It’s Tortilla Time|

I went to the vet clinic this morning to observe surgeries, as per my usual regime come Thursday. I was quite shocked when I initially realized that actually I missed going in every other day. It was hard work, and at times it became quite trying and rather mundane, but I learnt a lot.

We found ourselves waiting for a sedative to kick in on an ill-mannered cat. As we paced, a technician noticed a pile of poop in another cat’s litter box.

The tech then requested that I remove it, and I hesitantly obliged. You see, I am actually forbidden from handling cat poo, as I am under eighteen and contact with cat crap can supposedly have harmful effects on my growth and development. I find this to be quite bogus, as I’ve been scooping cat litter since I was a mere three or four years of age, having been around cats my entire life. I have failed to notice any sort of ill effect from fulfilling this duty thus far.

The pile of poop sat conveniently on top of the litter, which would seemingly make it fairly simple for me to remove. I decided to push it into the garbage, but found that it stuck to the side of the litter box. Using the shovel, I mustered every ounce of strength I possessed and, in one swift motion, attempted to force the poo from the box. Knowing my luck, it just so happened that I used far too much force, and had sent the poo flying through the room, eventually coming to an abrupt halt all over a piece of lab equipment.

The room fell silent. Technicians looked at each other as to assure themselves that what just happened had really happened. Had the student really flung a piece of crap across the room?

I could feel one come behind me, pat me on the back and say ‘yeah, you’re really not that smooth.’

Since the end of my grade eleven year is fast-approaching, I will now alleviate your anxiety and post The Best of Grade Eleven, sans chemistry.

I failed a lot.

The infamous Cameron Diaz incident.

It was sometimes thought that I had a mild form of ADD, as I possessed some difficulty finishing sentences.

C’mon, you can’t tell me that the pox in hypoxia doesn’t make you think of chicken pox.

At times I revealed my spiritual side and turned to God.

There are two in this one.

I am mildly disappointed because I know that I had far funnier tests than these. I will attempt to dig them up and will post any that I find.

Because of the sheer amount of interesting test questions this year, I’ve decided that chem is deserving of a category of its own. Never have I loathed a course quite like I loathe chemistry.

I should start off by saying that I have received my fair share of these:

My mum even had to come to my rescue once or twice.

The sad smileys are classic. They never failed to make an appearance on every single test.

No, corn starch had absolutely nothing to do with anything.

This is but a taste of what is coming up in my final edition of The Best of Grade Eleven.

These are in honour of my good friend Yoon.

Both are from my grade ten year (last year), though I have much better ones from this school year (grade eleven.) I’ll post my Best of Grade Eleven within the next week or so, seeing as the end is (fortunately) drawing near.

At the ending of each school year I will document the most interesting answers I have given on tests.

Because I didn’t do so last year, this is for grade ten:

My last couple of band rehearsals have consisted mainly of lecture-like teachings. My band teacher essentially rambles on about ancient composers for two hours straight, causing the majority of my classmates to fend off slumber. I find these lessons extremely mundane and difficult to process, as his monotonous voice can easily lull one to sleep.

To be quite frank, I just don’t give a damn about composers in the 1600s.

My band teacher has already deemed us failures, as our inability to follow his deadening lessons will no doubt affect us in university.

I sometimes contemplate a device that could read the thoughts of others. If my band teacher had possession of such an apparatus, he could easily detect who is paying attention.

‘Okay good, Courtney’s following. Alright, Adam is taking this all in. And what? Tori? WHY IS SHE THINKING ABOUT MONSTER TRUCKS??’

While Greece brought many good times, it also meant that I was forced to spend a considerable amount of time with people I cannot stand.

I was forced to room with two of such people. I was in Mexico when the rooms were determined for Greece. I was defenceless, vulnerable. I returned to find that I would room with Laura and Megan, news that was met with profound disappointment.

