***WARNING: While still comforting and joyful, this edition of Justin’s Thoughts of Comfort and Joy contains some bad language.***

By Justin Polak
Co-Founder, Ambassador to the Mushroom Kingdom

When I was a child, I used to go visit my great grandmother’s house. Across the street from her house is where I met one of my best childhood friends, Mike. We used to play video games, rough house, watch TV, and generally run around and act like children. Even as a child I knew that I was living in a time where life was carefree.

One of our favorite hangouts was an old church about a block away from where my great grandmother lived. There was a public basketball court in the back and plenty of field to play in. No one who looked after Mike and I cared if we went there since it was so close by. Plus, my great grandfather helped build the church, and that amazed me as a kid since it is a beautiful building.

One day Mike, his younger brother and I went to play near the front of the church. I don’t remember what we did that day, but I do remember us relaxing afterward. We were just minding our own business talking about school, video game tips and having a good conversation.

Photo from c95.com.

Then I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. A station wagon was creeping up on us slowly. We were sitting in the grass about 15 feet away from the road. I felt like it was kind of odd, but the neighborhood had a reputation of having a lot of old people in it. I figured it was an old person driving carefully.

I got the first fact right. It was an old person…only he came to a dead stop near us and rolled down his window.

I was greeted with a stern, overweight, face. He barley had any of his gray hair left. His spectacles slightly magnified his eyes. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but I do remember thinking that he looked disgruntled. He proceeded to ask us if we were members of the church. When we all took our turns saying no he had this to say:

“Then get the f*** off of the lawn!”

I was shocked. Being a child, my feelings were hurt. We weren’t doing anything wrong. I thought we were at a place that promoted tolerance, but for some reason this guy had a huge problem with us hanging out at the church without being members. Since we were all so young, we didn’t offer any resistance and left. He made sure to slowly follow us with his car as he kept on calling us names and harassing us.

I viewed the world differently that day. I learned that there are mean sons of b****** that pick on you for absolutely no reason. Sure, I got picked on in school, but I thought everyone eventually grew out of bullying. I wished for another, proper confrontation with the old man in the worst way possible. I would let him have a piece of my mind, that’s for sure!

I nearly had my chance when I caught up to Mike while he was walking his dog one day. I got there just in time to see the old man pull away, and wouldn’t you know it, he was harassing Mike again…even though he wasn’t on the church’s property! I never had my second confrontation, and I never felt like I got closure on the matter.

I take comfort in the fact that this old man is dead now.

By Justin Polak
Co-Founder, Ambassador to the Mushroom Kingdom

When I was a child, I would accompany my father to the bowling alley nearly once a week. He participated in a league, and he was very good as were a good chunk of the bowlers back then. In fact, he would end up bowling a few 300 games in his league career. I used to watch him in awe, wishing I could bowl just like him.

However, not even my dad’s masterful bowling skills could hold my attention every single time I went to the bowling alley. There was a small arcade, other children to socialize with, cheap snacks, and my wild imagination that helped me pass the time when bowling couldn’t remedy my boredom.

The bowling alley was classic. It reeked of cheap cigars. Bowlers had to keep track of their own score via projector. Carpet three times my age was worn out from years of customers. The walls were smoke stained. The sound of clanking of beer bottles occurred more often than the shattering of bowling pins. The ball returns never worked right. The bathrooms smelled like people simply defecated in the middle of the floor. The lighting was poor, shitty, and made everything a depressing yellowish-orange. I loved the place.

You could say that an important foundation of by childhood was planted in that bowling alley…But then one fateful night, everything would change forever.

Image from BuyCostumes.com.

One of my favorite toys was a small, rubber snake. If I was pretending to be Indiana Jones, I would use the snake as a makeshift whip, totally missing the irony of my imaginary scenario. One night, I decided to not only use the toy as intended, but I thought it would be a funny idea to scare people with it. I figured that no one would be stupid enough think the toy is real snake if I just set it down somewhere, so I decided I would hide somewhere and throw the toy snake at people as hard as I possibly could.

There were a set of lockers that bowlers use to store their equipment in that I could hide between. They were up against a wall, and I had three isles to choose from.  The lockers were near an exit, so I would run into plenty of people. To ensure that the snake was traveling at maximum velocity, I would make sure that I had a running start.

With glee, I put all of my strength into aiming for people’s faces. I really was determined to surprise people, so I shouted a warning, timing it so the snake was inches away from their face as they turned toward my voice. Everyone who came across my devious trap loved it. One guy even said that he wished that he thought of my prank as a kid. I was pumped up and full of confidence.

My next target was an old lady. Direct hit!  Except something was wrong…she wasn’t smiling. The old lady suddenly appeared to be stories above my own height. Her eyes glistened with pure rage. She wasted no time scolding me, telling me that I was a terrible child, and that I shouldn’t throw rubber snakes at people because it was rude.

My childhood died right then and there. If I couldn’t throw rubber snakes at people then what was the point of being a kid? I went home that night a changed person. I don’t think I ever played with that toy ever again. I also slowly stopped going to the bowling alley, and to this day my father does not know why. It was like a hole in my heart suddenly appeared, and was sucking my spirit into an unknown dimension.

I take comfort in the fact that this old lady is dead now.

By Justin Polak
Co-Founder, Ambassador to the Mushroom Kingdom

When I was a child, I went to a small elementary school.  Every single student had their lunch break at the exact same time.  My ancient memories are probably exaggerating this, but the cafeteria seemed like it was enormous.  All was well…until the janitor started to work during the lunch hour.

Art from Greatwhatsit.com.

The old janitor insisted on micromanaging every child’s garbage. When all the students were about to go to recess, he would go from table to table collecting everyone’s garbage. The janitor was militant about this process. I imagine it made his life easier since it was presumably less work to have students pass down their garbage to him rather than cleaning up after we went to recess.

My problem was that I was almost always engrossed in conversation with other classmates. When the janitor came to my table, I didn’t really notice the man—no matter what he did to grab my attention. He always got in my face and complained that I need to pay more attention or else there would be unforeseen consequences.

I continued to unintentionally ignore the janitor. However, eventually there came the day where he had enough. I had ignored him and his garbage collecting efforts for too long. He pulled me up out of the table out from nowhere and dragged me to the principal. She had bought the janitor’s plight, and I was to be punished.

I had to stand against a wall in the cafeteria for what little remained of the lunch hour and the entirety of recess. Almost every student that passed me when it was time for recess made fun of me. Children from my class especially had a field day with my predicament. I was so frustrated that I was crying. One older student found this so amusing that he slapped me on the top of my head. Of course, no faculty worker had a problem with that.

I take comfort that this janitor is dead now.