Dingo’s Gambit
Summer classes are like opening Christmas gifts. You hope for diamonds and car keys but inevitably you wind up with a mug with something moderately funny on it, a coin purse, and a few fruitcakes. Hell, one Christmas as a child, I got an airgun and a rosary. That’s summer class, Innernetz. No tennis bracelets. All socks, underwear, and talking bathroom scales.
One student showed up on the first day of class wearing a thin see-through t-shirt. Over his left breast — on his skin — he’d drawn a pocket with lines so wavy that I wondered if he suffered from acute astigmatism or, more likely, heroin withdrawal. As part of what must have been this week’s art therapy assignment, he’d also drawn a fake nametag on the fake pocket. There, in bright gold marker under “Hello, My Name Is” was the name “Playa.” Yes, the thirty-ish-year-old student with mutton chop sideburns and a hand-drawn name tag wants to be called “Playa.” Um, no.
“You’re kidding, right?” I asked him. “Naw, man. This is my tag, man,” he responded, using his right fist to deliver two weak thumps to his scrawny chest like a consumptive Roman legionnaire. He tried to catch the eye of the class slut woman sitting next to him. She didn’t notice. She was distracted by her own issues, sliding around in her seat as if sitting on a Spirograph. I couldn’t tell if she was perfecting the moves for her next lap dance or if she had simply forgotten to take off her NASCAR-grade Mobil 1 pre-moistened panties.
“Well, my roster says your name is Archie so why don’t we go with that.” He grumbled and frowned. By exposing his true identity, I had obviously ruined his chances with Miss Fucksalot who, by this time, had hooked her stilettos around the legs of the chair and sat slouched, staring at the floor.
Playa was a stroll on the beach. I pwned him the very first day. Check and mate. But the Gary Busey lookalike who sits behinds Playa is a different story. Busey wants nothing less than complete victory and every day is a battle for control of the proverbial chessboard. Busey is a pompous brownnoser whose self-important classroom pontifications make Bill O’Reilly look like a zen mantra. This alone wouldn’t be so bad if Busey could simply stay on topic. Instead, every single class he channels Sarah Palin after a pot of espresso. On top of this, he inexplicably lugs a ginormous wheeled suitcase to class every day. I don’t know what he carries in that suitcase, but I’ll admit that I’ve cut him some slack just in case it’s money.
Yesterday, as I started taking attendance, I noticed Busey wasn’t in his usual seat. I sighed a deep, contented sigh. It was going to be a good day. I wouldn’t have to cut him off in the middle of a pretentious speech wholly unrelated to the class discussion. I wouldn’t need to shut down his impromptu poll of the class regarding whether or not I should extend the next paper deadline. My attendance policy is notably draconian. If you miss attendance you are marked absent. No excuses. Period. End of story. I looked forward to marking a giant purple X next to his name on the attendance sheet.
When I was halfway through the roster I heard a door in the hall creak open on its rusty hinges. The sound echoed, bouncing off the grey industrial walls in warning. The creaking continued. The sound became the wheels of a mammoth suitcase creaking down my spine. It felt as if someone was wheeling over my grave. My eyes whipped to the tiny glass partition in the classroom door. Busey! Damn! I looked at my roster and knew I had just seconds to complete it before he and his Samsonite wife came sauntering into the classroom. I decided to speed things up a bit.
“Sleeper!”
“Here!”
“Miss Fucksalot!”
“Here!”
I could hear his Bruno Magli’s slapping against the tile. Closer and closer. Faster, Dingo, I thought. Faster!
“Smart Guy!” “Here!” “Clueless” “Here!” “Nice Dresser!” “Here!”
I looked out the partition window again and it was almost my downfall. I made eye contact with Busey. He saw me standing there with my gradebook in hand and broke into a run. Shit! I called names and didn’t even wait for the students to acknowledge their presence.
“Exchange Student, Emo, Chatty Cathy, Cheerleader!” “Here! Here! Here! Here!”
Busey was racing down the hallway, the wheels of his luggage shrieking, “Here! Here! Here!” I watched as he swam in a panic toward the door, eyes dark and flickering like a shark about to feed, trying desperately to maintain his tenuous grasp on his carry-on, that all-knowing, toothy grin on his face. Fortunately, his suitcase acted as a wobbly anchor, slowing his arrival by overturning and crashing into a wall. If I hadn’t been holding pen and paper I would’ve rubbed my hands together with glee and thrown back my head with a hearty “Mwahahaha!” But there wasn’t time.
“Shy Girl!” “Here.”
And DONE!
I scribbled an X next to Busey’s name, a bruise he would wear for the rest of the summer semester, and tossed the attendance sheet onto the desk in triumph. He dashed through the door two seconds later, his baggage slamming into the doorjamb and sliding to a halt. “HERE!” he screamed.
“Awww, sorry,” I said. “I just finished taking attendance.”
“But Ms. Dingo —”
I put on a sad face and slowly shook my head as I held my thumb and finger an inch apart, “So close, Busey. So close.” That was when he righted his battered suitcase and began to unzip it. Fuck. Was this it? Is this how I was goin’ down?
He unzipped the suitcase just enough to slide one sweat-slicked arm into the dark opening and pulled out — a Diet Pepsi. Which he offered to me.
“But Ms. Dingo, I was late because I stopped to get you a Diet Pepsi. You always get one during break and I thought you’d like one at the beginning of class.”
The Diet Pepsi was in bad shape. It was dented and hissing from its perilous ride down the hallway. His sweaty arm reached in my direction, pushing the battered nectar toward me. I hesitated for two nanoseconds before accepting his offer.
“Take your seat, Busey. Don’t be late again.”
As Busey made his way to the back of the class, banging shins and elbows with his monstrous bag, I caught the slight glimmer of a smirk. But I didn’t mind. After I let the Diet Pepsi settle, I would be basking in glory as the luscious drink burned its way down my throat.
Well played, Busey. Well played. But the game has only just begun.
Posted on Tuesday, August 04, 2009 at 04:12 AM.
Tags: Little Red Schoolhouse
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Comments & Trackbacks
Oh so awesome. Possibly my favorite post ever. I read it thrice and am still laughing at “Well played, Busey. Well played.”
Damn. So close. I think I might try the see through shirt with the drawn on name tag though when I go to a bar next time. Just because it didn’t work for Playa doesn’t mean it isn’t a good idea.
Hmmm.... What shall I call myself?????
Laughing too hard to say anything except to agree with Jane’s comment; that HAS to be the best line ever. EVER.
I swear Busey’s twin was in every one of my philosophy, ethics, and religion classes. I practiced hedonism (and maybe egoism too) when I killed him with my bare hands.
I noticed that, at no time in this story, did you remove the big “X” next to Busey’s name…
I had no idea Diet Pepsi came in Schadenfreude flavor.
First… “Sarah Palin after a pot of espresso” made me laugh so hard I had to change my skirt…
Second, I think it’s safe to say that Busey’s suitcase harbours his serial killer tools (rope, duct tape, a hacksaw and a small cooler of Diet Pepsi into which roofies can be infused)
No wonder you aren’t getting home til late at night...after that parade of fun, I am sure you curl up in a ball under your desk with a bottle of Jagermeister to try & make the voices in your head stop. And so your class can’t find you and pepper you with their tales of “why I cut and pasted from wikipedia on my last paper”.
Just think… only a few short weeks til Fall Semester… (hmmm, that doesn’t sound as comforting as I’d hoped).
can i sit in on your class? please? i’ll bring you two diet pepsis. i don’t know if times have changed since i graduated there a million years ago or if it’s just that i often took evening classes with actual grown-ups with 9-5 jobs.
i love this post, everything about it. and that creepy pic of busey on the chessboard where he looks absolutely manic, along with the other cast of misfits.
Oh. I am so glad you let him slide by. I mean really. I feel sorry for him. Why do I feel sorry for him? God, I’m hopeless.
Girl, I don’t know what part I’m more concerned about… the fact that you’re playing chicken with a potential serial killer, or that you’re drinking Diet Pepsi. Let me take that back, it’s the DP that’s the real worry. Honey, you need to let your South back out and get you a big ol’ Diet Coke. That will make it all better. h
HAHAHAAAAA wow, that was hilarious, poor gary busey look alike
jane — I’m sure there will be at least another story about Busey. He’s a pain in the ass and loves stirring things up in class.
Jules — I think that’s a great idea! But maybe you should draw the name tag upside down in case you drink so much you forget who you are. Then you’ll have a reminder right there on your boob. You could call yourself Booblicious.
Kori — The game is on. Unfortunately, I suck at chess.
Shania — Did they let you off with community service or are you writing from a women’s prison?
Mr. POSSLQ — Schadenfreude is delicious when it’s mixed with carbonation and lots of sugar.
MsDarkstar — The thought of starting the fall semester so soon after this class ends is enough to send me back under the desk with another bottle of Jagermeister.
blakspring — Yes! You should come to one of my classes! Then we could go to a pub afterward and talk smack about the students.
k8 — No, no, no! Do not feel sorry for him. Feel sorry for ME!
hilary — I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll think about drinking Diet Coke if you admit that Elvis really is dead.
miss. chief — I also feel sorry for anyone who looks like Gary Busey. That’s what you meant, right? You couldn’t possibly feel sorry for the guy who’s making my summer class into Death Match 2009.
OMG, that was seriously hysterical. I love the nicknames you give your students! It makes me wonder what MINE was with professors when I was in College....Hmmmm....
