The Thugs Must Be Green If They Need An Excuse

(A few of the class’ bigger and meaner guys surround me as shop class is about to begin.)

Thug #1: “You are so dead.”

Thug #2: “Yeah, what’d you go and do that for?”

Thug #3: “Messin’ up our projects like that?!”

(I ask them, rather timidly, what the problem was. They show me. Each of us has a woodworking project, and my name is scribbled on theirs in green ink.)

Thug #1: “You have a green pen; you did it!”

Me: “Yes, but look…”

(I pull the green pen out of my pocket, and write on a piece of paper.)

Me: “See? The ink is black, not green. Whoever is trying to set me up didn’t do their homework. Besides, why would I want to put MY name on YOUR projects?”

(The cadre of thugs looked at each other, confused. They would have loved to give me a good beatdown, but they had no excuse, and were a little embarrassed to be fooled so easily. So they threatened me not to do it in the future, and went on their way.)