It was the first Friday of my freshman year of high school.  We all got out of class early because it was a half day for some reason.  My buddy Nick, whose parents were quite well off, invited a bunch of us to go back to his house for swimming, billiards and whatever other toys his parents had. 

Our group was solid.  An almost perfect girl to guy ratio.  And not just any girls either.  These girls were cute and fun, which is why only a month later they would all be stolen by upperclassmen with Geo hatchbacks and sideburns.  At the time it really pissed us off, but just a year later we did the same thing to the next year’s freshman class.  Several of those guys a year younger than me still hold a grudge a decade later.

Anyway, so we all go to Nick’s house.  We had to out of there before 4 p.m. as to not run into his parents but that gave us a solid 5 hours.  We swam, we grilled, then swam again without letting our food digest, it was a great day.  I had been a part of a fairly typical middle school “on again” “off again” relationship for the past two and a half years with this girl.  To keep this girl anonymous I will refer to her as Patty Mayonnaise.  Patty and I were in one of our “off again” stages but had been flirting all day and were now in the middle of a game of pool.  To make the game a little more interesting, Patty proposed a little wager.  She proposed that if she won I would have to write and sing a song about her.  A foolish wager on her part for I was over at Nick’s nearly every day playing pool and had grown quite skillful.  When asked what my stipulations were, I said that I’d think of something, because I was too nervous to ask for my and what would have been her first kiss as my wager (my first kiss was still two and a half years away with a very pretty girl who is now a lesbian).

I knocked two balls in on the break and quickly started circling the table knocking down every shot I lined up.  My arrogance was palpable.  My trash talk, juvenile.  She kept asking what I wanted if I won with teasing eyes that suggested she knew what was on my mind.  A crowd had gathered as whispers echoed around the room of what was at stake.  Finally, it came down to just me and the 8 ball.  I sent the 8 ball screaming towards one of the corner pockets, for a game like this was to be won with authority.  The 8 ball dropped and everyone started cheering until they noticed the cue ball rampantly bouncing from bumper to bumper before coming to a rest at the bottom of the side pocket.  Scratch on the 8 ball.  Automatic loss.  The room erupted in laughter.  I fell to my knees in disbelief and was forced to suffer the shameless celebration of Patty Mayonnaise.  After exclaiming such popular catch phrases as “in your face!” and “whomp! There it is!” she calmly said in a sweet voice “you have a week.” 

What was I going to do?  Just go back on my wager with one of the prettiest girls in the school?  No, I was going to have suck it up and tap into my inner artist.  The problem is, I had/have no inner artist.  Sure I might be able to rhyme some words together but then I was expected to sing it to her.  After she inquired of my progress the next Monday, we agreed that a live show was not required and that a cassette tape recording would suffice.  The homecoming dance was a month away.  These are the lyrics I can remember.

In the past I thought it might last,

You are the boat and I am your mast.

You and me, we been through thick and thin,

We played pool and I let you win.

If you don’t know how much you mean to me,

You ought to be stung by a bee.

If you were the queen I’d be your king,

Will you go with me to homecoming?

            Moving stuff I know.  The tape was well received and Patty accompanied me to the dance.

            Fast forward a year and a half.

            Patty and I were on another “off again” period and indeed would never again be “on”.  One night, while spending the night at my buddy Nick’s, four of my friends including myself thought it would be funny to convince Nick that Patty had a crush on him.  Nick, being a fairly gullible guy, at that age as most of us were, went for it hook, line and sinker.  Later that week, Nick gained up the courage and informed us all that after lunch, he was going to ask her out at her locker. 

            When the time came, we wanted to get a good view of it, but also remain unnoticed.  Nick walked up to her with a confidence I had never seen before or since and asked her out.  Needless to say, Patty was stunned.  She had not been giving him any signals whatsoever so his advance was a great surprise.  We couldn’t hear the conversation because it was passing period and the hallways were loud but we could notice the air escaping from Nick as Patty gentle touched him on the shoulder.  The two of them hugged and Nick made his way back to us with a strut about him that should have been accompanied by the Bee Gees’ Stayin’ Alive.   

            To our surprise, she had said “yes” and Patty and Nick were now a couple.  Several days later, it came out that they were not really dating and the façade was all a ploy to get back at us and teach us a lesson.  It didn’t.  If only she had something embarrassing to get back at me with. 

