Nov 20 2008
Mister Bee
I wrote this in like…September, but Expository Writing, and I swear to God I’m posted it on my blog before, but I couldn’t find it, so I’m posting it again. Also, I just didn’t feel like writing today, so I went through some old files until I an essay I had previously written, tehe.
Throughout my life, I have been on more than enough car rides, road trips, drives to the mall, whatever you’d like to call ‘em. Each one tends to enclose a different, exhilarating adventure, but I can only imagine what a road trip with Mr. Blasser might contain.
Our day would start off in Government, sixth period. As he would lecture, he would pace back and forth in front of the class, occasionally writing a word or two on the board. Usually this word would be completely random and not useful at all, such as “Amendment” or “Art. 4” and sometimes even “the”. There is no purpose to writing words like this down, but at least he’s made an effort to write three letters on the board. Good job, Mr. B!
After class, we’d bond while listening to soft 70’s rock, including Carly Simon’s, Your So Vein, Carl Douglas’, Kung Fu Fighting, and of course, Neil Diamond’s Greatest Hits. I’d casually insult his horrible taste in “elevator” music as we would plan to attend the volleyball game after school. Now, I’ve been playing volleyball since 7th grade, and well, Mr. Blasser has been a huge fan of mine ever since. Now and then, he’ll ask for updates on the current season, but on this particular day, he’ll ask for a ride to the game, and of course, kissing ass and hoping for a higher Government grade, I’ll offer to drive him.
After school, we’d hope into my conversable, red Volkswagen beetle, and on this hot day, I’d choose to put the top down. Upon starting the car, the music would begin blaring as I left it, but the song would not be Mr. Blasser’s typical elevator music. The song playing would be The Bloodhound Gang’s one hit wonder, The Bad Touch. From that moment on, things might get awkward.
I’d quickly push the skip button, and we’d enjoy some good ‘ol Cher. As I would belch out the lyrics to “I Got You Babe”, and “If I Could Turn Back Time”, Mr. Blasser would act casual, probably thinking about the stock market, and wishing he brought his newspaper to catch up on the latest reports on McCain and Obama. After a couple more 80’s hits, Sublime’s hit, Caress Me Down, would begin to play. Being one of my personal favorites, I would refuse to skip this song, leaving Mr. Blasser in shock.
After decided turning off the music was the best idea, we’d make small talk, probably including volleyball, my sister, Allie, and maybe some recent movies coming out. Of course I find it completely unfair that I have to pay full price for a movie, while Mr. Blasser gets a discount for being a senior citizen. He sure doesn’t act like a 60-year-old man.
Yes, Bob Blasser is actually 60-years-old as of this year, but he barely looks it. As I would observe him while driving in my convertible, I would notice his white grey hair blowing in the wind like the ocean dragging the waves away from shore. His glasses would lay gently on his nose as he would squint his eyes due to the bright, dazzling sun on the horizon. The small tint of color on his beard would leave me entranced. I’d contemplate while at the stop light what color it was. Upon deciding this portion of hair was light brown, I’d return to driving.
