Let Me Be Blunt

I've discussed this before in a previous post, but it needs to be discussed once more after a recent event.

Yesterday, a coworker approached me and handed me what looked like a giant blunt. At first I was excited because hey, it's a blunt. It was a Pavlov moment. Sue me.

He informed me that he caught a student with said ganja and that student was one of mine. Of course. I tried to be shocked, but I'll have to admit that I wasn't entirely. If I had to pick any student of mine that would fashion a blunt out of paper, it would be this kid.

He's the stylish one who likes to wear colored bracelets and talk about fashion. A chip off the old block. Let's call him Bambi.

I approached the child and informed him that we needed to discuss an important matter. Now, this kid looks like a puppy when he knows he's in trouble. He has these giant, brown eyes and muffled speaking voice that is so cute that you can't even handle it. He stood with his hands behind his back and a look of absolute terror in his face.

"Do you know what I have in my possession?" I asked him.

Bambi remarked, "no," but drew it out in a way that it was almost like a question. I took out the contraband and held it upright in front of his eyes. His eyes widened in such a way that it nearly covered his face.

"What is this, Mr. Man?" I asked. "Mr. Man" is a phrase I use when I'm trying to convey being really pissed off. I think it often works. Truthfully, I just like saying 'Mr. Man.'

Bambi took a beat and said, "Pencil shavings."

"Pencil shavings? These are pencil shavings, you say? Then why are they wrapped up in such a fashion?"

Bambi went on to claim that he couldn't get up in his current class to throw out his pencil shavings (pronounced by him as "penciwl shayviths") and needed to put them inside something.

"So you decided to put them in the form of a marijuana cigarette?!" I intoned.

At this point, I lost it. I couldn't stop laughing, trying to bite the inside of my cheek to prevent tiny bursts of laughter out. It was freakishly hard.

Bambi stammered. "It's naht a maryjana cigawhet."

"Oh? Because it sure does look like one. Explain yourself!" (I seem to have forgotten at this point that I was talking to a nine year old and not a hooligan on Law & Order)

Bambi couldn't explain himself. And I couldn't stop laughing in his face. I tried to backtrack, because I wasn't laughing at him. It was more the idea that in my adult life, I am questioning a child who talks like a Rugrat about making a fake blunt with pencil shavings. Such is life.

Frankly, was I that angry about this situation? No, not at all. In fact, it was the high point of my day. I mean, come on, it's June. Is anything supposed to make sense at this point in the school year? Not really. So, I dropped it and then went around to many teachers and recounted the story.

It should be noted that the blunt's size was impressive. This kid has a future.