At lunch, with a eh, shall we say, semi-full beard growing (and not even fully aware of that fact), I was stopped by a teacher who happens to be a good friend of mine and he threatened to give me a P.H. ("Penance Hall" = essentially, a detention after school) if I didn't have my face shaven by his class, which was last period.
So, instead of studying for his test at lunch (which I later got a 100 on, it was "Christian Morality," heh, so, no problem there...), I started looking for a pair of scissors, a knife, or whatever. I was on the verge of like, about to think about getting a plastic fork and tearing it across my face to get rid of the evidently too-much growth there.
And that was when I came upon - thank God, if He exists - my 9th grade gray-bearded Scripture teacher and the Jesuit baseball coach, Coach Floyd Guidry. He told me how he had a razor and shaving cream in his locker in the coaches' locker room across the street on the second floor of the Roussel Building (essentially the Jesuit P.E./Sports center place). He gave me his locker combination and official permission to be in there.
So, I went the about 500 yards or so through the school and across the street, where, with about 5 minutes left of lunch, I attacked my soaped-up face (no shaving cream was found in time) and ended up botching the job horribly. Thus explains the...(counts) four or so random cuts on sides of my face and chin.
I finished with next-to-no time to spare, as I had to make the 500-yard dash to get back to where I had thrown my books down, and THEN I had to run up four flights of stairs in about 3 minutes so as to not be late for Chemistry class.
Yeah, and that was funny walking into Chemistry class right after lunch and having people tell me, "Louis, you're bleeding!"
I was like, "Oh...that's bad..." and Ms. Fasone sent me off to clean up my face. And I hereby officially thank Master Sergeant Irizarry and Lieutenant Colonel Huete for allowing me to have a paper towel to dry my painful face as I went back upstairs.
And, so, I didn't get the P.H. Yeah. That's my eh...I'll call it my "unshaven story for the next-to-last week of Junior Year."
Thanks, Mr. Dillon, for the great experience. If he had threatened, I would'n't've had this great random wierd-coolish thing happen....which is...ah....cool....I think...Yeah...
Don't tell anyone, but...
Now, if only the faculty will let me go without cutting my hair for the next two weeks and two days. Then I'll be set for the summer.
I hope somebody gets a good laugh from all this.