Vaseline is not Gel − 15 August, 1989
This one time...
At band camp...
Is actually how many of my high school stories begin. I loved band camp. I loved learning new songs, hooking up with new girls, and I actually loved playing a week straight, so much that on the Sunday you get home, all of your teeth are loose and could probably come out.
I even loved messing with people and people messing with me. Don't let anyone fool you, Band Camp can be brutal. Due to the treatment I got from my freshman year based on the senior girls not wanting me touched, I got a pass (See the story "My First Day of High School").
My sophmore year was different. All of my smart ass comments came back to haunt me. It was after a long day of marching practice. The two big culprits I remember were Pat Flowers and Mike Wolbert. Pat was a nice guy actually and I got along with him later in the year, but Mike Wolbert was a Hemophiliac with a death wish.
Both of them lead the charge and I got tied up. They took me to the dock at the lake and proceeded to put Vasoline all over my thick head of hair. They undressed me too, the homoerotic bastards! :) Then they tied my arms and legs together and threw me in the lake. Let me say again, they tied my arms and legs together and threw me in a body of water. That last sentence lets you know that they weren't thinking with their heads.
Luckily, I have always been a fish in water and was able to somehow grab the ladder. Come to think of it, I even think my friend Kerry Widdoss was involved, but when everyone ran away, he helped me up the ladder and tried helping me remove the Vasoline. Turns out that nothing took it out except time, I had remnants of Vasoline in my hair for about 3 weeks after band camp. We both, at the time, realized that I got off scott-free as a freshman and I was due. However, to this day, Mike Wolbert and I butt heads.
For instance, I have a sub story that is kind of off topic:
Mike was loved by alot of people and they used to egg him on to make fun of people, of which I was one. One day, during study hall later in my sophmore year, I came to the band room to practice and Mike was there with a bunch of people, including some of the hottest girls in band and said something rude to me, or maybe even tried bullying me against a wall I can't remember. Now, something about me you need to know is I don't like to be bullied, I don't care how tall or big you are. I learned my lesson when I was 8 years old. I proceeded to grab my pen in one hand and punch Mike in the neck like I was stabbing him with it. He jumped away from me and I looked at him and was extremely pissed off and said, "You know for a guy that could die when he gets a bruise, you sure have a way with fucking words!" I lunged at him and the band director came out of his office and said, "Problem fellas?" We both said, "No." and Mike never picked on me as the little kid anymore.
Now Mike was always a big guy and I was tiny until I graduated, the typical bullying episode. But the way to get a bully off of you is to let him know just how crazy you are. I worked with Mike after he graduated, when he got a job at the Eagle Valley Mr. Z's. I used to pick on him in front of everyone and then I'd tell him, "Life's a bitch, then you get a bruise and die." Sure it doesn't make me any better of a person, but then again, you don't know Mike Wolbert.
Comments:
AmateurX (August 3, 2006. 04:04pm)
That's one heck of a memory. I can't even imagine what that must have felt like.
BrianZimm (August 4, 2006. 02:26pm)
Hey Scott. I still play piano and trumpet once in a while and taught myself Harmonica while on Gueard Duty in Kuwait. I have entertained joining the "Appleton Community Band" lately, but I'm not doing anything serious. I will always have music in my life, but not like I did in HS.