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by Rob Thomas
"GED." As in "Let me sleep in, I'll get my..."
The light comes on. I can tell by the glow around the edge of the pillowcase, then I feel the covers start slipping down my back.
"Diploma," she screeches. As in "Your lazy ass is gonna earn a..."
Way I got into drama in the first place is pretty funny. My sophomore year in English class, we were sent down to the auditorium to watch them do To Kill a Mockingbird. The bozo they had playing Atticus kept forgetting his lines, so I would shout out suggestions every time his brain locked up. Suggestions like "Scout, pull my finger" or "Let's go toilet-paper that weirdo neighbor's house." The play sucked, but I was getting big laughs, at least until Miss Anthony had me removed from the auditorium. She put me down at the VP's office and gave me her lecture on theater etiquette. I told her I'd pay better attention if her actors would remember their lines.
"You think you can do better?" she asked.
So here I am.
The kind of smile it's easier to make when you're that little and you don't know about death camps in Bosnia or what really goes on at the dog pound.
I do my best Henry Higgins from My Fair Lady. "By jove, I think he's got it."
Here's the difference between Lloyd and me--at least I like to think there's a big difference--Lloyd will hack anywhere and do anything: he'll crash other people's systems; he'll make their credit reports reflect an earlier bankruptcy, he'll add other people's names to every single national mailing list. Once he forwarded all of Domino's calls to the local adult bookstore. (Lloyd taped the calls. The funniest one has a woman saying, "I'd like a large pepperoni." "Wouldn't we all," answers the porn dealer.)