“Okay class! Pop quiz.”

“Okay class! Pop quiz.”

by Wade Douglass

5/15/2023

Warning: crude language. Sensitive subject matter.



So you want to know how I could get sued for thirty million, lose my job, and wind up here at Five Points, serving 25 to life, and all for just sayin' “Okay class! Pop quiz.”

OK, I’ll tell you my story. But I gotta ask, are you one of those hacks lookin' for a 30 second sound bite? Are you gonna start speaking norwegian when the convo gets dicey? You're still interested? Well shit then, let's get started. We might finish before the hour visitation is up.

My name is Eddie Nguyen. DOCTOR Nguyen, actually. That's pronounced Ng-u-yen with a falling tone on the "yen". It is NOT new-guh-wee-in, nu-guy-in, nu-gent, win or all the other mutilations you morons come up with because you're all too damn lazy to pronounce my name properly.

And I'm no doc hollywood like those bozo medical doctors. I'm a REAL doctor with a PhD in mathematics - numbers theory. But "Doctor N" or "Dr. Eddie" works for me, so just call me that and you won't overheat that little brain of yours. 

I should be at a major university, but my doctoral advisor and supervisor, Doc Cranshaw, shit face that he is, trashes my chances for a position at Princeton and I end up working at Fountain Valley High School in California, of all places. Imagine me, with my qualifications, reduced to teaching little rats who can only count to 20 with their shoes off.

Well that gig didn't last long, let me tell you. After Fountain Valley and me parted our mutual ways, I got this great opportunity at Horace Mann in New York. It is Upper Division so I’d be teaching the college-bound. I tell Renee - she's my fiancee - well, WAS my fiancee - This is my break. I teach this gig for a semester or two, and, easy peazy, slam dunk into Princeton Math department. Maybe even get tenure-track!

Know what Renee says to me? The bitch says to me don't blow it again. Blow it? Again? What the fuck? I should of dumped her long before I did. 

So, back to my story... The first day of class at HM, fall semester, is when everything starts going south.

I tell the class my name and how to pronounce it. And then I tell 'em "Okay class! Pop quiz." 

At first everybody is laughing. I guess they think I am joking. I tell them I am NOT joking. They become real quiet.

I tell them they're gonna get a quiz a week for the semester. I call these my weekly “quizzies”, and they are 50% of the grade.

One little bimbo in the front row, her name is Sarah, is lookin’ at my “quizzie”. She starts crying and sayin’ this is too hard! Not fair! I tell her and the class that if they think my "quizzies" are hard, just wait 'til they see my “testes”. There are some gasps. Some of the boys in class snicker. Sarah's face turns bright red, and she starts the bawl. She stands and runs out of the classroom. 

She comes back with her parents at the end of the day. Her mom's a malignant bitch but her dad's pretty cool. Even chuckles over my "quizzies - testes" pun. 

They ask me to tutor Sarah. They say she will never be able to pass her math requirements and get into Vassar if she can’t pass my pop quizzes. Sarah’s nodding her head. They’ll pay me, the dad says. Sweet deal! So we start that afternoon and agree on 4 days a week after school for tutoring.

So for the next two weeks, I meet with Sarah after school for 2 to 3 hours of tutoring each day. The third week her boyfriend, some dip-shit lacrosse player, shows up with her. At first he comes with Sarah once or twice a week. Later he's there all the time with her. Not interested in the math, though. He just puts his headphones on, listens to his lady gaga tracks, and looks bored.

The fourth week, Sarah shows only twice, both times with her boyfriend. The second month she's there only once. That time she's all kissy-face with her boyfriend. Her dad keeps paying for four days a week, so what do I care? A sweet deal gets even sweeter!

The next month, Sarah misses the first three days of class. She shows up for tutoring on Wednesday looking like shit, all pale and vomiting. She says she's too sick for the tutoring session. I tell her to stay away from me. I don't want to catch whatever the shit is that she's got. She asked if she can lay down. I say yes and I go out to buy some weed.

When I return Sarah is gone. and my bed sheet is bloody. What the hell? She has her period on my sheets? Fucking rude! I take the sheets off my bed and toss then on the pile of dirty clothes in the corner. Don't have any clean sheets, so I use my sleeping bag. Sarah doesn’t show up for class or tutoring the rest of the week. Go figure!

The next Monday, when I show up for my class, I see a bunch of students and faculty milling around the school entrance. There are two cop cars and four cops. Everyone's pointing my way. I figure something's going on behind me. I turn to look, but I don't see anything.

