Why I hate voting at elementary schools

People are going to the polls today to choose our next president. No matter who wins, Donald J. Trump or Hillary Clinton, I firmly believe they will go down as our worst president of all time. And that’s saying something because we’ve had some awful presidents.

Sheri and I voted early. If I’m ever allowed to vote again, if I don’t get thrown into a Trump re-education camp for things I’ve said on social media about Trump, early voting is the only way I will ever vote again. It’s a pretty spiffy way to vote. Here in Hagerstown, there is one central place to early vote. It’s a permanent facility maintained by the Washington County Board of Elections.

To vote on election day, we have to go to a nearby elementary school. I try to stay away from elementary schools, not because I was ordered to do so by a judge or anything, but because as a kid I hated elementary school.

I attended Quartz Hill Elementary School located in the high desert of southern California.

I grew up in an era where teachers could hit, beat, whip, or punch students. I don’t think the term “verbal abuse” was even invented yet. I was called derogatory names on a daily basis. Not by other students, but by the teachers.

When I was a kid, the only bullies we had at our school were the teachers.

Nobody at the school ever whipped me, but my entire 4th-grade class had to watch one of our classmates, Danny, get whipped by the 6th-grade teacher who taught next door, Ms. King.

Ms. King was a terrible, mean person. She wore the same clothes every day. She smelled of cigarettes and Brylcreem. She looked like a fat version of Adolf Hitler, only without a mustache.

Ms. King whipped Danny because he walked by her classroom coming back from a bathroom break and had to audacity to run his hand along with window panes of her classroom. Ms. King followed Danny back to our classroom and asked our teacher, Mrs. Gibson, if she could discipline Danny for disrupting her class. Mrs. Gibson agreed and Danny had to stand bent over while Ms. King whipped him on the back with her leather whistle lanyard.

Danny had welts on his back, but it was determined it was his fault because he was moving (he was not) when Ms. King administered her leather lanyard justice. She claimed to be aiming at Danny’s ass, not his back. Plus, Danny was a foster kid, so it’s not like he had parents that would raise a stink with the school.

Back then, teachers could beat students as long as it was focused on the ass. The 70s were a weird time. My 5th-grade teacher, Mr. Brock, would hit students on the ass with a wooden paddle. He would take us down to the principal’s office where he would use the principle’s paddle. It didn’t hurt that much because Mr. Brock was old and feeble. Plus, my parents “spanked” me with a leather belt.

A wooden paddle is some weak-ass shit compared to the sting of a leather cowboy belt.

I still remember the feeling I got when I learned Ms. King was going to be my 6th-grade teacher. My grammar school had two 6th grade teachers. I was just one of the unlucky half who was assigned to Ms. King’s classroom.

By the time I was in the 6th-grade, I think Ms. King’s whipping privileges had finally been revoked; I don’t remember her ever whipping anyone when I was in the 6th-grade. Maybe that was a punishment she reserved for just 4th-graders who lived in a foster home. She would still hit kids. She once punched me in the face for talking to a kid next to me. She was mean. She called me stupid on a daily basis.

So yeah, I don’t like elementary schools. I also don’t like women who look like Adolf Hitler. A coincidence? I think not.

I'm originally from southern California, but western Maryland is my home now. This is my blog. It's where I write about whatever I feel like writing about, when I feel like writing.

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