It’s better in the dirt

By Justin Grimbol

She looked bad to me. Her body was an awful white pear, and her hair was red like the red of chaffed skin. It was impossible to imagine her in a seductive way. It would have been calming if I could. Imagining people sexually is what I do whenever I am stressed, but in this particular circumstance, with this vile woman, it was not an option. I sat there with her desk between us and I felt like I did when I was twelve and would get sent to the principal’s office for goofing off during class. Only now I was twenty five, a full grown man-child, still in college, still unemployed—with negative two hundred dollars in the bank.

The woman looked over at me. She read over some paper work, then asked me if I knew why I had been asked to see her.

“Yes,” I said. “I got caught stealing a glass of water from the dining hall.”

“And do you think this kind of behavior is acceptable?” she asked.

“It was a glass of water,” I told her.

“Would you steal a bottle of water from the school store?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “I would probably just grab a glass of water from the dining hall.”

The woman then told me that I had two hours of community service. I pleaded with her, I tried to remind her of how minor of an offense it was. But she would not listen. She asked me to sign a sheet of paper that stated that I understood the conditions of my community service. I was furious. I wanted to rip the paper in half. I wanted to leave college right then. I wanted to cry. I wanted to do all three of these things at the same time and I probably could have, but I didn’t. I signed the paper then left.

The encounter left me feeling delirious. It was a descent day outside, but the air was too crisp. My friend Bailey approached and she seemed too light on her feet. She looked good. Even her clothing looked good and sexy and sophisticated, where normally it all just seemed like a cheap Halloween costume of that sort of woman that lives in a city. She had tall boots on and the curly hair matched her lips and her scarf and the burnt autumn leaves that were in the trees.

She asked me what was wrong and I told her about my dealings with the moldy-bodied-idiot-festival in student life.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said. “Who gets community service over water?”

I showed her the receipt to the paper the woman had me sign. She studied the form then looked up at me with eyes like a child who had seen porn for the first time.

“Holy shit! Grimbol! You signed your name by drawing a huge cock and balls! Dear god!” she said, “you even drew in the pubic hairs.”

“Is it that noticeable?” I asked.

“Yes,” she told me. “Look!”

When I had drawn it I had thought it was subtle, a phantom penis; the people in student life office would look at it and they would feel strange and molested, but, at the same time, not know exactly what it was that they were looking at. But this drawing of a cock and balls was not subtle, it was huge and obvious.

Once I realized how obvious the picture was I became paranoid. I had drawn a cock and balls on an official document. On top of that it could be easily construed as sexual harassment. There was the possibility that I could get expelled over this. What a humiliating way to go. For years to come people would ask me why had gone to college for so long and not graduated and I would say ‘oh its quite silly actually. You see I drew a cock and balls on a judicial form.’

Bailey thought the whole situation was hysterical and proceeded to show the cock and balls to whoever passed by.

“Stop!” I yelled. “You’ll get me expelled.”

“Grimbol,” she said. “Its not a big deal. If they confront you about it, just tell them that it’s your actual signature. That it’s just how you always sign things.”

I agreed. This was my only defense. But to make it convincing, I decided to draw the cock on balls on all my credit cards as well.

I showed the credit cards to Bailey.

I felt calm.

“This is genius,” Bailey said. “You have now made the cock and balls the official symbol for your sloppy Grimbolness.”

“It’s a good symbol, isn’t it? Its beautiful while at the same time strong and brave.”

“No, it’s not really like that at all. But I like it. It’s very you.”

“I’m going to use this forever,” I told her. “To remind me that one should have pride in their sloppiness. That irrational pride is always better than anxiety. Pride in sloppiness, that is the Grimbol way.”

“Its seems sometimes that anxiety is more the Grimbol way and that that is why you end up doing such sloppy things.”

I looked at her belt. It was big and awkward. I decided to tease her a little. Make her feel a little bad.

“That belt makes you look like an elf,” I told her. “Are you trying to look that way on purpose? Did you just get back from playing ‘Dungeons and Dragons’? Do you help Santa make toys?”

“I hope you get expelled,” she told me. “You’re a gigantic little boy.”

She then walked away, her tiny ass cheeks shifting back and forth. I looked down at the form. Two hours of community service and a giant cock and balls. It was the best I had to offer at the moment. Everything still felt delirious. The bells rang. It was noon. I felt hungry, but I didn’t have any money to get into the dining hall. The bells kept ringing.

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Posted by editor_news on Apr 9, 2008 Filed under News. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry