PennSilverTaco's "Perfect 5-Lug Regular Cab" Build, Aspergers, and General BS MegaThread!

That is funny Did you measure that to be sure or just go based on feel?

What year is this story from?

Tyler

 

My dad bought the BMW in May 2006, six months after I got my learner's permit. My learner's permit expired in December 2006. I did not realize it had expired until April 2007, and did not get a new learner's permit until August 2009. My dad traded the 2002 BMW for a brand new Acura TL in 2008, about a year before I got a new learner's permit.

 

Totally based on feel...

I've driven both my dad's 2008 Acura and my friend's 2006 Maxima. My dad has obviously driven my Tacoma before since it was his truck before he kinda gave it to me as a Christmas present. My friend with the Maxima has also driven the Tacoma before. The mutually agreed-upon theory is that a combination of low-profile tires and a low ride height contribute to the wide turning radius.

Also, one of the reasons my dad got rid of the Acura after 6 otherwise trouble-free years is because it seemed like he was blowing out tires on Pennsylvania's pothole-infested roads every other week. My mom's van and my Tacoma both kicked the Acura's ass in terms of tire durability.

 

What's the story on that element? Everytime I see or hear about the boxster I think of that episode on two and a half men where they keep calling it a chicks car when it gets stolen and is in a police chase. I know the new ones are actually respectable performance wise now.

You know I don't think we have heard what your 3rd cousin twice removed sister drives yet. Got any pics and story from when they got their first car back in '81?

Tyler

 

COPS has been one of my favorite shows since the late 1990s. I have nothing but respect for law enforcement officers and I realize that what I see on the news is only one or two percent of police in this country.

A couple hours ago, I watched an episode of COPS on Spike, and one particular segment showed a cop pulling over a guy for a burnt out left front turn signal. He did signal, but only his rear blinker was working, so the cop pulled him over. I think the cop ended up finding a stash of meth on the driver, and that's great. During the Fall 2009 semester at college, I took a criminal justice class taught by a retired Philly PD Lieutenant. In like 2013 or 2014, a professor in another law-related course I was required to take, invited her friend who was an undercover narcotics detective to speak to the class. It was one of these two guys who told me this... Basically, police are trained to look for equipment violations, because their reasoning is that the typical criminal isn't gonna give two shits about a busted taillight or a cracked windshield. As shown in cops, a lot these simple traffic stops based on a simple police work result in some lowlife going to jail.

However, what about us law-abiding citizens? What about the guy (or girl) like me who simply didn't realize their headlight or taillight was out? I've had my driver's license almost 6 years and have never been pulled over, but I've seen enough episodes of COPS and heard enough stories from friends and family to know that routine traffic stops can turn into long, stress-inducing roadside interrogations that at best annoy you and delay you, and at worst ruin your entire day. CLICK HERE to read about Willy. I unfortunately know what it's like to be stopped by police while just walking around, as well.

The best way to avoid being stopped by the police is to simply obey the law, and that's exactly what I do. My driver's license is valid. I have a clean driving record. My Tacoma is inspected, insured, and registered. I also regularly wash my truck, and I feel like this goes a long way in not attracting any unwanted attention. Even if I lived in a lawless, post-apocolyptic, dystopian society where being pulled over by the police was the least of my worries, I'd keep my truck in good condition.

I must be doing something right because I've never been pulled over, but I've heard some stories from family and friends about police jumping to conclusions based simply on actions and outward appearance.

I also encountered a DUI checkpoint for the very first time 8 days ago. I was sober and had nothing to hide, but I was terrified. The cop I talked to asked me where I was coming from, where I was headed, if I'd consumed any alcohol, and if I was sure I hadn't consumed any alcohol. I don't think the first two questions were any of his business, but I answered them anyway to avoid any unnecessary bullshit and everything went fine.

I just hope I don't get pulled over by some cop who claims he smells weed...

I smoked marijuana once almost two years ago, because a friend invited me and I wanted to see what it was like. I don't drugs. People with Asperger's and other autism spectrum disorders generally do not do drugs (scroll down for more info).

I don't have a problem with people who smoke weed, and a few of my good friends are veteran stoners, but I don't even like to smoke things that are legal. SHORT STORY: I drink too much at times, but I'm not a drug user. Never have been and never will be. When I'm drunk, I'm not driving, and alcohol is legal... So no problem there.

You are definitely not going in my truck without a warrant just because you smell nonexistent weed. Hell, you're going in my truck for any reason without a warrant...

 

An article I wrote for my college newspaper back in February 2015 (didn't get published):

