Jul 21, 2020 by Andrew Walbrown

The place: Ordnance Elementary, Point Pleasant, WV. 
The date: Sometime on a Friday in the Spring of 1994
#1 Song: The Sign by Ace of Base (I had to look it up because I did not remember the song at all)

Friday was undoubtedly the best day of the school week, especially for a kid like me who was bursting with energy. It meant that my weekly sentence was up; that the only thing that stood in my way of enjoying weekend cartoons was seven more hours of learning the three Rs. But this was not the only reason Friday was the best day of the week, there was arguably an even better reason: popcorn.

Every Friday, Ordnance Elementary had popcorn at recess. A couple of teachers oversaw the operation, which mostly consisted of popping kernels and collecting money, while students formed a long line that sometimes snaked its way down the stairs and onto the playground. All you had to do in order to secure a bag of the fluffy gold was pay the fee: fifty cents. Week after week they had the popcorn station, and week after week they collected their bounty from kids who were retentive enough to bring two quarters with them on Fridays. Some kids were even smart enough to bring a jar so they had a stash of coins just in case they forgot. I assume those kids grew up to be stockbrokers, either that or Doomsday Preppers. The margins are sometimes very thin.

Unfortunately, I was not that kid. I was the kid who did not remember something until he absolutely needed it. And if you know anything about me, I am more of a "fly by the seat of his pants" type of person anyway. I still am to this very day. These qualities did not always work out in my favor, because often times I went to school without two quarters and either had to rely on the goodwill of my classmates or suffer without the wonder that is salty popcorn. Luckily I was a pretty well-liked kid (my peers were not always the best judges of character) so I was able to leech off them quite often. But on this one particular day, my luck was as empty as my stomach.

With no money of my own, and no friends willing to part with a portion of their popcorn, I was forced to turn to more...unconventional...ways of acquiring popcorn. Though I did not possess the necessary traits that would have guided me to bringing money of my own, I have never been short of guile. If my problem was that I did not have any funds to purchase popcorn, then the most obvious solution was to acquire more money. How did I go about accomplishing this? It was quite simple, really: I made my own money. Later in life, this would be called, "thinking outside the box" or, I suppose, it could also be known as "counterfeiting." Potato-potahto.

It just so happened that during this time we, in the 1st grade, were learning about the different coins. We had workbooks that had different coins in full color, just begging to be cut out and glued to a surface roughly the same size as a quarter, and I was more than happy to oblige. I grabbed a pair of scissors, a bottle of Elmer's Glue, and Frankenstein'd two quarters into existence. I even used real nickels for added weight, so when the "quarters" hit the pile of money in the cashbox it would clink like real money.

Now, I know what you are thinking. "How good do those fake quarters actually look?" And your question will be answered soon, I promise. I will say, at the time, I was proud of my counterfeiting abilities. They looked real enough for me to proceed with my plan, and that was all I needed.

I remember walking up to the popcorn station, which was right outside Miss Miller's 3rd Grade classroom, after standing in line for at least ten years, or so it felt. All these kids around me were holding real money, and here I was with my forgeries. I held them in my fist so no one could see them, just in case I was overconfident in my capabilities. My heart was racing, sweat was cold on my forehead. Luckily it was a hot day and I was a pretty sweaty child anyway, so my doubt was easily concealed. I remember running through different scenarios in my mind as I waited. If I was caught, I would get Noon Hall (our version of detention) and my mother would most likely get a phone call. At this time in my life I had already been caught stealing from a department store, so this transgression would not be taken lightly. It very well could be the end of my life.

But Noon Hall be damned! If I were to be caught on this day and sentenced to life without recess, then so be it! For there was no greater reason than the procurement of the warm, buttery delight of Friday afternoon popcorn! And when the moment of truth had arrived, I marched up to the counter with an empty stomach and weak knees and tossed my fake coins into the pail, thus beginning my gamble. With a perfect metallic clink the forgeries sank into the ocean of quarters, instantly becoming lost among the shimmering sea of George Washingtons. I waited with bated breath for an alarm to sound, for the teacher before me to reach her hand into the container and retrieve my false currency. I waited for the Heavens to split and Zeus come down from Mount Olympus and smite me for my treachery with a lightning bolt of justice! But where I expected to meet my doom I instead was met only by a friendly smile and the red and white striped bag of popcorn, before being ushered away to make room for the kid behind me. 

Everything happened so quickly that I was almost unable to say thank you before walking away, my prize clutched in my hands. Once outside I devoured the bag in secret in my favorite hiding spot: in the shelter of the half-submerged tractor tires where only the smallest children could enter. Upon finishing the last piece I emerged from my refuge a new boy: one who not only tricked the establishment but the universe as well! No force, natural or supernatural, could stop me now! I had pulled off the perfect heist! On that day I conquered the popcorn station, and soon I would bring the world to its knees!

.....or so I thought. An hour later the teacher who had collected the money noticed a couple of fake quarters in the lockbox, and strongly suspected who had been the culprit. She came to my classroom and asked to talk with me, and before the popcorn had even settled in my stomach, I was staring face-to-face with the person I believed I had fooled.

I will not lie: I thought I was done. Dead. Dig a grave, place two (fake) pennies on my eyes, and throw the soil back on me. But I noticed in her voice there was a hesitation, one that suggested she did not know exactly who was responsible for the heist. Did she strongly suspect it was me? Yes. Could she prove it was me 100%? Nope! And that, dear friends, was all I needed to wiggle my way out of trouble. Not only did I deny constructing the fraudulent quarters, but I also even convinced the teacher that I did not even know the difference between pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters! I argued I could not make exactly two quarters for popcorn if I did not know the worth of a quarter! Perhaps I should have been a lawyer instead of an author.

There is not much else to tell of this tale. Life went on, I faced no punishment, and the case went cold. In 2004 Ordnance Elementary closed for good, and with its destruction my crime vanished forever into the West Virginia hills. And even though this happened on a warm Friday afternoon in the Spring of 1994 and so much of my trickery was cloaked in a veil of lies, there is one undeniable truth that was born from my treacherous ways:

Never will there be a better-tasting bag of popcorn 

 

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