The Tard Blog


12/10: Meet Augusta...but don't touch him

Augusta is a new student this year. He appears very normal. He is polite, social, ordinary looking and appropriate (for the most part). The kid is even kind of intelligent. But he hates going to school and he is fucking lazy. He's missed 13 school days so far this year. And when he is present, he is late. Always. There is no exception to this.


Augusta had major issues at his last school, which is why he transferred. Basically, no one liked him there, and, well, no one likes him here. He is overweight and German and his name is Augusta (pronounced Agoostah)--just like the fat kid in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

The kid has severe issues with being touched. This classifies his needs as special, and thatís why I deal with him. During a meeting at the beginning of the school year, some co-workers and I met with his parents and his old teacher. 

One thing was made abundantly clear at this meeting: DO NOT TOUCH AUGUSTA. EVER. 

Donít even brush by him, or remove a piece of lint from his hair. If you do, he goes fucking nuts and has to go home to shower and change his clothes. He is one of those "always wash my hands, afraid of germs" types. We have all heard of them, or have read about them in publications like TIME magazine. But this kid is 11. And is already a fucking head case.

Many times I have walked by the office and have seen him sitting there with his backpack, waiting for a parent to come and pick him up. I will ask the secretary if he is sick or something, and she just looks at me and says "someone touched him."

Everyone in the entire school knows not to touch him. It was even announced at an assembly prior to his coming to our school in late September.

During the middle of October we had an assembly. It was a couple of homoís that were putting on a juggling show. The kids loved the guys; their tricks, and all the retard-type shit they would say throughout the show. At one point in the assembly, the guys asked for a couple of volunteers to help them perform a stunt. Augusta shoots his hand up , and, for the love of God, he gets chosen. He walks up to the front of the gym, and the first thing the guys do is shake his fucking hand while introducing him to the audience. I can see the mortified look on Augustaís face. I can tell he doesnít know what the hell to do. The juggler guys start handing him pins and bean bags and shit. They then take him by the shoulders, turn him around so that his back is to the audience. They blindfold him, and adjust the blindfold while it is on him. I am waiting for Augusta to lose it. A touch on the hand, the shoulders, and now the FACE!! I sit there, ready to jump out of my seat, waiting for his reaction. After they blindfold him they proceed to put objects in his hand and ask him to guess what they are. 

This was the boiling point. Augusta drops the object, rips off the blindfold and throws it at the jugglers. Keep in mind that the entire school, kindergarten through sixth grade, as well as staff and parents, are watching this. He then violently kicks over all these bowling pins that were lined up on stage. He rips his shirt off, throws it on the ground, yells "PEOPLE AREN'T SUPPOSE TO TOUCH ME" so fucking loud, then runs out the side door to the parking lot.

The gym is silent. Nobody knows what the fuck to do or say. The jugglers were stunned but then quickly continued the show, which shifted the attention of most of the kids.

I run out after him, along with the principal and guidance counselor. He is running down the parking lot, off of school grounds. We are all yelling at him to stop. He doesnít. I continue to run, the counselor goes to the office to call his parents, and the principal gets in his car to drive and capture him. Somehow, I lose him. The principal canít find him either.

About 15 minutes later, I am still looking for him, and the office receives a call. The caller says that there is a child behind her wood pile next to her house, that he looks really shaken up, doesnít have a shirt on, and that she doesnít want to approach him. She guesses that he is from our school. The principal drives to her home, only a half block away, and finally gets Augusta to get into the car, but not until bribing him with a fucking ice cream bar.

I am sorry that I wasnít in the car at the time, because our principal says that Augusta gets in the car, picks up a container of Armour-All wipes on the floor, and starts furiously scrubbing his body with them. He is all worked up and out of breath, scouring himself with moistened automobile cleaning wipes.

Back at the office his parents are there to get him. They are all worried, and when they see him they are like "Oh, Augusta, we are glad you are ok, we were so worried about you." They make no mention of the fact that he cursed and exposed himself to the entire school.

About a week later, we receive a signed, 8 Ĺ by 11 inch color photograph of the jugglers. "To Augusta: Keep Reading! Best wishes and our Apologies."

We call Augusta down to the office to give the photo to him. He takes one look at it, tears it up, tosses the pieces in the recycle bin, and says, just like a normal fucking person, "I didnít like that assembly, I thought you guys knew that."



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