            The student council at our school hosted music to be played in the hallways during passing periods on Friday.  Every week a different member of the student council was in charge of the music and wouldn’t you know it, Patty’s turn was just around the corner.  I would have never expected Patty to behave so maliciously but I should have learned long ago not to underestimate her.  During passing period between 3^rd and 4^th hour I noticed my fellow students in the hallways had stopped walking to their classes and were attempting to hear the poor sound quality song that was playing over the intercom.  Some laughed, others ignored it.  Luckily she didn’t give it a lead in so nobody knew it was a song about her from me.  Needless to say I never crossed her again. 

            I recently Facebook messaged her and if she can find the tape I will be sure to upload it for all to enjoy.               

                As some of you may know, I have begun student teaching.  That’s right the future of our country is now in my hands.  So Mark Kotiw Has Stories is going to evolve into Mark Kotiw is a Teacher. 

                Today I was speaking to my students about rights, specifically voting rights.  I commented that not even a hundred years ago, some of the students in the class wouldn’t even have been allowed to vote.  I made sure to avoid eye contact with the token black kid in my class but I was referring to women and their pursuit of suffrage in the early part of the 20^th century.  I asked the class if they knew who I was referring to.  One of the students sitting in the back of the room uttered something under his breath.  “What was that James?” I inquired.  I should have just let it go but I thought he said something racist or intolerant.  He quietly spoke.  “Gingers?”  Now I have to admit that’s pretty damn funny so of course I began chuckling with the rest of the class.  That is until I remembered Blake.  Blake is a Ginger, and he did not find it funny.  So we’ll just have to see how much longer I am a teacher after laughing at a student’s handicap.        

The Following is a short assignment I had to turn into one of my education professors for some credit.  Once I got done writing it I realized that this read like MKHS material so enjoy. 

            The artifact I have has come and gone; or should I say, healed.  On Tuesday April 12^th, I was volunteering at the LINC like I normally do.  I play basketball with under-serviced or minority high school students for a few hours and then we all do homework together.  It’s sort of ironic that I refer to them as minorities when indeed I am the minority being the only Caucasian in the gym.  I was having a free throw shooting contest with some of the boys and girls when one of the younger boys ran into the gym from outside, whispered something in another’s ear, and they both went running back outside.  Immidiately, Mike (gym director) and I locked eyes from the other side of the gym.  That sort of behavior usually means one thing; a fight.  Mike and I sprinted towards the door and when we got outside our fears were realized.  About twenty students were circled up and they were hooting and hollering.  The crowd was so dense that it was tough to make out who was fighting but there was no doubt that I fight was going on.  Mike, a muscular gentleman of about 35 years old crashed into the students and cleared a path to the center of the circle and I squeaked through the hole that he had created.  When I got to the center of the circle I was shocked to see that the fighters were females.  According to our textbook, on page 173, “boys exhibit more overt aggression that girls (Card, Stucky, Sawalani, & Little, 2008).”  Typically, boys are more prone to physical violence and girls aggression is usually more of a social nature as in malicious gossip.  Apparently books and statistics were not going to assist me today.  Mike grabbed one of the girls and tried to separate the two.  I was unsure whether I should physically grab a teenage girl seeing as I am still a student and not a teacher.  It didn’t matter.  While I was thinking about what to do, a lot of pushing and shoving was taking place behind me as all the kids were trying to secure a good vantage point to observe the fight.  Mind you, this was no “catfight”.  These girls were really whaling away at each other.  I was lightly shoved in the back by the students trying to maintain their spot and at that exact moment, the girl that Mike was trying to subdue spun out of his arms and in the process her elbow collided with my mouth.  So, as it is, my artifact is the fat lip that I received from a teenage girl.  This certainly shall be fun trying to explain this one to my friends.       

The first week of December 2010 was a rough week for me.  It was the week before finals and I was also having some personal issues so I was all in all in a crappy mood.  I was shopping at my friendly neighborhood Meijer to pick up a few essentials but not too much as I would soon be returning home for a month and I didn’t want a bunch of food to spoil. 