Haha! Love it. He will own you if it kills him! 
Okay…I can admit that E is dead, because, well, he would be 74 now and he wasn’t particularly known for really clean living. That’s what you meant, right? I just had to acknowledge that he was dead, not when he died. h
Well written, Dingo. Well written.
ps-- the picture is really good, as always. h
hahaha laughing so hard and you described them all so perfectly! I have met all these characters in my class - hhhmmm… all of a sudden it had me wondering - what does my professors have for my nickname? ha ha another great post!!!
Are you sure Busey wasn’t in my Art History class last fall?
I think he was, but under a different name: Other Busey would blurt out obnoxious (and wrong!) shit in class, just to hear the sound of his own braying. My sister had initially suggested he might have Asperger’s, and couldn’t help it, but after awhile we realized he was deliberately obnoxious, so we named him “Pseudo Ass-Burger”.
And when I was at my wits end trying to figure out why this dumb kid thought he had all the answers and could monopolize the discussion even though he was always WRONG, she gave me this gem:
“But Ass-Burger wrote all the textbooks! Here is the church, here is the steeple… here is Ass-Burger, annoying all the people.”
(I think this comment might send me straight to hell, feel free to not publish.)
AnnQ — I’m sure yours was very complimentary — something like The Beautiful Smart One Who Makes My Day.
Kristina P. — If only! Then I would not have lost in vain.
Hilary — Doh! I should’ve been more specific. Compromise — I will drink Diet Dr. Pepper when I can find them. It’s what true Texans drink, anyway, right?
April — Hee, hee. You are funny.
freeteyme — You would definitely be Nice Dresser. And then she’d ask you were you got those awesome shoes.
Veronica — If Busey and Other Busey really had Asperger’s or some other personality disorder I would be more patient (but I would still blog about them). As it is, I think he just has a classic case of Obnoxious Assholous. There is no cure. And don’t worry, I’m going to hell with you. It’ll be fun!
Woman! You crack me the hell up! Just the mention of Gary Busey (even solely based on looks) makes me giggle with delight.
This was the best ever!! I am loving the names of your students, especially Miss Fucksalot! I am in fits of giggles. And I would love to be in your class, just to get a name.
Ah, the ancient art of brown-nosing. Long may it live. How much you wanna bet he’s been keeping that can in there since the first class just in case?
Oh, and be sure to give Miss Fucksalot my number. Not because I think anything would happen, naturally, but the ensuing rejecting might make for an interesting post.
This got my heart pumping! I thought maybe he’d run into the door jam and knock himself unconscious and then you guys would unzip the suitcase to discover his Miss Catty Vonteetsling drag queen costume inside. But ah, the diet Pepsi...nice work.
Your descriptions of students may have been one of the many reasons I never ever took summer school at any point in my life.
The Spirograph comment you made didn’t really get enough play in the comment section...what a wonderful image...and we all get to imagine where she had the pen!!!
Mwahahahaha! Get em Dingo!
Busey you’re going down! You don’t know who you’re messin with!!!!!!!!
Hah! The next move is yours. His smirk says he’ll be upping his ante next time and then you can drive off his obnoxious drivel with your requisite wit and draconian tactics. Can’t wait to hear more!
*sigh*
I want to be you when I grow up.
Maybe he had some rum in there, too. I know Pepsi’s not the usual mixer, but...in a pinch?
You have no idea how much I needed this laugh right now. Perfect, perfect, perfect! I’m sending this along to my English adjunct friend who is, yes, teaching a full roster of summer classes. Socks and underwear everywhere.
You could not be more cool than you are right now. Totally pwned the Busey!
Loved this post. From the Sarah Palin on espresso student to the power play with Busey. You make my gangsta wearing 15 year olds boring in comparison.
I put this post under the sunset I loved it so much I had to share it.
I love this. It makes me want to call you every day just so you can tell me some story or something and I can laugh. You have time for that, right?
I’m now going to go email you about something… else.
Bribery? You are such a push over....what will flattery get them?
Summer — If you had to spend one day with my Busey, that giggle of delight would turn into nervous laughter before quickly rising to a shriek of fear.
Suzy Voices — You can come to my class anytime, but don’t be late and I will make sure to give you a name more colorful than Late Girl.
GeekHiker — I don’t think you’d have to worry about rejection with Miss Fucksalot. She doesn’t seem to refuse anyone. Hmmm, I don’t think that came out right.
Mel Heth — Oh! If he wore his Catty Vanteetsling costume to class I’d be very lenient regarding his lateness. You can’t exactly run in six-inch platforms.
MTAE — Is it because, dare I say it, we are the only ones old enough to remember the Spirograph? Obviously Miss Fucksalot never had one as a child. She doesn’t know how to hold the pen!
Courtlynn — I’m sure he has lots more tricks up his sleeve in his suitcase but I’m ready for them all.