I like to think that I’m generally an easy-going person. I’m peaceful, I don’t like to initiate arguments. I prefer to get my point across in a series of subtle and not-so-subtle hints.

Laura’s friends (who are about as annoying as she is) were perpetually in our room. I would lend them my magazines, to receive them back with crosswords and the like completed. I allowed them to listen to my iPod, just to get it back on the very last leg of its battery life. This resulted in no music for my flight home. I was understandably pissed.

And it must have been a miracle, because with a mere sip of an alcoholic beverage Laura would claim that she was completely trashed. What was humorous at first soon became agitating, as she would begin to describe her ‘drunken’ tales that had obviously never occurred.

And she never got any of my hints. Not even the not-so-subtle ones.

She assumed that the ‘one-sip-Laura’ nickname was one made in fun.

As I was standing on an elevator, she began to walk toward me.
‘Where are you going?’ She asked.
‘AWAY FROM YOU!!!!’ I countered, and began to press the ‘Close doors’ button in a fluster.
‘Close, close. dammit!’ I yelled in frustration as I profusely hammered on the button.
‘Oh Tori, you’re so funny.’ She giggled as the doors shut in her face.

I was, if for only a second, safe.

I fucking hate rats.

Today I went to the mall with a group of people, most of whom I cannot stand. One girl, who I find particularly annoying, decided to purchase a pet rat. I didn’t think too much of it, I was far too occupied purchasing clothing and the like. I suppose some people are just partial to rats, I don’t know.

We were sitting in the food court, though I believe I was the only one not eating. Of course fate would have it that I sat beside the girl who purchased the vermin. She was concerned that the disease-carrying agent wouldn’t have a sufficient supply of air in the box that it temporarily inhabited. Her solution? Let it out and give it some air, of course.

I was visibly uncomfortable about her holding the rodent in the midst of the food court, let alone directly beside me. Everyone oohed and aahed over the seemingly adorable rat, passing it around like a hot potato. I looked on in disgust and kept to myself, hoping, PRAYING that nobody I knew would notice me.

Just as the girl received her pet following its travels from friend-to-friend, the mother fucker JUMPED out of her hands LESS THAN TWO INCHES FROM ME. My reflexes caused me to catch the little shit before it hit the floor, and I was visibly startled when I realized that the vermin was in my hands. It then leaped from my hands onto the floor where it began to run, as if running for its very life.

Out of utter mortification, I began to pursue the rat to prevent the occupants of the entire food court from witnessing it. Here was this teenaged girl, tearing through a mall food court in pursuit of a rat. A few of my friends (and I use this word lightly) began to join the chase. It was on.

I would normally hang back and allow others to diffuse the situation, but the truth of it was I COULDN’T ALLOW THE RAT TO WIN. A mere rodent couldn’t get the best of Tori.

People began to take notice. Some laughed, some screamed. It was, however, undeniable that chaos erupted in the path of this rat. The rodent then chose to seek shelter under the chair of an oblivious, rather portly man. Tameaka, trying her best to avoid worsening the situation further, calmly said ‘Okay, try not to freak out, but there is a rat under your chair.’

It was as if the rat comprehended the sentence fluently, because it then emerged from under the man’s seat.
As the man caught sight of the rat, he immediately leaped up as if fearing for his life and began to scream.

GOTCHA! Tameaka declared with tremendous pride as she apprehended the pint-sized escapee.

‘Oh my God you guys, I am never shopping with you again’ I proclaimed as I slowly reattained my colour.

This morning I awoke to worst kind of realization; an English test had been completely forgotten about. I usually wing English tests with minimal effort and pass with flying colours, however I knew that today this would not be an option. For it was on Macbeth, penned by my arch nemesis, Mr. Billy Shakespeare.

Shakespeare and I have never gotten along. To my recollection, this feud commenced years ago when I was forced to play Bottom in a rendition of ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ I did not take kindly to playing a donkey. Shakespeare has bestowed much chaos and confusion in my life since, with his complicated usage of the English language and complex story lines.