            As always the first thing I did was walk over to the book section and check out the new releases.  My bad mood seemed to be growing exponentially as I took in the best sellers by some of America’s greatest authors Sarah Palin, Bill O’Reilly and Glen Beck.  My blood was boiling when all of a sudden boom!  I almost was taken to the ground by another shopper who collided with me and made me stumble three or four steps.  “Hey watch it!” I exclaimed in a cornucopia of anger.  I turned towards the perpetrator and found that they were a tandem.  The first guy was about six foot-three and about thirty-five years old.  It was then that I noticed that he was holding the other gentleman by the elbow and leading him.  The other gentleman, the one who ran into me, was wearing sunglasses and carrying a walking stick.

            So I just asked a blind man to do the one thing that he cannot do which is “watch it.”  His guide guy turned to me and asked shocked and annoyed “Excuse me!?!”  I was frozen with fear and embarrassment.  The right thing to do would be to be a big boy and apologize.  I choose to say “umm…” at which time I ducked into an adjacent aisle and I began sprinting in the opposite direction.  Let’s see, I now have messed with minorities, obese people, disabled people and the elderly solidifying my reservation in hell.       

About a week ago, my roommate brought home a kitten.  This was not unwelcome news as I already had my cat Rupert and I was excited for him to get a brother.  Whether animals or humans, horns are going to get tangled until they get use to each other.  The cats would just stare at each other for ten minutes then one of them would pounce at the other and a race around the apartment would ensue. 

            This was entertaining to say the least but into its 5^th hour I needed a break.  I decided to go outside and have a cigarette.  My apartment is a two story split level so half of my apartment is below ground level with the windows even with the lawn.  Rupert likes to jump up on the window sill and gaze out at birds, leaves and passers by.  It was about 2 a.m. on a weekday so the streets were quiet for once.  While smoking my cigarette, I bent down to look in my window to make sure the cats weren’t tearing each other apart.  I was just about done smoking my cig and the cats were just staring into each other’s eyes when all of a sudden I was blinded by a bright light.  “Hold it right there!” I heard exclaimed by a loud speaker.  I turned around and I saw a cop car in my driveway with his spotlight on me.  I stood up and the officer exited his vehicle and began walking towards me of course with the flashlight in my face because I looked so dangerous in my slippers and bath robe. 

            “What’s a… goin on here?” the officer asked. 

            “Uh, just having a cigarette sir” I replied shielding my eyes from his flashlight.

            “Oh yeah?  Sneakin a peek while you’re at it are ya?”

            “What, no officer I live here.” I explained as I took a step towards him.

            “Hold it right there!” he shouted as he reached for his taser.

            I put my hands up and stood still and waited for the officer to approach me.  He asked me for some I.D. and I replied that my wallet was right there on my coffee table as I pointed inside through the window.  I asked if I could go grab it and he allowed me so I ran inside, grabbed it real quick and went back to the door where the cop had entered my apartment complex hallway.  I gave him my license and he began to interrogate me.

            “This here says that this is not your address.”  The officer brilliantly deduced. 

            “Yeah, no that’s my parent’s house back home.”  I explained.

            He handed me back my license and crossed his arms and explained that he stopped me suspecting that I was a peeping tom.  He apologized for the inconvenience and he bid me ado.  What I found odd besides the mix up in the first place was that even though the cop had watched me through the window enter the apartment and grab my wallet he still questioned me about my address.           

            The other day I left my apartment for work early because I wanted to get an oil change and return a movie (Battlefield Earth) to Blockbuster Video.  I still had not exceeded the suggested mileage that required a change but I was planning on driving 200 some odd miles home later that evening.  All Quik Lubes and what have you were closed but I remembered that I had a quart of 10w 30 in my trunk.  Upon returning Battlefield Earth I decided to check my oil level.  I was a tad low.  Adding a quart couldn’t hurt right?  Well, unless you are a mechanic and do this daily, the average driver spills a tiny bit of the oil on the motor whilst tipping the bottle over, unless you have a funnel, but who has time for that these days.  Like I said, only a tiny bit didn’t make it into its destination.  Immediately, my engine burst into flames.  Ok it wasn’t like fully engulfed but a car fire is a car fire.  You wouldn’t respond to a buddy of yours who has just informed you that your car is on fire by asking “how much?”