Doylestown area residents open to the idea of body cameras for CBRPD officers; License plate scanners? Not so much.
Police and their tactics have been under major public scrutiny over the last few years as a result different incidents that have taken place over the last few years. One of the more well-known incidents took place in the Midwest in Aug. 2014.
Everybody knows about what happened in Ferguson, Missouri last summer. On Aug. 9, 2014, Officer Darren Wilson, 28, of the Ferguson Police Department fatally shot black teenager Michael Brown, who was unarmed. The death of Brown, 18, sparked outrage and controversy around the country.
At a public Central Bucks Regional Police Commission meeting in February, officials discussed the idea of having body cameras for all CBRPD officers, and license plate scanners in patrol vehicles that would allow officers to randomly scan the license plate of any vehicle on the street without having to pull the vehicle over. One woman in the audience said that body cameras were “overkill.” Several people in the audience could also be heard mumbling their disapproval of the license plate scanners. This was a public meeting, so anyone was free to raise their hand and ask Chief Donnelly a question.
One man sitting in the back of the auditorium voiced his concern about the license plate scanners violating the privacy of innocent motorists. Donnelly staunchly defended the license plate scanners, saying basically that if you didn’t have anything to hide, you didn’t have anything to worry about. He also said that the use of these computerized scanners would make routine records checks much more efficient and streamlined.
One of the biggest and most controversial issues nationwide at the moment is relations between police and African-Americans. Officer Wilson did not have a camera or any recorded evidence of any kind. The truth about what actually happened went to the grave with Brown. If Wilson had been equipped with a body camera like what Donnelly wants to equip his officers with, things would have been a lot different. The alternate scenarios regarding what might have happened are too numerous to list, but it’s safe to assume that if the events of Aug. 9 had been recorded, it would have been much more cut and dried. Without video or audio evidence, it’s just another case of he said, she said.
The Philadelphia Parking Authority already uses license plate scanners to find motorists with outstanding tickets and unpaid fines who are eligible to be booted. They are probably much more low-tech than what the CBRPD would use, only finding parking violations attached to that specific vehicle and not bringing up any information about anything the vehicle may have been involved in, much less the vehicle owner. Several police departments nationwide have already implemented these license plate scanners.
Several people, ranging in age from 20 to 70, who live or work in Doylestown Borough or the surrounding area, were asked about their opinions on both the body cameras and the license plate scanners.
One 26-year old woman, who has worked in Doylestown Borough for more than three years and has lived there almost as long, said she felt such cameras were “great,” and that “It benefits both parties. What’s the problem?” She was also in favor of the license plate scanners, saying “If you aren’t doing anything wrong, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
Helen Aldredge, 70, who along with her husband Jim Aldredge has been living in Doylestown Borough since 1997, was in favor of body cameras for police officers but against license plate scanners. Helen said that having a camera present could basically make police behave a certain way just because they knew they were being recorded and their superior would see the video. Despite this initial statement, Helen ultimately said that she was in favor of body cameras, because “If you’re doing your job properly, your superior will see the video.”
Basically, if a citizen files a complaint about a specific officer’s conduct, it will be an open and shut case with no controversy and “he said, she said.” Helen, a registered nurse who has worked in prison infirmaries for years, also said “I think the cops have to be confident. I’m in favor of the police cameras. I just think the cops need training.”
As for the license plate scanners, Helen sang a different tune. “I think you need to be able to defend yourself. I think it’s an invasion. I like to have privacy.”
Helen’s husband was on the same page as his wife. After being given a basic description of how the license plate scanners worked and what they would be used for, Jim said “I don’t care for that. It’s just another invasion of privacy.” Jim then brought up the already controversial topic of red light cameras, saying they were nothing more than a revenue generator. When asked how he felt about police officers being equipped with body cameras, Jim said “I think they can be good because they can record what actually happened, not just hearsay.”
Trevor Minnick, 20, who has lived in the Borough his entire life, had the same feelings as the Aldredges. All he said in reference to the license plate scanners was “They shouldn’t be allowed to.” As for the body cameras, his opinion was generally favorable. Minnick said “They should have them on at all times. It’ll put an end to police brutality.” Minnick also brought up a unique negative aspect. “It’ll make them have to do their jobs so they can’t let you off the hook (for minor offenses). So there is a downside.”
Matt A., 30, who lives just outside the jurisdiction of the CBRPD but has been working in Doylestown Borough for several years, had pretty much the same thing to say. With regard to the license plate scanners, Matt said “I think it’s a little bit of an invasion of privacy. Like if you’re not doing anything wrong they shouldn’t be able to look you up.” Matt thinks the body cameras are “alright” because they will “keep the cops in check.”
Patrick Carty, owner of Coach’s Steak and Hoagie House in Doylestown Borough, said he loves the idea of equipping police officers with cameras, but is not too wild about the idea of license plate scanners.
“I love the idea of putting cameras on police officers. The court system will be able to clearly see situations occur from the perspective of an officer. It also holds officers accountable for their actions when policing the streets. It may give people a better understanding of an officer’s daily life and understanding how difficult their job can be. This knowledge may gain respect for an officer’s job which could result in less crime. If citizens know officers have cameras I would imagine the likelihood of people committing crimes would go down.”
As for the license plate scanners, Carty said, “I do not like the idea of license plate scanners. Scanners would give a biased opinion on drivers if something such as a summary offense shows up. Officers may be more likely to pull someone over if they had a parking ticket violation than if they didn't. Scanners could result in a ticket frenzy which could cause people to become broke and jobless due to the loss of transportation. Scanners should only be used for serious offenses such as AMBER alerts, stolen vehicles, or vehicles involved in serious crimes.”
Among the individuals interviewed, opinions of the body cameras for CBRPD officers seem to be generally favorable. In light of recent events involving police officers and unarmed citizens, it seems they would be a welcome addition. However, opinions of the license plate scanners are almost universally negative, as a result of people being concerned about their privacy.

 

Beer is liquid bread, it's good for you!

 

I'm the OP of this thread, and the story is that most of my friends were buzzed while I was underage and thus sober...

 

I admit that I have problems dealing with authority, or consequences that have been imposed on me as a result of doing something wrong. I would also like to say that I have never had any negative contact with police or other law enforcement officials, never been arrested, and as a result do not have a criminal record. There was the one incident in March 2013. A woman in Doylestown Borough called the cops on a man with a camera (me) she claimed was on her property taking pictures through her window, which was absolute bullshit. After a roughly 15-minutes roadside interrogation to which four cops and three police vehicles responded, I was allowed to leave without incident. As of 2017, I have never even pulled over. I have friends and relatives who were or still are police officers, and I have nothing but respect for police officers as a whole. Some law enforcement officials cross the line in various ways and give all law enforcement officials a bad name, but I do not let a few bad apples spoil the bunch in that respect. It’s rent-a-cops, specifically the ones at shopping malls, that I have a hard time dealing with.

I have had problems dealing with consequences since I was still in diapers. As a little kid, I would often throw a fit whenever I was put in timeout by my parents or a preschool teacher. As I got older, I was almost always a good, well-behaved student in school. I was probably at my best in elementary school. When I began middle school, however, the teachers and other students changed, as did the environment. It was pretty much everyone for themselves in middle school.

Looking back, I didn’t really have any problems in elementary school. I got into altercations with other students for various reasons. Occasionally, things got physical, but I never got suspended or even got a detention during elementary school that I can remember. I’ve only been grounded twice in my life that I can remember, whereas several of my friends have been grounded so many times that they have lost count. Sometimes I lacked common sense, but I was a good kid. Just ask my parents and other family members.

Okay, so I made it through elementary school without getting a single detention. That is, I never had to stay after school, or miss recess, or anything like that. I was occasionally forced to miss 5 or 10 minutes of recess as a result of relatively minor infractions, but I really cannot remember anything significant.

 

@Plain Jane Taco
@LocoLocal
@Iamraiderpower
@ChadsPride

I got my first detention in sixth grade, when I was eleven years old. It was in February of 2001, and we were living in Oak Harbor, Washington. Of all the dumb reasons for a kid to get a detention, I think mine ranks within the top five. My first class of the day was math class, taught by an older woman named Ms. Crelly. I forget whether she was married or not, or if she had kids, but she was one of the better teachers I had. My relationship with her was very love/hate, though it leaned more towards love. We had our disagreements, but she often went out of her way to make things easier for me right up to the end of the school year.

As I said, I got my first detention in February. It was still winter, and Washington, like most places, was cold. Significant snow accumulation was not all that common on Whidbey Island, but temperatures in the thirties and forties were common. I of course dressed for the weather, wearing a hooded sweatshirt in addition to long pants and a long-sleeve shirt. My daily routine consisted of going to my locker, which happened to be in the same hallway as Ms. Crelly’s classroom, dropping off my backpack, and then heading to math class.

