maybe that's where it came from.
Dr. Frasier was different than any other teacher I've ever had because he was the calmest man I've ever seen. His pulse rate never went over 80, no matter how rowdy the class got. Kids would cuss right to his face and he never got upset. He'd just tell them to settle down or to go sit in his office (at the back of the classroom) in a monotone voice. Either the head injury interrupted the anger center in his brain or he was on some serious downers.
There was a girl in class named Regina, prounced [ri-jeen-nah]. Her name rhymes with Tina. Regina Smethers. She was pretty cool. Dr. Frasier would be giving us a lecture on science and he'd ask the class a question. When Regina would raise her hand to answer the question, Dr. Frasier would call on her and mispronounce her name.
Instead of calling her Regina that rhymes with Tina, he would call her Regina that rhymes with vagina.
No matter how many times she corrected him, he continued calling her Regiiina. She started off politely correcting him.
"Uhm, my name is Regeena."
He would smile faintly and shrug.
After half a quarter of the entire class howling in laughter every day, her corrections got more colorful.
"Goddammit, my name is Regeena!"
He would smile faintly and shrug.
Thinking back, there was the possibility Dr. Frasier was Canadian. That would explain him insisting his pronunciation based on the Saskatchewan city.
The people in Regina, Saskatchewan Canada love their city. Above all, they love the way the name just rolls off your tongue. (Photo courtesy of Canada Photos.com.)
You can imagine Ms. Smether's frustration after being called Regiiina for a whole school year. Of course, the nickname found its way outside of class. Word spread like wildfire that her name could be mispronounced to sound like vagina. Kids were all over that.
Every in class day during roll call:
Dr. Frasier: "Devon?"
Dr. Frasier: "Lisa?"
Dr. Frasier: "Regiiina?" Class erupts in laughter.
Dr. Frasier: [Faint smile, shrug] "Okay. Let's take a look at chlorophyll today...."
Naturally when I saw Gucci's tattoo I was transported back to middle school and that poor girl Regina and Dr. Frasier. I honestly believe he did that on purpose all year long. We all thought he was lame, but he had the cognitive ability and the good sense to make vagina puns on a daily basis. Kudos to him for adding some humor to our classroom.
The picture above is Dr. Vance Frasier. I got it from a class photo from 1978, but I was in his class in 1984 or 1985 when he moved from being the principal at Carmel River School to teaching at Carmel Middle School.