O’Mama — Diet Pepsi isn’t going to cut it next time. I’ll be looking for hors d’oeuvres and a nice pinot grigio.
Ms. H — I don’t want to grow up. I hear you have to stop playing petty one-upmanship games when you grow up.
Ree — Ohh! Instead of a bar cart, you think he wheels around a bar bag! What a terrific idea. I’ll make sure he brings it to the end of the semester party.
Jen of a2eatwrite — Oh my! With a full roster of summer classes I’m sure your friend has socks, underwear, and a few used toothbrushes in the mix. How daunting.
Tara R — We’ll see how the rest of the semester goes. I think I just elevated the level of play.
Pseudo — Gangsta wearing 15-year olds scare me. Twenty-something serial killers are a piece of cake.
justrun — If you moved to NYC like I keep begging you to, we could trade stories over beer. And hey, I’m still waiting for that email!
MissGnomer — It’s only bribery for me. I need tangible benefits! Flattery gets them nowhere.
I was certain he was going to withdraw the head of his last Prof preserved in a jar. Like in silence of the lambs.
I can’t find a frikken diet Pepsi anywhere around here! They are Coke Slaves in this town!! It’s atrocious. I’d have taken the bribe too.
Are any of the students actually normal? Faux pocket man probably would have put me over the douchebag edge…
That is hilarious. The visuals are to die for..... You have a talent with words.
It’s posts like this one that make me want to move to NY so I can be your bestest friend! Ok, that makes me sound like a stalker. Methinks I would fit right into your classroom of weirdos.
Lyvvie — Ew, what if he preserved the head in my Diet Pepsi! I dedicate tomorrow’s Diet Pepsi to you.
Harna — Are you trying to tell me that this isn’t the way normal college students behave?
FreedomFirst —
Jules — Well, there’s still room on the chess board for me to include your “character”.
Pseudo — I meant to thank you for featuring me Under the Sunset. The only thing that would be better is if you actually sent me an airline ticket so you could take my photo under the Hawaiian sunset. Not a bad idea, huh? Contact info to follow in an email.
Dingo.. I think Busey sounds like the perfect canidate for that god-for-saken Karma card! Give it to him next time you graciously don’t mark him absent.
Dingo, you win the match because you have Mr. Busey wrapped around your perfect little finger. The match is yours! You have the gradebook!
Great post! I will never think of Nascar the same way again...if I ever think of it at all.
Love the picture, although I am disappointed that Shy Girl didn’t pose for it.
We need to talk about what I can get for a six-pack of Diet Pepsi.
Ha, Gary Busey! That cracks me up. Remember when he had that show with is number one fan? I never knew how crazy the man was until I saw that show. Maybe that’s what he has in the suitcase, his number one fan. CREEPY.
Rian — That’s is the best idea evah! I’ll even go one step further and give him a tray of Oreos.
Marian — But know when/if you do think of NASCAR you will have a lovely image to accompany it.
stoogepie — Bring me a six-pack of Diet Pepsi, stoogepie, and there will be no need for talk.
Toe — Well, I haven’t noticed any blood stains or foul odor coming from the bag but I’ll keep my eye on it.
You need a raise. Will you accept a year supply of dented, warm cola?
I’m not sure why, but when I read this post images from the long dead sitcom, Welcome Back Kotter, drifted eerily before my mind’s eye. I’m hoping you don’t look much like Kotter.
This story just made my day. I’m so bringing you a Diet Pepsi the next time I’m in NYC.
oooh well played yourself. You inspire me for my rapidly approaching summer theatre workshop in English for French speakers...and boy do I need some inspiration
thecoconutdiaries — Dented and warm? Oh my, what have I done to deserve such bounty?
G — We look nothing at all alike. I shave my mustache.
nancypearlwannabe — Wait, you just spend three weeks in England and all I’m getting is a Diet Pepsi?!
rosie — A summer workshop in English for French speakers? I’m already confused.
at least now you know what the suitcase is full of: warm diet pepsi to assuage his enemies. that and body parts.
Bwahahahahahahaha!!!
Girl, I love the shit out of you.
BROWNUNIVERSITYBROWNUINVERSITYBROWNUNIVERSITY
Clever clever clever
you make me want to teach.
what kind of class are you teaching? I can’t wait to have lunch you.
Dingo, how are things going with school?
Hillary — I think he decomposes the bodies in the carbonation. He’s diabolical!
The Peach Tart — Staying one step ahead of Busey has been the challenge of my teaching career.
Crissy — Are you trying to tell me something?
Jessica — You should come to class and then we can go to lunch. I’ll even give you a nickname.
Kristina P. — Summer semester just ended and I’m drowning in grading and debating whether anyone would notice if I just gave everyone a B+ and was done with the whole thing.