In the wake of the Columbine High School Massacre less than 2 years earlier, schools nationwide had really cracked down on security. I agree with many of these security measures, but for some reason Oak Harbor Middle School had a rule that prohibited students from wearing sweatshirts and jackets in class. Apparently, this was to minimize the chances of students concealing weapons. I can understand that, but how is anyone going to conceal a gun in a light hooded sweatshirt? A knife or some small weapon could probably be hidden in a sweatshirt pocket, but not a gun. So, Ms. Crelly started to clamp down on me for wearing my sweatshirt in class.

I thought it was stupid, but I reluctantly went along with it. However, sometimes I simply forgot to take my sweatshirt off. I was comfortable wearing it, and I would simply forget I was wearing it. I think Ms. Crelly thought I was deliberately disobeying her, but I wasn’t. I really was not blowing her off, and I honestly did just forget to take off my sweatshirt. That didn’t stop her from giving me my first detention. I was pissed, but I actually took the punishment without much of a protest.

I had never gotten detention before, ever. Different teachers volunteered to stay after school and hold detention in their classrooms, depending on their schedules. On that particular February day, the available teacher was another math teacher whose classroom was right down the hall from Ms. Crelly’s. Not having any idea what I was supposed to do, I went up to the teacher and asked. I really had no idea how detention worked. The teacher responded rather rudely, and I was given the same essay as the other kids in detention to copy word for word. Not only was this essay long, but I felt it was an unfair admission of guilt. All I had done was absentmindedly worn my sweatshirt into class, and this essay seemed to be directed at students who had committed much more serious offenses, like skipping class, smoking in the bathroom, or fighting. I just sat there quietly didn’t bother to write the essay. The teacher did not seem to notice, and I left when my hour was up. The headache, however, did not end there.

My mom picked me up in front of the school, and I immediately started venting to her as soon as I climbed into the front seat of the van. I referred to the math teacher as a "jerk," but nothing more than that. It’s not often that you encounter someone works at that same school they have their kids enrolled in, but that was the case with the math teacher who had been in charge of detention that day. Quite a few days after the detention, the teacher’s son, who was my age and in my grade, confronted me in gym for allegedly things about his mom. At that point, I put two and two together. He had the same last name as the math teacher, but for some reason I didn’t realize he was her son until that moment. Even more perplexing, and infuriating, was the fact that I had never said anything about this teacher in public. How the hell did he know?

My best guess is that he happened to be walking right by my mom’s van when I was venting to her, and somehow managed to hear it. Either I had not shut the door all the way, or the door and window were closed, but he somehow heard bits and pieces of the conversation anyway. I initially was pissed off at him for getting into my business, but I wound up apologizing. We never became good friends, but for the most part this other kid and I got along.

I can recall one incident quite some time after he overheard me talking about his mom, possibly in seventh grade, where a kid was picking on me, and he actually chased him away. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, and can say whatever the hell they want about someone or something behind closed doors. The moral of that story is to be more careful when discussing private matters in a vehicle while out in public, or anywhere out in public. One solution that I have put to use and continue to put to use while having conversations in my vehicle is to turn up the radio really loud. Not so loud that you can’t carry on a conversion, but just loud enough that passersby can’t overhear the conversation. I felt bad about the incident, but basically, I was just venting, and what I was saying was never intended for anyone’s ears but my parents.

So, that is the story of my very first detention. I am pretty sure I got more detentions for various reasons that year, but they are of such little significance that I can’t remember the details.

 

Going back to my math teacher, Ms. Crelly....

As I was saying, Ms. Crelly may have been a bit difficult to deal with at times, but she genuinely cared about me unlike other teachers I’ve had over the years. A perfect example of this would be when I wasn’t getting along with my music teacher.

My Aunt Ellen, who lives in Northern California, is a phenomenal music teacher, and I am not just saying that because she is a blood relative. She made learning about music fun, and I would have loved to be in any of her classes. My class had two music teachers in first grade, and I forget exactly why this was the case, but one was nice who everybody in my class seemed to like, and the other was a total bitch who nobody in my class seemed to like. The nice music teacher was a tall, relatively thin, middle-aged redheaded woman, and the mean one was a short and somewhat big woman with black hair. If I remember correctly, the teachers were names Mrs. Felton and Mrs. Sachs. I forget which was which. That was in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania.

We were living in Mountain View, California when I was in 2nd and 3rd grade, and our music teachers were independent contractors who came to us and taught us right in the classroom. One of our teachers was this young Asian woman who was nice and a lot of fun, but I do not remember much about her class except learning how to dance the Macarena.

We lived in Virginia Beach when I was in 4th and 5th grade, and I hated music class there. The teacher was this middle-aged black woman named Mrs. Johnson. She was nice enough, but her class was utterly pointless. Starting in 5th grade, we had to write monthly papers about various musicians. No doubt, this was a result of mandated attempts to integrate mainstream subjects like English and math into other classes. Most of the time, Mrs. Johnson chose the subjects of these papers for us. Our first paper was to be about Mozart, and most of the ones after that were about various classical composers, like Beethoven or Bach. At least once, we were allowed to write about a musician we chose. I chose Bonnie Rait one time for a report about the female musician of my choice.

Music class at Oak Harbor Middle School was the straw the broke the camel’s back. The teacher’s name was Ms. Keller, and if I had to guess, she was probably in her thirties or early forties. She was also a gym teacher, who filled in long-term for another female gym teacher while that teacher was on maternity leave. Nobody really cared for her from what I can remember.

Once again, as a direct result of mandated learning programs, we had to do assignments relating to English and grammar in gym! One time, we were taking a test, and since the bleachers were put away and there were no desks, we had to sit on the floor. It was awkward and uncomfortable trying to sit upright on the floor with the test paper on the floor as well. In the past, students had solved this by getting down on their stomachs. Ms. Keller suddenly and rather abruptly decided that we were not allowed to do this. Most of the boys and girls in that glass groaned and complained loudly as soon as she said that. I forget exactly what caused the tension between me and Ms. Keller, but the fact that a lot of students in that class picked on me, and she didn’t do much to stop it, didn’t help at all.

Towards the end of the 2000-2001 school year, probably in the spring, my mom decided to pull me out of the class. I forget what strings had to be pulled, but Ms. Crelly helped out a lot, which included allowing me to hang out in her classroom during music class until my mom was able to come pick me up. This was not an excuse to get out of school entirely, however. I had to do other schoolwork while in Ms. Crelly’s class. In the end, however, I still occasionally got picked up early by my mom. This is how it worked out for the rest of the year, and I didn’t have to take music class again in 7th grade. From 8th grade onward, I did not have to take any music classes. I don’t know if my parents and the school staff pulled some strings to get me out of taking those classes, or if they simply weren’t required by then.

 

Middle school was absolute hell in terms of kids teasing me, but I was generally well-behaved. I got one day of in-school suspension in like April or May of 2001 for pushing a kid who teased me into some bleachers, but nothing else really happened.