Long story short: I loathe Shakespeare.

This morning I found myself at my desk, completely discombobulated, scribbling down any answer that made an ounce of sense. I have learnt over the years that when in doubt, guess. Any wild guess is better than nothing. One of the questions that I had left blank was ‘Who appeared in Banquo’s dreams in Act II Scene iii?’
Good God, I thought, how the fuck should I know?
In a fluster I quickly scribbled down ‘CAMERON DIAZ’ before completing my test. There was no doubt that a laid back guy such as my teacher would find this comical. A sense of relief then overcame my very soul; the test was over. Finito. Done. Water under the bridge.

My teacher then instructed us to hand our tests to the student who sat two rows directly to our left, as they would be the ones to mark them. There are many reasons why I despise this arrangement, the main one being that it’s pure and utter laziness on the teacher’s behalf. They get paid to mark, so why shouldn’t they?

I looked over at the classmate that would be grading my test, and it was inevitably the most popular girl in the class. Oh shit, I recall thinking, she’s going to see my Cameron Diaz answer and think I’m fucked in the head. I scurried through my test, in desperate search of the answer so that I could quickly scratch it out.

‘PENS DOWN!’ my teacher barked. Fuck. It was too late.

I handed my test to the girl, visibly panicked and unsure of what exactly to say to her. I cringed as we slowly made our way to the dreaded question. I finally mustered to courage to peer over at my classmate as my teacher discussed the answer, and she immediately shot me a confounded expression. Her eyes bulged, her forehead creased. She was in complete awe of the answer that lay before her.

I felt like melting. Word of this would undoubtedly spread among the popular crowd.

As we exchanged our tests back, the girl was still intent on giving me an awkward glance.
‘I just figured Banquo had a thing for the ladies,’ I said, figuring that this somehow defined my answer.

This is Charlie, one of the three felines that permanently inhabit the vet clinic at which I do my co-op. He is a corpulent cat, relocated from another branch of our vet clinic in a last-ditch effort by the management to aid him in his perpetual battle against the bulge. Exercising him has been added to my daily list of duties.

Some days I admittedly display more enthusiasm toward this cause than others. On one such day I was in a back room with Charlie, pulling a rope toy that he was only too delighted to chase.
‘Come on Charlie! You are going to party off those pounds! I can feel your self-esteem rising! YOU ARE BECOMING MIGHTY!’
I would holler out these, among other quotes, in my best adaptation of Richard Simmons. All that we were lacking was bad 70s music, a bitter disappointment, because there is no way better to lose weight than to sweat to the oldies.

As I was cheering on Charlie with an abundance of fervour, I happened to peer out the door and noticed my co-workers standing there, dumbfounded looks spread across their faces.
‘Charlie takes well to encouragement.’ I mumbled as I exited the room, my tail in between my legs.

Spring is undeniably among us at last.

I am so eager for summer to arrive, it’s unreal. The sheer amount of school work I’m receiving these days is enough to make anybody wish to stick their head in an oven, if ever so briefly. I, fortunately, have not succumbed to such a lurid inner desire as of yet. But who knows what tomorrow will bring.

The ever improving temperatures outside bring back fond memories of previous summers. Last summer brought several Ohio trips, and I unfortunately have not been back since. Liam was still quite young, at an adorable stage prior to the horrendous terrible twos. I like to think of it as the calm before the storm.

We were driving through the seedy quarters of urban Michigan, en route to Ohio; Liam, Ben and I in the back seat. Amid the factories, abandoned houses and smog were enormous signs advertising various strip clubs and the like. Pictured were often trashy looking females, no doubt in attempts to look alluring to sleazy men driving on the interstate. We passed one such bill board and Liam, gazing intently out the window, immediately pointed his nineteen month old finger at the sign and proclaimed ‘MOMMY!’

Ben and I were understandably unable to control the ensuing laughter.