Traffic School was beyond awesome.
Their was this Russian guy that would comment on everything anyone said. When the old women who thought they didn’t belong in the class would complain about fees, he would say “Welcome to America” when they complained about sign placement or poor street paint he would say “Go To Russia – they don’t have that shit”. At lunch he tried to sell me 19″ rims out of his trunk.
Most of the people in attendance were guilty of traffic violations other then speeding. Some of the people in the class attended traffic school every eighteen months (California’s limit). Some people tried to add their own experiences, friends experiences or even their own opinion to everything the teacher covered. One guy told a story of getting a ticket for nearly everything the teacher covered. This one woman named Barbie talked at the teacher the entire time, when I was leaving this big Indian guy associated with the Indian Casino here walked by me and asked if I had fun, then before I could answer he said “Fucking Barbie wont shit up”
The class itself was being held at a Methodist Church – in the Jesus room. The walls were covered with painting and fabric deals of Jesus being holy and glowy. Pretty much every conceivable hobbyist incarnation of Jesus was represented. My folding chair was awesome, something was irritating my back so shifted to the side a bit sliding my back along the back of the chair; my shirt got sliced open; the chair had a screw drilled through the back of it that was just barely poling through the fabric cover. My Six Million Dollar Man t-shirt is so ruined.