            I exclaimed to this black guy on his cigarette break from the Taco Bell, “Whoa!  My cars on fire!  Get some water or an extinguisher dude!”  I kid you not this is his reaction.  Tosses his smoke away, says “Aight, I got you dude.”  As calmly as he would have asked you what you wanted to drink with your T6. He proceeds to WALK towards the Taco Bell like he just entered a club in a rap video (mildly racist). 

            Luckily, as those of you who have ridden in my car before know, I have an extensive collection of quarter filled water bottles littered thorough out my car.  I scrambled to my car, grabbed several water bottles and proceeded to extinguish the blaze.  No real damage was done and I got lucky.  It got me to thinking of another time my car started on fire with a not so fortunate outcome.  To be continued…

            The last few weeks in my anthropology class, we have been talking about healthy eating habits and the increasing obesity problem that faces our country.  One out of every three kids born after 2000 will contract diabetes sometime in their life.  Working at a restaurant I constantly see prime examples of this phenomenon and it is starting to get a bit irritating. 

            Today, between my first and second class I had just enough time to print off a paper I had finished the night before and rush over to the university Burger King for a quick lunch.  Now I recognize that Burger King isn’t the healthiest of foods but I eat salads and fruits all week long and I am a skinny dude so I can get away with it. 

            I walked into the student center where the Burger King and Pizza Hut are located and couldn’t believe my eyes.  There were about 100 kids age 8 to 12 I would guess.  40 or so in the Pizza Hut line and 60 or so in the Burger King line.  “This is ridiculous!” I exclaimed.  I locked eyes with one of the mothers and asked her what all these ankle biters were doing at my school.  She explained how they had just gotten done with a fitness and healthy eating seminar in our auditorium.  Now go ahead and take a second to digest that.  I looked at the lady and informed her that this was the greatest contradiction since the pot called the kettle black.

            A month ago I heard the best story ever!  I don’t want to make it a trend to post stories that aren’t of a personal nature but I heard this story and had to pass it along.  So I was working at my restaurant and I was working a table of 12 which is the limit for one server to take so I was running ragged.  I dropped off all the drinks and the old grandma at the far end of the table withered “I didn’t get a straw.”  I was in a hurry to get to my other table so I quickly pulled a straw out of my apron and tossed it in her direction and exclaimed “JORDAN!”  like I was shooting a game winner.  She laughed and withered “Oh, I have a story for you.”  I explained that I was quite busy and had other affairs to attend to but I would make an effort to create time for her.  I decided not to take anymore tables because this party was boozing pretty good and their bill was approaching two hundred dollars.  I got all that I needed to get done accomplished and went over to the old lady to hear her story and suck a few extra dollars out of her.  What I got was the greatest tip ever, this story.

            Martha and her husband went to Las Vegas in the mid 1990’s for a vacation.  Now Martha had grown up on a farm all her life and the biggest city she was ever in was Rockford, Illinois for a Anti-Civil Rights rally in the mid 60’s.  So Las Vegas was like nothing she had ever seen before and she was paranoid that everyone was after her bucket of quarters.  Her husband then chimes in and explains how she is clutching these quarters like the baby Jesus.  He suggests that they should go get something to eat but she insists that she drop her bucket off at the room before they get dinner.  “NOone cares about your damn quarters!” he exclaimed but she insisted so he conceded.  He went to the restaurant to get a table and she headed towards the elevators to make the drop off. 

            She pushed the button and waited for doors to open.  When the doors opened, she was shocked to see what she called two “well to do black men” because they were wearing nice suits and fancy hats.   She then explained how her natural reaction was to wait for the next one but didn’t want to appear racist because, and I quote, “you know, the blacks turned out not to be nearly as bad as people had made them out to be.”  By this time I have people at the other end of the table raising their glasses to me to suggest that they would like a refill on their iced tea or whatever and I just looked at them, gave them the 1 minute gesture and asked Grandma Time to continue. 

            So she got into the elevator and quickly turned back towards the doors as they closed trapping her inside with the two men.  “I figured them to be pimps or something, you know because of the fancy hats.”  Knowing pimps, they were obviously interested in her quarters so she was holding them tight and cursing her husband in her head for getting a room on the 33^rd floor.  The elevator still hadn’t moved and one of the black guys said “hit the floor.”  She immediately dropped to her knees and flung the quarters up in the air and began exclaiming “just take em!  Just take em!”  So its raining George Washington 25 cent pieces all over the place and the two black men can’t help but bust out laughing hysterically. 