From the age of 11 until I was about 16 or 17 was the time I got into the most trouble. Again, I never had any run-ins with the police. I never stole, did drugs, or vandalized property. While I did get into physical altercations with other kids, I was never violent. I never harmed anybody or put them in the hospital, though I did get suspended on a few occasions for blowing my top with school bullies who pushed me too far.

When I was 11, a couple of friends of mine and some kids who liked to pick on me ganged up on and started throwing chunks of ice and snow at me. This hurt a lot, and when I couldn’t get away fast enough, and they didn’t honor my request to stop, I went into attack mode. I would like to mention again that I did ask him to stop. I didn’t really swear back then, so I’m pretty sure there was just some PG-rated shouting on my part before I actually went after one of my friends. I grabbed my 8-year old friend Justin, tackled him, and just started punching him until he was crying like a baby. At that point I let up, and my attack distracted the other guys just long enough for me to get back to my house. I feel bad about doing that, but my friend was not hurt and he messed with the bull and got the horns. After that incident, I can’t recall him ever antagonizing me again. I would never do anything like that today, because I could wind up in jail. Looking back on my teenage years, I think I knew subconsciously that I could get away with more as a minor, like giving another kid a thorough ass-kicking when they pushed me too far. It is worth noting that I never gave anybody a thorough ass-kicking in my youth, but I came pretty damn close on more than one occasion.

When I was 16 or 17, still technically a minor but closer to becoming an adult, that same subconscious, as well as my common sense, told me something else. It told me that I could no longer take matters into my own hands when somebody crossed the line, and that I could now potentially be charged as an adult with certain crimes. In my late teens, and well into my twenties, there were numerous occasions where somebody did something to me or someone I care about that deserved an ass-kicking. Oh, was it ever tempting, but I did the right thing and controlled the urge to take matters into my own hands. The only time I would ever resort to any type of violence at this point in my life is if my life or the life of someone else was in immediate danger. Even then, if I were ever put in a situation where I had to use a gun in self-defense and it was totally justified, and I actually took somebody’s life, I would feel awful. I don’t like resorting to violence, and thankfully, as of 2017, I never have. I’ve had to threaten people with an ass-kicking in certain situations, but I’ve never actually beaten anybody up. The closest I ever came to actually beating somebody up was that ice chunk incident in 2001...

 

People who don’t know me that well and have seen me do something wrong or behave impulsively automatically assume that is the type of person I am. For the most part, I respect and obey the rules. When it comes to the rules I find pointless and stupid, or just don’t like, I obey those too. I will complain about them relentlessly and sometimes bend them, but I will ultimately obey them.

I believe there is a big difference between breaking the law and breaking the rules. I am guilty of speeding sometimes, but who isn’t? I’ve also accidently driven through stop signs, the keyword there being accidentally. I can’t stand it when people disregard stop signs. The point I am trying to make is that I don’t break the law, but I don’t have a problem with bending or breaking certain rules.

A perfect example of breaking the rules is taking a picture of something inanimate (as in not a person) that you may not be allowed to take pictures of. When it comes to rules and regulations, the one thing I absolutely hate is when photography is prohibited and they don’t give a reason for why it is prohibited, or when it is not necessarily prohibited but some jerk decides to confront me about it anyway. About the only anti-photography rules I willingly put up with are those regarding government and military property, and even then I find it stupid in some cases. My biggest pet peeve in this respect is when shopping malls do not allow photography on the property. I have been confronted by security guards at two separate malls, and three times by three different security guards at my college. I’ve also been confronted and questioned by a volunteer bike cop in Cape May for taking pictures of a Ford Excursion in the parking lot of Congress Hall.

I have learned a few things from taking pictures of things that it is uncommon to take pictures of, like vehicles and air-conditioners. The most important thing to remember is that you must assess the situation before taking pictures. If you snap a quick picture, or maybe two or three pictures, of a car in a mall or grocery store parking lot and keep walking, there is really no problem.

 

@Plain Jane Taco
@LocoLocal
@Iamraiderpower
@ChadsPride

Another area where I regularly break the rules is eating...
That’s right, I said eating. I'm almost 30 and I still sneak food up to my bedroom, even thought my parents have told me many times not to. Whenever I go to the movies with family or friends, or both, I stop at a drug store or convenience store to buy candy. Walgreen’s, for example, has a special where you can get three things of candy for three dollars or so, sometimes a little more. At just about every movie theater I’ve been to in the last ten years, just one box of candy costs close to three bucks. We always sneak the candy into the theater in our pockets, and if we have a woman with us, she hides it in her purse. To date, we have never been busted for smuggling candy into any movie theater.


During my junior and senior years of high school, at CB West, there was this one teacher's aid. I didn’t really get to know her that well until at least halfway through eleventh grade. She had a 1987 Buick Grand National, and her husband had a 1990 Chevrolet Corvette ZR1. These, of course, were not their daily drivers, though they were a GM family. Back in 2006-2007, this teacher's primary driver was a 2001 Chevy Astro van, and her then-husband drove a Chevy Equinox provided by the company he worked for. When her son got his license, he bought a mid-1990s Camaro Z28 as his first car. This teacher did not like Ford vehicles, and refused to ever own one. I think she was neutral when it came to Mopar vehicles (Chrysler, Dodge, etc). She got rid of the van for some reason in 2007 or 2008 and bought a 1995 Pontiac Grand Prix. When I first met this teacher, I thought she was the greatest, purely because she liked cars. Like I said, she was not an actual teacher, but an educational assistant or something. Once when she drove her Grand National to school, she took me out of class so she could show me the car.

This teacher regularly helped out in my ceramics class during my senior year, so I saw a lot more of her. I have no idea what I could have done to make her target me, but looking back on senior year, I believe she did single me out. She was nice most of the time. However, if I did the littlest thing wrong and she witnessed it, I earned either a stern talking to or a detention, or both. There was at least one occasion where another teacher thought she was overreacting and talked her into cancelling a detention. I’ll get to that later.

The thing that she seemed to have the most problem with was me swearing. Don’t get me wrong, using profane language is a bad habit, but this was the first time anyone had ever had this much of a problem with me swearing. The most I can recall saying around her is “goddamn it,” “damn it,” or other variants of the word “damn.” I never said “fuck,” “bitch,” “asshole,” “shit,” or any of the other common profanities around her. It is also worth noting that the profanities I did say around her were never directed at her.

