My project for his class was to make this wooden box, you know, like a small— just like a— like a box, you know, to put stuff in. So I wanted to get the thing done just as fast as possible. I figured I could cut classes for the rest of the semester, and he couldn’t flunk me as long as I, you know, made the thing. It looked pretty lame, but it worked, you know, for putting stuff in or whatnot. So when I showed it to Mr. Pike for my grade, he looked at it and said, “Is that the best you can do?” At first I thought to myself, “Hell, yeah, bitch. ”Now give me a D and shut up so I can go blaze one with my boys.” [group chuckles] I don’t know. Maybe it was the way he said it, but…it was, like, he he wasn’t exactly saying it sucked. He was just asking me honestly, “Is that all you got?” And for some reason I thought to myself, “Yeah, man, I can do better,” so I started from scratch. I made another, then another, and by the end of the semester, by, like, box number five, I had built this thing. You should’ve seen it. It was insane. I mean, I built it out of Peruvian Walnut with inlaid Zebrawood. It was fitted with pegs, no screws. I sanded it for days until it was smooth as glass. Then I rubbed all the wood with tung oil so it was rich and dark. It even smelled good. You know, you put nose in it and breathed in, it was— It was perfect.
What happened to the box?
I, um— I gave it to my mom.
You know what I’m going to say, don’t you? It’s never too late. They have art co-ops that offer classes, adult extension program at the university.
You know, I didn’t give the box to my mom. I traded it for an ounce of weed.