What a Day To Be a Badass

By Will Nunnally

It was another cold, January morning in Boston when my Casio 1572 ripped me out of my gleeful slumber.

Beep beep, beep beep, beeeep.

No, no, no. Anything but 9 a.m. Right now? Look at my roommate over there: just sleeping. I hate kids in the College of General Studies.

Let’s see, underwear, underwear, underwear… where do I keep that again? Ah, here it is. Looks like the Krispie Kreme boxers today.

Was Benjamin Franklin the defendant in the trial of John Peter Zenger? Or was that Citizen Kane? Stop it! The History of Journalism will not ruin my morning regardless of the fact there is a test today.

Jesus. 9:15? I’ve really got to get in that shower. This is the last time Micah gets in before me. Next Thursday, 8:55 a.m. Yeah, that’ll teach him. I’ll jump out of bed and sprint into the shower, assuming the tile floor isn’t wet. That could be a disaster. Perhaps, I’ll walk briskly into the shower. Oh good. He’s out.

“Morning.”

“Yeah.”

OK, put the underwear on the rack, and— “AHHHHH!” What’s that in the mirror? Oh God. Last night. I had completely forgotten. What was I thinking? I’m not supposed to have a Mohawk. The all-American child who has had the same all-American haircut since 1987 has a pelt on his head.

This is what happens when you live with 10 girls. They make you lose your mind. How did I let this happen? I was tricked—outnumbered.

Well, maybe it’s not so bad. I mean, it will certainly make for a funny story to tell my grandmother when she calls on Sunday. Better not, though. Might give her another heart attack.

Wow, Damon really did do a good job BICing the sides of my head. So smooth. A little dry, though. Maybe I’ll put some moisturizer on it and—moisterize my head? Oh my God. What have I done?

This is one hell of a way to get today’s test off my mind.

What am I going to do with this? It looks like a squirrel died right there on the middle of my skull. I guess I could spike it. Ok, with what Mr. Idea Man?

Let’s see. Goop… I need goop. Who would have goop? Micah? No. Damon? Nope. Ah, here it is: good old Chris. Mr. Prepared. He has a toolbox, carbon monoxide detector, fire extinguisher and of course, goop. If Mrs. Pastorino can’t think of it, it probably doesn’t exist.

A little here, a little there. That’s not right, is it? Oh, so now I’m an expert on Mohawks. How am I supposed to know what it looks like? I’ve seen that girl around COM. She has a Mohawk. Maybe if she were here right now she would know.

No, if she were here right now, she would be laughing her ass off. I’m in way over my head.

The spikiness is kind of cool, though. That’s right, who’s the man? Brad Pitt would never wear a Mohawk. Neither would James Bond. You know why? Because they aren’t badasses, like me. Hi, I’m Will Nunnally: charter member of Badass Anonymous. Have you been thinking of joining the Order?

So, what would a badass wear to a history exam? He would wear jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, and he might want to consider wearing long underwear cause its 30 degrees outside. Who knew? Badasses are surprisingly practical.

I have pens, pencils and an agenda. Agenda? What, you think a badass can’t be organized? Whatever, dude. Let’s get this over with. I hate tests.

Just look at him over there. Sleeping away…

Probably doesn’t even have class today. I hate kids in CGS.

What’s the proper background music for a badass? Marvin Gaye? Not so much. Nirvana? Way too early for Nirvana. Ah, here it is. The Offspring: Pretty Fly for a White Guy. “Uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, cinco, seis…”

Background music always makes leaving the house a little bit like entering the Garden through the player’s tunnel and being announced in the starting lineup. “Starting at guard and standing at 6’0”, 145 lbs, Will “White Lightening” Nunnally!” Geeze, it’s cold. I don’t think the badass ever thought about the practicality of a Mohawk in the winter. His head is half-shaved, and because the middle is spiky he can’t wear a beanie. This badass’ grandmother would tell him that he was going to get pneumonia.

That reflection catches me every time. I, Will Nunnally—who only had one B in high school, played golf and otherwise prevailed in becoming the whitest, straightest arrow on the face of the earth—have a Mohawk. In a matter of five short months at college, I have shed nearly all of my former clichés, except for the fact that I still can’t dance.

I look like a friggin’ buzz saw… only sharper.

I think I just scared that child.

The maintenance guy has stopped sweeping and has stared at me for the last 50 yards. He’s seen me before. In fact, he has seen me every Tuesday and Thursday morning at this hour walk by him while he is sweeping and has never batted an eye. Is it really that strange?

Every single time I see myself, it startles me. I’m going to have to stop looking at my reflection. Maybe that will be good, though. I don’t want to seem vain.

Do I seem vain? I did agree to have four girls and two roommates shave my head last night instead of studying for this test. A video of it is probably somewhere on YouTube by now. The quest for internet fame hardly points to vanity. Does it even count towards my fifteen minutes?

Oh no, that’s what I’ve become! Maybe not. No, I don’t think I hate my parents enough to be a confused adolescent, desperate for the spotlight.

Buzzzzzzz. That’s exciting. Oh, that’s my cell phone. Text from Dad. View now: “Why on Earth? Just remember that perceptions are shaped by appearance.”

Thanks for the insight. That thought had never occurred to me. My Mohawk makes me look like a badass, and my dad’s suit and briefcase make him look like a heartless capitalist.

Gee, badass. Tell us how you really feel.

I really feel like the professor is keeping a surprisingly straight face given the calmest, whitest, most average kid sitting three rows back from the podium in the center of COM 101 has a Mohawk this morning. Instead, he’s just going to hand out the test and say, “Good Luck.”

I’ll take your good luck and raise you one Mohawk.

Please explain the significance of the following events:

John Peter Zenger trial…

What a day to be a badass.