Once, in ceramics class, I said “goddamn it” after knocking something off the table, and she gave me a detention. This would be all fine and dandy, except in that same class and with this teacher's assistant present, though I don’t remember if it was exactly the same day, another student dropped the F-bomb. He did not get a detention, and in fact it seemed to go unnoticed by this teacher's assistant, even though she was right there. I can remember creating a scene about this, and more than likely to get me to shut up, the ceramics teacher made an announcement to the class that anyone caught swearing would get a detention. I am pretty sure I got at least two detentions from this same teacher's assistant, in ceramics class, for swearing. I forget exactly when the incidents happened in art class, but there was one incident that took place in my case manager’s classroom in late 2006. This teacher's assisant and one or two other teachers were in the classroom as well. I had a brand new iPod, and I accidentally dropped it on the floor. This was a brand new iPod, and I was worried I’d just broken it. I said “goddamn it,” and this teacher's assisant gave me a detention. I flipped out, grabbed my stuff, and stormed out of the classroom. I had to get to my next class anyway, which happened to be ceramics class. The other teacher who had been in the classroom came running down the hall after me. She stopped me before I got into the classroom, calmed me down, and told me not to worry because the detention had been cancelled.

Another aid I was particularly close to said something to the effect of “I think there are more important things you need to work on than not swearing.” It wasn’t like every other word out of my mouth was a profanity, and when I did swear, it didn’t seem like other teachers cared. At my college, almost all of the professors swear during lectures, and nobody cares. Several of my high school teachers swore on a regular basis well, both in Virginia and Pennsylvania, and absolutely nobody cared.

A perfect example is that one time during lunch early in my senior year. It was sometime in 2006, and I was sitting at a table in the cafeteria with a couple of my friends. I was just minding my own business, eating my lunch, and listening to my iPod. I had the volume up fairly loud, so I couldn’t really hear anything around me. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, my friend Brian just whacked me over the head. I don’t think he realized how hard he hit me, but it hurt either way. I yanked off my headphones, and demanded to know “Why the fuck he had done that” in pretty much those exact words.

Brian told me that a teacher, who was standing right there, wanted to ask me a question. I couldn’t hear her, Brian, or any of the other kids at the table talking to me, so hitting me over the head was his way of getting my attention. I immediately wished I hadn’t let my anger get the best of me and said the f-word. Luckily, this woman either didn’t notice or didn’t care. To her, it looked like I had been attempting to conceal a cell phone under the table while I sent a text message. Students were not allowed to use cell phones during school hours, and this rule was strictly enforced. I always cooperated with that rule. However, while iPods and other portable music players were not allowed in class, their use was allowed during lunch and in the halls between classes. While district-wide policies technically prohibited the use of iPods and similar devices in class, some teachers allowed students to listen to their devices while they were working. If the principal, assistant principal, or any of the other high-ranking staff members knew about this, they didn’t care. So basically, I was not breaking any rules. Still pissed off about Brian’s method of getting my attention and in a mild amount of pain, I snapped at the woman, saying something along the lines of “It’s a damn iPod!” She said okay, and in fact may have actually apologized for the misunderstanding, and then she just left. Either she didn’t care that I had used profane language, or she was more understanding of the situation than she normally would because of how Brian had gotten my attention. The point I am trying to make is that none of the faculty members at my high school, other than the aforementioned teacher's assistant with the Grand National, really cared when I used bad language.

I probably would have taken this teacher's assistant a bit more seriously if she had given detentions to other students who were using much worse language than I was using around her. Even if that was the case, I would still be pissed off about getting detention because it wasn’t like I went out of my way to swear. All of the incidents that earned me detentions from this teacher's assistant were the result of swearing after banging my knee or elbow on a hard surface, spilling a soda or bottle of water on the floor, or dropping an expensive electronic device like my iPod or cell phone on the ground. I was swearing purely out of frustration. It’s a bad habit, but in my opinion hardly justifies giving detentions to a guy who is otherwise a good student.

This teacher's assistant was no angel either, in terms of profane language usage anyway. At least once, I heard her refer to a troublesome fellow student as a “pain in the ass,” and more than once I heard her drop an S-bomb. To call us friends was exaggerating things, but I actually got along with that troublesome student the teacher's assistant called a pain in the ass. His name was John, and while he was an ignorant and racist pothead, I generally considered him to be a okay person. I am no psychologist or psychiatrist, but I am pretty sure he wasn’t a sociopath or anything like that. He had a very warped sense of right and wrong, but he seemed to have morals. John used the n-word to refer to some black kids who had mugged him, in front of our teachers. He got a stern talking to from the other teacher's assistant I actually liked, but no detention or suspension.

It is worth noting that I once, with "Mrs. Grand National" standing right there, warned a fellow student who had said a bad word not say such words in front of her because she would give that student a detention. "Mrs. Grand National" then jokingly responded by saying I was right, and that she was the “Detention Queen.” She most definitely was, the “Queen of giving Charlie detentions,” that is. She didn’t just give me detention for swearing, either. This is where my habit of breaking rules related to eating come into play.

The one incident I remember took place more than likely during my senior year, in 2007. For whatever reason, I had been unable to finish my lunch, or was just saving part of it for later. I forget. Anyway, I was in my case manager’s classroom, and I got into an argument with Mrs. Grand National about not being able to eat a sandwich in class. My argument was that it would get all mushy and disgusting if I didn’t eat it soon, but she wouldn’t budge. I had to go to the library to do something, and while Mrs. GN was not looking, I stashed the sandwich underneath my sweatshirt and smuggled it out of class. My intention was to eat it in the hallway, and my hope was that nobody would realize I had done so. I ate the sandwich while en route to the library, did what I needed to do, and went back to class.

Mrs. Grand National thought it was weird that I had taken my sweatshirt with me, and asked me why I had taken it with me. I made an excuse, probably some BS about being cold, and that satisfied her momentarily. I forget whether the interrogation started right after that first question about the sweatshirt, or if a few minutes passed, but she started interrogating me. I dodged every one of her questions until she finally asked to see my lunchbox. I should have told her to ask again when she had a search warrant, but I just confessed to the horrible offense of smuggling a sandwich out of class to eat it in the hallway. She gave me a detention for “insubordination,” and I didn’t get out of that one.

My regular clashes with Mrs. Grand National went way beyond what I thought were unjustified detentions. She also seemed to have a problem with me poking into the business of others. I am not habitually nosey, but I do have a problem sometimes with asking questions about things that are none of my business. However, this was not the case with one incident I remember. It was in either 2006 or 2007. We were in my case manager’s classroom, and she was discussing an article in the local newspaper with a sophomore girl. All I remember about this girl is that she was close to Mrs. Grand National, and she got pregnant at the age of 14. I don’t really judge people when it comes to their sex life, but my opinion is that if you aren’t old enough to drive, you are definitely not old enough to have sex.

