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    My Life as a Misfit
    My Life as a Misfit
    My Life as a Misfit
    Ebook48 pages42 minutes

    My Life as a Misfit

    By Susan Oloier

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    About this ebook

    It isn’t easy being the last remaining person at the dinner table or being forced to square dance with a group of sweaty seventh graders in a school cafeteria. But in My Life as a Misfit, Susan Oloier recounts growing up in the 1980s from a humorous and less-than-popular perspective with such stories as Do-Si-Don’t, Riding a Permanent Wave, Baseball, and The Food Critic.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSusan Oloier
    Release dateFeb 23, 2012
    ISBN9781465959706
    My Life as a Misfit
    Author

    Susan Oloier

    Susan Oloier lives in Southwest Colorado with her husband and two sons where she skis when it's cold and hikes when it's warm.After working in both finance and teaching, with a single audition at an acting agency, Susan went back to her first love, which is writing. She has been published in national and regional publications, as well as online. You can find her lurking about on her blog at http://www.susanoloier.blogspot.com

    Read more from Susan Oloier

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      Book preview

      My Life as a Misfit - Susan Oloier

      My Life as a Misfit

      by Susan Oloier

      Copyright 2012 Susan Oloier

      All Rights Reserved

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      The stories in the book are based on real events. Other than family members, names and identifying characteristics have been changed to protect the innocent—and the not-so-innocent.

      Cover art from iStockphoto.com

      Table of Contents

      Do-Si-Don’t

      Riding a Permanent Wave

      Baseball

      The Food Critic

      About the Author

      Sample of Fractured

      Do-Si-Don’t

      From the time I entered first grade until the day I left eighth, I attended the same school—Saint Rita’s. I lived with my family in southeastern Wisconsin. A place where nothing of consequence ever happened and no one of importance ever came. Except, of course, Daniel J. Travanti, the star of Hill Street Blues. And that doesn’t count because he’s really from neighboring Kenosha.

      Occasionally at Saint Rita’s, kids would come and go. They would earn early parole or receive lesser sentences than some of us. But the majority of us served a full eight years of confinement. At least that was how I saw it. This meant that there were no fresh starts from year to year. If tagged Crater Face one year, you were Crater Face for your entire elementary career no matter how much Retin-A the dermatologist prescribed. Once labeled, it stuck.

      I hated just about every aspect of school from history to recess. But my least favorite part of the day was gym class. There was not a single sport I was good at. As a result, there wasn’t a single sport I enjoyed.

      Mr. Knickerbocker was our gym teacher. Being over thirty years old, he seemed ancient. He had a fuzzy caterpillar of a mustache, wore plastic workout pants when it was cold, and plastic workout shorts when it was hot. This was a man who would never see his dreams of becoming a professional baseball player realized simply because he was too old and not good enough. Clearly bitter about it, he ran the forty-five minutes of gym class like a dictator. He hated kids who hated sports. He hated me.

      Gym always came down to kids picking other kids to be on their teams. Often Lebowski (David), Samson (Chris), or Lytle (Joe) were hand-chosen by Mr. Knickerbocker to be team leaders. They were burley, testosterone-driven boys who bullied others like Tito The Frito Garcia, so named because he smelled like feet; Caroline Hairy’ McNairy—oh, the dual misfortune she had; and Greasy Carl Hamilton, named for his oily skin and hair. I had a whole slew of names assigned to me. Sometimes I was Witch Nose because I didn’t have the proboscis of a pet rat; other times I was Sue" even though I insisted on being called Susan. It’s Susan, not Sue, I would hear myself whisper. I guess the sound was in my head, not off the vocal chords because they never heard me. Other times, I was named Four Eyes because of my glasses or

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