            Embarrassed, she realized that these “pimps” were not after her quarters, but just asking her to “hit the floor” where her room was located so that the machine could take her there.  The two gentlemen helped her load up her quarters, “probably pocketing a few”, and the doors opened to the 33^rd floor.  She quickly exited the elevator and got alarmed when she noticed the twosome had also exited the elevator and was following her down the hallway.  It was at this point that she realized that these “pimps” weren’t after her quarters.  Of course they would think that she had more valuable items in the room so she sprinted ahead quickly turned the key (remember when hotel rooms had keys?) and quickly slammed the door.  Because you know that had it been a card that she would of had to swipe, it would have taken her a minimum 37 swipes before she was granted access.  She peered through the peephole and saw them casually walk by but a fire alarm wasn’t going to get her to leave that room, let alone the early bird special that was awaiting her downstairs.  She waited there for an hour before her husband finally lost his mind sitting at the table and came up to the room. 

            The next morning, there was a knock at the door and the husband looked through the peephole and noticed that it was the concierge.  He opened the door and was presented two dozen roses, each rose had a hundred dollar bill pinned to it.  The ancient couple insisted that they must have the wrong room but the bell boy insisted.  Martha found a small card on the side and opened it.  “Thanks for the best laugh we have ever had”  signed “Eddie Murphy and Michael Jordan!”         

Several summers ago I dated this girl.  We had been seeing each other for several weeks now and while the girl was a bit off, we had fun together.  So Elle was always talking about her sister and how cool her sister is and how I need to meet her sister.  Finally, her sister’s boyfriend was having a small get together and Elle and I were invited.  I had to work late as usual and was going to pick her up and then we would go together.  I pulled up to her hillbilly house and she came running out and got in the car.  I had never seen her with her hair down before and she was quiet for once which was actually a relief.  She directed me through the neighborhood and before I knew it we were there.  I could see that there was a bonfire in the backyard so I grabbed her around the waist and we began to walk to the backyard.  Halfway to the fire, I tugged her closer towards me and moved in to sneak a peck.  This would turn out to be the most one sided kiss I have ever been a part of and my high school sweet heart is now a lesbian.  This struck me as odd and it was dark out but we were getting closer to the fire so I grabbed her by the shoulders and motioned her into the light.  I looked at her close and then closer then I turned away and looked back at her and she was just smiling at me.  I looked her in the eyes and asked her “Who the fuck are you?”  Just then a loud shriek came from the deck and a voice screamed out, “get your hands off of my sister you cheating bastard!”  Now I know how the male lead is supposed to look like at the end of the movie when he realizes that this one girl is in fact two different girls.  Elle began to cackle and so did her sister Melissa, who was holding my hand.  It took me much longer to realize what was going on than it should have but Elle never mentioned that her sister was a twin.  I had been Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen’nd and eventually I found it to be humorous.  I wonder if they ever pulled this trick on me again without me knowing.    

            I had to buy new pants today.  My work pants got a big hole in the knee and that wasn’t giving off the classiest impression.  I was running short on time so I went to Target on my way to work.  I walked into the store and headed for the men’s department.  I found a nice pair of black pants and made my way to the fitting rooms.  The lady at the counter gave me a room and I informed her of my intentions.  “If things in here go good, I’ll be wearing these out the door.”  After receiving an awkward look from her I closed the door and preceded to try them on.  I know you’re expecting something funny at about this point, but it was rather uneventful. 

            The pants fit like they were made for me and I went back to the counter.  “Were all good!”  I told her.  She informed me that she needed to get somebody to walk me to the front.  “No problem” I told her.  She made a page on the loud speaker and within a few minutes a teenager arrived to be my escort.  I thanked the lady and David and I departed the fashions department.

            I asked David, “ya busy?”  He shrugged his shoulders and I told him I needed a few more things.  I began selecting some of the most obscure items I could think of that I actually needed or might need in the future.  Antifreeze, one apple, condoms, a family pack of mac and cheese and a magnifying glass.  I assured him that I was finished and we made our way to the registers.  Throughout our adventure we engaged in some small talk and eventually he said, “Bet you never been escorted through a store before.”  I half chuckled and replied “Well actually…”

            That story is the real story and I will post it after the trial.