Anyway, Mrs. GN and this very pregnant student were discussing a newspaper article and not anything personal. I believe the article was about a dog, and I asked about it. Mrs. GN immediately snapped at me and told me not to get involved in other peoples’ business. The female student didn’t really say anything, but I thought Mrs. GN way beyond overreacted. On top of that, we were not the only people in the classroom. It was a fairly full classroom at the moment, with other students and at least one other teacher, and she bitched me out in front of all of them just for asking about an article in the local newspaper!


I have no idea what made Mrs. GN so hostile towards me. It could have been any number of things. I admit that I was immature and obnoxious back then, but I did absolutely nothing that any employee of my school should have taken personally. I remember Mrs. Carr getting upset with me when she asked me about my favorite TV shows, and I mentioned an episode of Pimp My Ride which featured a young guy who had substituted a tampon in place of weather-stripping in his old Honda Civic when the car’s weather-stripping started leaking. That I can understand.

There was also an incident that occurred during the first week of school, in September, 2006. My mom planned on picking me up from school in my dad’s 2002 BMW 3-series convertible. She was driving past the YMCA right next to the school when a girl, a fellow twelfth grader, in a Volvo pulled out of one of the student parking lots without paying attention and slammed right into the BMW. One of the school security guards was right there directing traffic, and Mrs. GN also happened to be driving by in her van when the accident occurred. Both went to help. There were no injuries, and the BMW took the hit like a champion prizefighter. The left front fender and hood were a little bit damaged, as was part of the front bumper, and the left headlight was broken, but it was all superficial and the car ran and drove fine. The red Volvo 850 sedan that had been driven by my fellow student was at least ten years old, and already kind of beat up to begin with, so whatever damage occurred in the accident was not even noticeable. The girl and the guy who was carpooling with her were both very nice and the girl was very apologetic. I imagine that the girl’s parents were pissed at her, and her dad initially wanted to bypass the insurance companies, pay to fix the damage to my dad’s car out of his own pocket, and I assume not bother to fix the Volvo since the damage to it was all but nonexistent. However, he changed his mind once my dad gave him the estimates to get the BMW fixed...

A 2002 BMW 3-series is going to cost a lot more to repair than a Ford Taurus or Toyota Camry of the same year, mostly because it is a BMW. Just adding the BMW name to an item will make the price of that item go up considerably.

So, in the end, the guy’s insurance company wound up footing the repair bill, which came to around $1,500, and the BMW was fixed as good as new. The car was in the body shop for well over a week, and this meant I was deprived of the convertible during that time. Keep in mind that was in late summer and early fall, when the weather is perfect for going topless in a convertible in Pennsylvania. Luckily, we had my mom’s van and my dad’s old Pathfinder, so being without the BMW didn’t really inconvenience us, but I was pissed. I vented to my psychologist and my parents, and I also made the mistake of venting to Mrs. GN. I was complaining about the BMW being out of commission, and I referred to the driver of the Volvo as “that stupid girl.” Mrs. GN was apparently fairly close to this girl, and that comment upset her, but she seemingly forgot about it after that.

However, I can’t help but think that she started to resent me because she saw me as a spoiled kid. I am spoiled, and I don’t deny it, but I feel there is a difference between being a spoiled brat and just being spoiled. I was the latter. My parents bought me nice stuff, and still continue to do so, but they didn’t let me get out of control. My parents also love me unconditionally and did a damn good job of raising me. They’ve always had nice houses and nice vehicles. My dad has always made excellent money, but we were never rich. Mrs. GN once told me that her family lived below the poverty line, though I believe she was exaggerating to an extent. These days, just about anybody with good credit and a few grand in their bank account can finance a house or a car, even if they are fairly poor. However, I highly doubt a family living below the party line is going to own a vacation home in the Poconos in addition to their regular home, nor will they have a Buick Grand National and a Corvette ZR1, and a SeaRay boat in addition to their family van. They also had a dog. The cars, the boat, and the dog are all very expensive.

 

Towards the end of my senior year at high school (April-May 2007), some student kept making bomb threats in the form of messages written on bathrooms walls. Law enforcement brought in the bomb-sniffing dogs to search lockers, and the school was placed under a really strict lockdown for at least a couple weeks. The would-be terrorist wound up being a female student with mental problems, and I think everybody knew this all along (that it was a student with mental problems, not that it was a female student).

After all, no explosives were found! The only reason they brought in the explosives specialists and imposed the lockdown was because they believed a student knew the identity of the person responsible for the messages and was protecting them, and they wanted to basically annoy anybody who knew any information into spilling the beans.

Honestly, I don’t think anybody knew who the person was until the moment they caught her, because if anybody knew who she was the restrictions would have made anybody who knew anything tip off the proper authorities. This lockdown included strict monitoring of students during passing time between classes, and no more than one student being allowed out of a classroom at a time for any reason. Depending on what part of the school they were in, students were only allowed to use bathrooms in that area. This meant that if you had to go and there was a long line, you had to wait. Under normal circumstances, the bathrooms were virtually empty during classes, and you could piss or poop in peace. Students also took advantage of this time to smoke, drink, jack off, or have sex in the bathrooms.

This is one of those situations where I did not maliciously disregard the rules. It was near the end of the day, and I had to take a dump. Simple as that. I followed all the rules and went through the bureaucratic bullshit, got a hall pass from my teacher, and went to the bathroom. Of course, there was a long line for the two or three stalls in that bathroom.

I really had to go, and I basically chose to break the rules instead of risking shitting my pants in front of several students. I guess there wasn’t a teacher monitoring the bathroom because I was able to walk away. Of course the students waiting their turn saw me leave, but nobody tried to stop me.

I went to another part of the school and found a boy’s bathroom that was completely deserted. I took care of business and went back to class. I don’t know how the hell my teacher found out I had broken protocol and gone to move my bowels elsewhere, but he did, and he was pissed. The only reasonable, and thus understandable, part of his argument was that everyone’s safety was at risk because of these bomb threats. I respected that, but at the same time if I had really felt my life was in danger I would have gotten my parents to let me stay home. It’s not like this was some military installation in the Middle East, and I wound up being correct in assuming it was just some random student with mental problems, and I’m pretty sure just about everyone else had the same assumptions. Needless to say I got a detention, and though I was unable to get out of it, my parents and just about everyone else I’ve told has taken my side.

At least two weeks went by before they caught the so-called bomber, and I don’t even remember how they caught her. In the end, she wound up facing some serious charges and her family was slapped with the bill for bringing the bomb squad and the dogs into the school.

 

As was the case in 8th grade and my first two years of high school in Fairfax County, I found myself at odds with most of the special education students at Central Bucks West, as well their teachers, and I was technically “Special Ed” myself. I started eleventh grade in September 2005 and graduated from high school in 2007, and I had more trouble with the special education people than anyone or anything else that I can remember.

