By James Wendt

As far as I know, the closest thing to the death penalty at Naperville North is an in-school suspension (ISS). Those who would argue that expulsion is a greater punishment are wrong. I have been through the belly of the beast, and let me tell them, I would have rather been dead.

The ISS machine is comparable to “kid jail,” as the first supervisor so eloquently put it. I landed myself in kid jail after a friend and I tried to call each other out of eighth period. I tried to pick up my pass to leave first, and I got busted and she went free. I saved her life, some might say, because I ain’t no snitch, as it is said in in-school.

As punishment, I received a half a day of in-school suspension, and I was to report to the classroom at 5^th hour. It was nearly a full house of chums like myself, and supervisors cycled out every 20 minutes.

My first and favorite supervisor was a seasoned warrior: an experienced general of sorts. Imagine a lumberjack but, like, probably really into the Bachelor. This poor soul was tasked with controlling an uncontrollable room. The ruthless, animal-like behavior caused our supervisor to react the only reasonable way: defensively. He was meant to remain in charge until the dean came to reduce the population size and weed out “the bad ones”. In his defense, he had to do what he to do. He kept whistling commands at the students when giving direction. The first time he really spoke was with another kid.

Supervisor: “Why are you in here again? What do you got? $2,000 worth of cigarette tickets?” *WHISTLE*
Kid: “Not 2,000.”
Supervisor: “$1,500 then?” *whistle*

This dialogue gave me an insight into the individuals I would be spending  218 minutes with. It was not looking good.

My favorite individual was a young man rocking a Mohawk half his height and double his weight in hair gel. He kept informing everyone rather loudly of how unjust it was for him to be in there. He was insistent that he got suspended for a misunderstanding. Before really thinking about the consequences and possible endangerment of my left, I smartly responded, “Same.” The kid did have a redeeming quality though: his love of history. It was a misguided love however. A dialogue between the two of us later ensued.

Kid: “We have rights you know. They can’t keep us here. It’s the 15^th Amendment!”
Me: “Oh, you mean the amendment that gave black people the right to vote? I’m not sure that really applies here.”
Kid: “Okay well it’s some amendment.”
Me: “Same.” (Yes, I said it twice. I’m as surprised as anyone I’m still alive.)

When I served my sentence, I met a lot of entertaining people, not just one. Unfortunately, the supervisors did not share my entertainment, and called the deans on the clowns that were acting up. The ferocious dean kicked out five people in a matter of four periods; that’s how out of control these kids were. How they made it through the first half of the day without being kicked out is beyond me.

Only after the majority of the trouble makers were kicked out did the room adopt a head-numbing silence that stimulated the brain into a frothing mush. I have experienced the pain of an in-school suspension because of my mistakes and shoddy impersonations of parents. I urge anyone who is breaking the rules to stop before he too gets thrown in the clinker for a “misunderstanding.”