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Moving On

One weekend, as the weather looked to be quite bad, I decided to stay at home on Saturday night and rent a movie with my date. However, since the majority of my video collection is in English, and she doesn’t really understand English, a trip to the video store would be necessary. Not that she would have liked any of what I already own anyway. What is it with women and their aversion to movies with explosions in them? And who can’t appreciate the comedic genius of the 1966 Batman TV series movie? I mean, exploding prosthetic sharks, heroic suicidal dolphins, Adam West’s Batman running down a pier with a giant Bob-omb over his head …you seriously can’t make this shit up folks. If you can, I recommend picking up this gem in the bargain DVD bin at Wal-Mart. It’ll be the best $4.99 you ever spent.

*Ahem* Anyway. As for video stores, we had two options. The one I wanted to go to was a little ways away, but the benefit was that the chances of running into students were slim to none. She however favored convenience, so we opted to go to the one in the neighborhood. I warned her of the possible student threat, but she said she’d be ready/prepared for whatever they slung at her. She grabbed her biggest hat and off we went.

Upon arriving, amazingly, it looked like there were *NO* students there! Young people, sure, kids, sure, but none of my students! We both marveled at the odds of going to the local video/music/book store on a Saturday afternoon and finding no jr. high school kids. And again, for a brief, shining moment, I thought I just might get off scot-free.

Nope.

As my date pondered over which excruciatingly painful artsy-fartsy crap flick she was going to torture me with tonight, I spotted someone I hadn’t seen in awhile – Cherry Boy! But not just any Cherry Boy, the Cherry Boy, the one who had a mouthful to say about cheating girls back in the day. There were two other boys with him, graduates from the Ghetto School. One I recognized as the boy Cherry Boy had pointed out when he unearthed the Sexgate Scandal. Don’t remember who I’m talking about? Let’s take a trip in the Wayback Machine, shall we?

*rewind*

CB1 came up to the front of the class at one point to ask me a question. For some unexplained reason, as he came, he decided to point out all the students in the class who’d had sex. “Yeah…she’s had sex, her too, him, her, and oh yeah, those two had sex with each other.” He pointed to a boy in the first row and a girl in the second. They both looked up at him as he said this, and in response he said simply “Yeah, you guys had sex together.” The girl, embarrassed, giggled, while the boy gave me a “Yeah, I hit that.” sheepish smile.

Yeah, that boy.

Cherry Boy had changed. He was wearing some ghetto-ish, ridiculously large clothes. He’d grown out his hair and kind of poofed it out, I really don’t know how to explain it other than it belonged back in the 1980’s. And he was wearing some big sunglasses. It was obvious that he was heading down the “I’m gonna hang out at the convenience store and under the train station, drink, talk loudly, and people will think I’m cool” road. It was kind of depressing, as he had always been a good student before.

He and the other students spotted me. With girl. The other two boys waved casually, while Cherry Boy gave me a wink and a finger-gun shot. I waved back at them, and tried not to make any gestures that would land me in the doghouse that night. I went on browsing videos with my date, but the three remained browsing the new releases aisle. I don’t run into graduates that often, and when I do I like to talk to them, just see how they’re doing and where they’ve gone since I last saw them. And call me crazy, but me and Cherry Boy had a special male bond back in the day, as we commiserated together over having been screwed by evil females. Solidarity, brother. I explained to my date that I wanted to speak with my students for a minute, and left her as she pondered over “Ghost World” starring Steve Buscemi, that Lost In Translation chick, and a bunch of other unremarkable people, and “Bring It On!” (Japanese title – “Cheers!”), a charming little title about cheerleading that if I were forced to watch, again, I’d be left with no alternative but to jump in front of a moving bullet train, while possibly crying.

I met up with my former students in New Releases, and once again Cherry Boy gave me the wink/finger gun combo.

Me: Hey, it’s been a while!
CB: Yeah. So, that your new girlfriend?
Me: Um … something like that. How about you guys though? How’s high school going?
Boy 1 (“Yeah, I hit that” boy): Eh, it’s just ok.
Boy 2: I’m having fun.
CB: Well, I’m not exactly going to high school.
Me: ….Oh.
CB: But anyway, girl! You got a new one huh? She’s not bad! How long have you guys been going out?
Me: Well, I’ve been seeing her for about a month now…
CB: Really? Same as me!
Me: Oh, you too?
CB: Yep yep, finally. It’s time to move on.
Me: I agree completely.
CB: She isn’t one of those types, is she? You know, the dangerous type? Like your ex?
Me: No no, I learned my lesson this time. How about you?
CB: Ah … she’s one of the dangerous ones.
Me: What?! Man, what are you doing? After all that …
CB: I know, I know. What can I say? She’s hot and she puts out … A lot.

The youth of Japan, ladies and gentlemen.

But really, I can’t make this a just Japan thing, as men around the world have been known to royally screw themselves over, time and time again, for a hot girl that puts out. Hell, who am I kidding? Men have screwed themselves over a hot girl, with only the remote possibility of getting some. This is our burden, and we know it’s wrong but we can’t help ourselves. Forgive us Father, for we truly know not what we do.

Anyway…

Me: Ok. I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that.
CB: And what about you? Huh?

Here, Cherry Boy makes a hand motion I can honestly say I’ve never seen before. He tucked his thumb between his index and middle fingers, made a fist, and then made a back and forth motion, almost as if he were wiping something with his thumb. Sort of like M. Bison’s gambling man standing pose from Street Fighter. Now, there’s A LOT of gestures for sexual intercourse, but I really have never seen this one before. Maybe I’m just not jive to the lingo anymore? At any rate, I am again astonished. This is a culture that not only encourages inside the box thinking, it actively represses free thought. “The nail that sticks up will be hammered down” and what not. Despite that, the boys continue to think up new and exciting ways to communicate fucking. Unbelievable.

I knew what he was getting at, but I really didn’t know what that gesture was…

Me: I have no idea what that means.
CB: You know. Have you done it with her yet? You guys have fucked, right?
Me: As your teacher, I cannot answer that question.
CB: Forget the teacher stuff then. As a man, you’ve fucked her, right?
Me: As a man? What does that have to do with anything?
CB: You know. Us guys, we can’t help it. We love fucking. We were born, and we live, to fuck.

I’m still looking for the fault in his logic. I can’t seem to find it.

Me: Uh … well … even if that were so, I still can’t answer your question.
CB: Which means you guys have done it.
Me: Still not gonna answer.
CB: It’s okay, it’s okay. I know.

This conversation was going into all sorts of places I didn’t want it to, and I figured I should get back to my date before she picked something that would really hurt me, like “But I’m a Cheerleader” or “Master of Disguise”. Or even worse, something Japanese. I bid the boys farewell and good luck, with Cherry Boy giving me one more wink/gunshot as I left. I met up with my date, who was in an entirely different part of the store and therefore not exposed to the conversation. “Did you have a nice talk with the boys?” She asks. Uh…yeah…something like that.

Life goes on.

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