One of the first notable incidents I can remember took place in either late 2005 or early 2006. There was a speech pathologist who worked with me, and she took higher-functioning students with various disabilities on outings in and around Bucks County. Most of the time we would just walk into Doylestown from the high school and eat lunch, but we would often go on trips with the lower-functioning students and their teachers. These trips included Rice’s Market, a play about Rosa Parks, and on the same trip we went to see that play, stopping by a shopping mall to eat lunch. Keep in mind this happened back in 2006, and even my amazing memory has its limits, but I am 99% sure this incident took place on the school bus on the way back to school. I also remember that it was a disagreement with a student and a special education teacher. What I do not remember is what the incident was about or what started it the first place. I think, but am not sure, that it had something to do with an assigned seat on the bus. I know, real silly. Like many other incidents before it I pretty much forgot about it within a day or two.

Quite a few days after the incident, I was in class minding my own business and the speech pathologist showed up unannounced. She pulled me out of class and gave a very vague explanation about a teacher wanting to talk to me. Keep in mind that my case manager and none of my regular teachers seemed to know about this. Neither did the principal, assistant principal, or any of the security staff. The speech pathologist took me to her office and there was a woman I'd never seen before sitting at the round table. My speech pathologist introduced me by saying "Charlie, this is Mrs. Bowes." Her name pronounced like the speaker company, Bose, but with a "w" instead of an "s." I was like "Okay...?" I still had no bloody idea what was going on. Mrs. Bowes was not the special education teacher present on the bus at the time of incident. She just cut to the chase and starting chewing me out about an incident that I'd completely forgotten about until that very moment. She was acting all high and mighty and saying "don't you disrespect my students or my staff" or some bullshit like that. The incident that sparked this bitch-out session was so insignificant that I honestly can't remember it. I just stood there and nodded while Mrs. Bowes ranted and raved. The speech pathologist who'd been forced by Mrs. Bowes to drag me out of class was one of my favorite teachers, but she briefly fell out of favor with me after that little fiasco. I never had an actual problem with Mrs. Bowes after that, but we barely tolerated each other after that.

Part of the reason I get so pissed off when people confront me for photography is no doubt because I have been bullshitted by every type of authority figure short of the police all my life. Before I even had hobbies that could be misinterpreted as suspicious behavior, I felt like I was being confronted and oftentimes railroaded for simply being a kid. It has been going on since probably fourth or fifth grade, and started getting really bad in sixth or seventh grade. It was at its absolute worst between sixth and tenth grade. Eleventh and twelfth grade had their moments as well, but they were definitely easier than previous years. In fourth grade, I got into an argument with another student over the use of magic markers, and though I am 99% sure I did not hit her, she and about two or three other students said I did hit her and the teacher believed them. In fourth or fifth grade, I got into an argument with a student on the school bus. I wanted to end it, and when the bus driver intervened, the little bastard lied and said I flipped him off. Not only had I not flipped him off, I didn’t even know what it meant to flip someone off. I was only 9 or 10 years old, and all I knew was the words “fuck” and “shit” were bad words. I had no idea that “fuck” meant to have sex. Hell, I wouldn’t learn what sex was or where babies came from for another six months to a year. I wouldn’t learn what a condom was until seventh grade, and I wouldn’t learn about the female menstrual cycle until eighth or ninth grade. My sexual knowledge was limited to the names of the male and female private parts at that point in my life. I knew the definitions of “shit” and “asshole” though, as well as “damn” and “hell.”
The driver reprimanded me for the one-finger salute that never took place, but I didn’t get in any trouble. I was one of the better-behaved kids on the school bus, so there was no need for any further disciplinary action. These two kids, one I knew was named Chris and the other I believe was named Eddie or Edgar, always teased me on the bus by saying my name over and over again. I would tell them to shut and up and leave me alone, but these kids regularly caused trouble on the bus and at school and were always getting in trouble. They weren’t a serious problem.

 

@Plain Jane Taco
@LocoLocal
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There was a period of time between July 2012 and May 2016 where I deviated from my normal, docile “gentle giant” personality. It started out as an innocent hobby fueled by the sudden failure of my external hard drive that resulted in the loss of three years worth of Chevrolet and Ford truck photos. I went on a photography rampage of sorts, taking pictures of trucks and having two incidents in 2012 alone. Actually, one of those incidents resulted from me taking pictures of an old air-conditioner at a bar, right near where a custom Chevrolet Tahoe I had originally stopped to take pictures of was parked.

The woman who confronted me about taking pictures of the air-conditioner had no problem with whatsoever with me taking pictures of the Tahoe. Between April 2014 and May 2016, I could go months without having a single incident, mainly because I stuck to car shows and only photographed the occasional truck in a public parking lot. In addition to the police and vehicle owners, I had run-ins with security guards at my college, and private citizens who did not own the vehicles I was taking pictures of, but still approached me and asked what I was doing. I became incredibly jaded and developed a “fuck societal norms” attitude because I believed that my hobby, while suspicious, was completely innocent. It actually was, and everyone from my friends, to my dad, to my therapist, agree with me. The issue is not that it’s wrong, illegal, or not innocent. My therapist even said that 98% of people would be fine with me taking pictures of their cars, or even be flattered.

In one bizarre incident in January 2016, I got permission from an elderly man to photograph his red 2004 Chevrolet Colorado Z71 in the parking lot of the Acme supermarket in Doylestown. I wound up getting into an argument with BMW-driving stuffed shirt asshole who got annoyed because I crouched down in front of his SUV to take pictures and blocked his ability to pull forward out of the parking space when he very well could have backed his ass up and gone out that way. I was NOT blocking traffic, and that incident is one where I feel I did nothing wrong. I stood up to an overpaid, overprivileged bully who was used to getting his own way.

It started with the bastard blasting his horn at me. NOT WANTING a confrontation, I stood up and stepped out of the way. He had his driver’s window down, and he said something mean to me (what exactly I can’t remember), totally unprovoked. As he sped away, still with his window down, I called him exactly what he was. No racial or religious slurs, and nothing that would have insulted his family (i.e. “Son of a bitch”). I called him a “Beemer-driving asshole,” which is exactly what he was. You’d think he was a black guy (He was a fat, bearded white guy with a Brooklyn accent wearing a nice suit) who just been called the n-word, because he slammed on the brakes, turned that black BMW X5 around, pulled into a parking space, jumped out, and immediately attempted to get into a fight, all because I called him exactly what he was. He started approaching me, and all I could say was “Get away from me or else I’ll call the cops). He was one of those take-no-bullshit “If you’ve got something to say you’d better say it directly to my face” douchebags. I got called all sorts of nasty names in high school as I was walking away from a potential confrontation, and I at the most had fantasies of going back and knocking the kid’s block off, but I never actually did!

