Get Your Foot In The Door

One day in High School, the members of our elective Guitar class staged a sit-in protest aimed at the fact that the band teacher, would force us to put away all the chairs & music stands from the band class before us, even though we, as a class, never used them. We felt that he was wielding unnecessary power by making us clean up what the previous class was responsible for, and thereby giving them preferential treatment. Also, we were a bunch of bored, directionless youth, living in a shit-town, looking for any reason to start trouble.

As soon as he caught drift of what we were doing he started threatening people with failing the class. One by one, the kids stood up, falling victim to the threat. Our numbers started dwindling fast. Kids are easily leveraged with threats of parental disapproval coupled with this legendary, yet never seen, “permanent record.” As it came down to the last few of us, we looked at each other, there was a nod, a silent agreement, then the last of them stood up, leaving me alone.

Mr. Johnson threatened me again, as I recall, quiet vehement in his spittle driven rage. Dude had completely lost control. As I stood up, defiantly daring him to give me that F, he grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me against the classroom wall. This man, this pudgy, mustachioed, saliva spraying man…pushed to the breaking point by a bunch of teenagers, more or less assaulted me. In the midst of his attack, he realized his mistake, turned tail and bee-lined for his office. I, of course, ran after him, summoning centuries of sailor-based insults. As he attempted to close himself into his office, I managed to wedge my 16 year old foot into the door and push it open. He cowered behind his desk and screamed at me to go to the office immediately. “No problem,” I said, “I’ll see you there later...and if you ever lay your hands on me again, you’re going to have an entirely different problem…” In my testosterone addled brain, I truly believed I might meet this cat in a dark alley somewhere, and beat the talent out of him with a music stand. Laughable then, even more so now.

In the end, I didn’t fail that class, but I did get suspended from school for a week. I believe he was forced to allow me to pass with a C, even though I was a D level guitarist (and still am…) just to avoid any potential fallout from the physical part of the altercation. That was his punishment for the part he played in losing control.

And no, we never did have to put those chairs and music stands away again…

Anyway, just musing on these Dem’s sitting-in for gun control. Admittedly this is an amateur parallel story, that really has no relatable importance, but I truly hope they can get their foot permanently wedged in the office door of sensible gun control.

Also, sorry about the drama Mr. Johnson, but I stand by our message, and our tactics, because as I recall, you wouldn't even listen to our reasoning. It was your way, or the highway, as they say, and as we all know, that never get's us anywhere but jammed up in traffic and late for dinner.