The cops walk toward me and tell me to put my hands up and get face down on the ground. What the hell? No way am I going to do that. I pull my smart phone outta my pocket and start recording the cops. I've got rights. I know how this works. Get a good twitter response and I could make some money off this.  The cops pull their guns and point them at me. One cop is talking over the radio, I think. Within a few, four more cop cars arrive with lights and sirens on. They hop out and pull their guns also. 

Four cops grab my arms and legs and face plant me to the ground. They pull my hands behind my back and handcuff me. Then they read me my rights, "you have the right..." yada yada bullshit. They do their cuff and stuff and next thing I know, I'm in the back of a black and white on my way to the station. Nobody says dick on the way in.

So I get to the station and they book me. Then stick me in this room colder than a refrigerator. Alls I'm wearing are my shorts, my flip flops, and my biker t-shirt that says on the back: "if you can read this, the bitch fell off". I got it when Renee and I split. Makes me chuckle every time I wear it.

Then these two cops come into the room. They start asking me questions. One pretends to be real nice and the is real mean. Mutt and Jeff, I call 'em. I've seen this cop routine on TV. They ask me all kinds of questions like "what was I doing last Wednesday evening about 7 pm"? "Out buying weed", I say. “Can I prove it?” they ask. “My dealer doesn't give receipts”, I answer.

They tell me they have a warrant and already searched my apartment. Go for it, I say. My pad is squeeky clean. Nothing there except maybe a little weed. They tell me they also have a warrant to check my computer. I tell 'em, "well if prime numbers gets your rocks off, go for it." I kinda forgot about the Pam and Tommy video I had downloaded a few years back. Doesn't come up at trial, though.

Then they start asking me about this dude I never heard of before. Some guy named Tek Young Lin. I tell 'em, "What! You think I know this guy because our names rhyme, Lin and Nguyen?" I tell these two bozos the only thing we might have in common is our families coming from the same continent.

I ask Mutt and Jeff when I can go home. They smile and say I'm not going home. They say I'm being charged with rape of a minor among other charges, “New York penal code 130.35, 130.96, 205.30 and 195.07 with more to follow” says Jeff, all smug and all. That donut-face Mutt says to me something like “how do you like those numbers, math man?” The tool thinks he’s being clever.

"So what? Is the little bimbo pregnant? Did she have a miscarriage? Get an abortion? She trying to blame it on me?" I ask. Mutt says "Sarah’s not speaking to anyone about anything." "Or maybe," Jeff says, She has told us everything about what you did to her. Care to tell us your side of the story?" Jeff continues sayin' that he and Mutt are only gathering “evidence”. Evidence my ass! The dipshit boyfriend should be here freezing his nuts off. Not me.

I get my phone call and I call Renee. I need someone to bail me out. Renee, the lazy bitch that she is, lets me rot in lockup for 24 hours before she arrives. She says something about having to cash in her life savings for the bail bond. Can you believe that shit? 

Then there is this total clusterfuck of a trial. First two Public Defenders up and quit on me after I tell them my story. Finally the third PD, a mousy little bobblehead with a short attention span, agrees to take my case. Does she know what she's doing? I should be so lucky.

They ask me at trial about the bloody sheets. I tell 'em Sarah said didn't feel good. She wanted to lie down. Must of had her period. I don't know, I'm out buying weed, I say. 

Then they ask me about the semen stains on my bed with my DNA. I tell them I like to beat off in bed. I tell them I’m not part of Sarah’s little horizontal mojo with her boyfriend. One of the LOL's in the jury box gets all pale and throws up on the bailiff. The judge, dickless wonder that he is, orders me to clean up my language or I will be in contempt. 

"Should be cleaning up the vomit," I tell him. He finds me in contempt and revokes my bail. I'm back in lockup. Thank you your fucking lordship!

I call Renee again to bail me out. The little nimrod doesn’t answer. Typical.

So while I'm back in jail, I get this ROR letter from Horace Mann. I get another letter from HM firing me, and telling me about default judgments on three law suits for sexual harrassment and abuse. I show the letters to my PD, and she asks what I did with the three summons and complaints. I say I threw them away. Didn't look important. She rolls her eyes. Thinks I don’t notice. She says she cannot help me with civil issues.

So the trial ends. "I'm feeling pretty good about my chances," I tell the PD. She rolls her eyes again and says nothing. The little shyster is really starting to piss me off, but I try to stay all polite.

Jury deliberation starts around 11:54 AM. Then they break at 12 o'clock for lunch. They come back from lunch at 1:30 in the afternoon. at 1:35, they announce they have a verdict.

I figure slam-dunk for acquittal. But those fuck-ass jurors find me guilty on all counts! Can you believe that shit? Guilty on all counts!

So here I am at 5 Points, and........hey, what are you doing? Packing up and leaving already? 

OK. Be that way, and thanks for nothin'.

Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out!