This guy was ranting about how if I had something to say to him, I needed to say it to his face “like a man.” When I told him not to come near me or else I’d call the cops, he dared me to, saying that if I did then he’d know where I lived, implying that he would come to my house and do something drastic. All this because I called him exactly what he was, a BMW-driving asshole. People like him give BMW owners and drivers all over the world a bad name. He ultimately wound up driving off in a butt-hurt huff, but not before numerous grocery store employees and customers in the parking lot witnessed his tantrum. Everyone took my side, by the way. One older woman who’d been loading groceries into her late-model Jeep Wrangler made the possibly true statement that he probably hadn’t eaten lunch yet. Ever seen those “You’re not you when you’re hungry” Snickers candy bar commercials? There’s some truth to that. I commented back to the woman that it’s also possible he hadn’t gotten laid the previous night, and she thought that was hilarious.

 

Early 1994:
In preschool, I did things that landed me in timeout, but I generally behaved myself. I got into stupid little disagreements with other little kids about the stupid little things that little kids regularly fight over. My dad bought me model cars and trucks all the time when I was younger, and one of my favorites was a model Chevy pickup. It was a plastic model kit that my dad bought for me Christmas in 1993, and he put it together for me. The kids at my school regularly brought personal toys in to play with, or for show-and-tell. When I was probably not even five years old, I brought my little bluish green Chevy C1500 pickup in one day, and everything initially went great. The preschool was run by an organization called KenCrest that specialized in helping individuals with special needs, ranging from toddlers all the way up to senior citizens. In my class, there were kids with Asperger’s like me, as well as kids with other autism spectrum disorders, cerebral palsy, and Tourette’s, among other things. There was this one girl named Samantha who was very weird. I do not remember what she actually had in terms of disabilities or disorders, but she had some sort of developmental disability. Anyway, on the day I brought my beloved Chevy pickup into preschool, she almost sent it to the metaphorical junkyard in the sky. I remember that we were in the pretend kitchen, I think we were talking, and all of a sudden she shouted “Mine!” and grabbed my truck from me. I do not remember if we started fighting over it and I tried to grab it back from her, but the next thing I knew she smashed it against the toy oven and the bed and rear bumper came completely off. I do not think she meant to break my truck, but it was still broken. I just burst into tears and started crying. I do not remember trying to hit Samantha or anything. I just cried. One of the teachers, Miss Joan, gathered up the pieces of my truck and put it in a plastic bag so nothing would get lost. I calmed down, Samantha apologized, and when I got home my dad was able to fix my truck good as new with a little superglue. I think I handled that situation pretty well. Any kid would have cried their eyes out if they saw their favorite toy truck broken right in front of them, and in the end my dad wound up fixing it. I don’t even think I broke that truck as a result of excessive playtime, which is unusual. With the exception of Hot Wheels and similar toy vehicles, the typical toy car or truck did not last long in my hands. It is possible that it got packed away and is still in my parents’ basement. Either that or I sold it at a garage sale back in the 1990s. I actually found another one just like it at a garage sale in 2006 or 2007, and ironically, I believe I wound up breaking it by mistake while trying to “restore” it.

 

I categorize bullies into several different categories. I consider anyone who picks on or physically abuses someone else for pleasure a bully. A bully can also be defined as someone who badgers or intimidates other people to get his or her own way, and the majority of them are individuals who have a conscience and are really good people deep down, but pick on others because of their own insecurities. I have been guilty of picking on other kids who have really pissed me off, and also of badgering those closest to me. My dad has told me in the past that I act like a bully sometimes, and that term hurt my feelings and made me think about my behavior at times. I am not a bully, and I never want to be considered one. The stereotypical bully in my opinion is the kid who is larger and sometimes older than you, steals your lunch money, and challenges you to fights after school. That was quite common about half a century ago, but I never encountered anything quite like that. I first heard the terms “sociopath” and “psychopath” on the crime shows I saw on TV, and I thought it exclusively applied to serial killers, sexual predators, and career criminals. I had no idea what a sociopath was when I was in high school, but I’ve understood the basic concept of psychopathy since I was like fourteen or fifteen., through a combination of various TV shows, the internet, my mom, and my cousin Lanae, I learned more about it.

I don’t think I asked my mom what a sociopath was until I was in my late teens, but it may have been a little earlier than that. If I remember correctly, I first became curious about the term “sociopath” after hearing it in a PlayStation 2 game called “Bully.” In this game, you play as a 15-year old named Jimmy Hopkins who is a bit of a bully, but ultimately a good person. The game takes place on the campus of a school in New England, and your weapons consist of stink bombs and potato guns, among other things. One of the nerdy characters in the game refers to the main antagonist as “that sociopath Gary.” At that point I went downstairs and asked my mom what it meant. She told me that it was basically someone who didn't have a conscience. My cousin (there's a picture of me and her standing next to my Tacoma in here somewhere) is a psych major, so she knows quite a bit about the subject. I asked her about it, and she told me all about antisocial personality disorder, and how an individual must be diagnosed with conduct disorder at a fairly young age to be officially defined as a sociopath or psychopath. Like I said, sociopaths and psychopaths are typically associated with being serial killers, sexual predators, and career criminals. One common sign that someone is a psychopath is harming animals at a young age, but I’ve heard from experts that not all psychopaths do this. Sociopaths and psychopaths both lack empathy and the ability to feel remorse. Sociopaths don't necessarily harm animals as kids, or turn into serial killers, but they use people for their own selfish reasons and don’t care who they hurt in the process, whether it be physically or emotionally. They steal and lie to benefit themselves. Sociopaths are generally the result of the environment they grow up in, while psychopaths are always born that way.

I’m sure some school bullies who torment kids in school probably will go on to be diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder and/or conduct disorder, and classified as sociopaths and psychopaths. I’m pretty sure I’ve dealt with at least a couple of them at some point during middle school and high school, without a doubt. One of my closest friends, now a former friend, displayed several disturbing behaviors that could be classified as sociopathic. He also happened to have Asperger’s, like me and many of my friends. However, I feel that most of the bullies I had to deal with while growing up were genuinely goodhearted people who knew right from wrong and had a conscience. I’ve always been told by my parents and other people that bullies just behave the way they do to cover up their own insecurities, as well as to look cool in front of their peers. I remember reading an unofficial but informative article about sociopathic symptoms, and it basically said that if a person displays a large number of the symptoms but seems to show remorse or have anything resembling a conscious, then they are not a sociopath or psychopath, but an asshole. There’s definitely a big difference between a sociopath and an asshole. An asshole will treat people horribly in various ways, but in the end they know it is not right to say, steal from, take advantage of, or kill somebody.

 

Hey Charlie, happy belated birthday! I live out west where it's dry and dusty most of the time. (Present year excluded) I enjoy reading your stories. Keep them coming!!