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In first grade, just after pencil sharpening time (with one of those old, metal, stationary crank sharpeners), some idiot girl somehow got her entire arm stuck between the radiator and the wall. We all sat and watched as three nuns and the school nurse had to use dish detergent and a lot of manpower to, finally--after 15 minutes, tug her dumb ass loose. She was shaken up, but fine; back to business as usual. So, Sister Vincent goes into her usual spiel to get us focused and prepared for the next task at hand. "Okay children, how does a teacher know her class is alert and ready to learn? That's right... backs straight, heads forward, arms at your sides...etc. Quickly, quickly, everyone at attention!" We all comply immediately... only I still had my freshly sharpened pencil in hand. That's right, through my uniform, I stab the shit out of myself. I then proceed to break the sharp lead point off into my hip.





Picture a four year old girl, in %%!%!, bent over a desk. Her uniform skirt is flung up her back; panties pulled up in a tight wedgie. There is a 50 year old nun hunched over the sobbing child, squeezing her ass until the lead point pops out onto the floor. The entire class is watching with taunting eyes, even the dumb-assed (and relieved to no longer be the sole class idiot) radiator girl. And then, of course, my mother was called at work to come get me, because I needed an emergency tetenus shot. Twenty-three years later, I still remember the sound of that piece of lead bouncing off the linoleum floor.