Spanked At College: Paul Pays The Price For Painting Graffiti

Close Call Or So I Thought

There was a light fog that made a halo around the dim outside light and the only sounds I heard were the melodic sound of crickets and an occasional distant voice. It was a little after 2:00 am on my college campus and the fact that I was outside and alone at this hour of the night only seemed to emphasize the emotions that I was feeling at the time. I was in the second semester of my freshman year at a medium sized private college and was about a month away from my 19th birthday and was standing in back of the lecture hall with a can of red spray paint in my hand and wearing a hoodie since there was a chill in the air. Earlier in the year I had begun smoking weed and getting high and at the same time I was feeling alienated and spent much of my time hanging out at the student union and playing some cards. Even when I went home during a break, their focus was on my younger brother and sister who were still in high school.

When I look back at it now I recall my thoughts at the time. Why should anyone care about me? The world was filled with needless and wasteful wars, bottomless greed and the mindless materialism that made people think more about things than their fellow human being. Everything seemed so useless to me and there was no purpose to anything anymore. Why should I care about myself when nobody else seemed to care about me? The worse I felt about things and feeling sorry for myself the more I began drinking every night, smoking more weed, and either skipping classes or just blowing off the work. I looked again at the wall in front of me and there was already some writing on it with red paint that I had started with the paint and I was thinking at least here I was able to express myself, to do something that somebody, anybody might notice.

I had started doing this on another night a few weeks ago when I had smoked quite a bit of weed and became quite high and went wandering around campus. I looked down I saw a can of red spray paint. and realized I was behind the lecture hall. I shook the can and realized it was full and then looked up at the blank wall and thought of the weed I had just smoked and walked closer to the wall and painted the words weed rules on it. I remembered giggling as I did it and it was so quiet all around except for the hissing of the paint. When I was done I walked away and there was admittedly a bit of a thrill knowing I had done it and gotten away with it. A couple of days later I walked by the site casually and saw it was till there, but within a week it was gone when I walked by again.

A couple of nights after I saw my writing was gone I got high again. I got my trusty paint can out again from its hiding place in my dorm room and went to the same wall and wrote party hardy on it. I felt the same thrill while I did it, and after I did that, I also went every few days to admire what I had done and enjoyed thinking that I had been the one to do it. The second time I went to look, I saw a man rubbing the wall with a brush that he would dip into a bucket and the sight made me chuckle to myself but when he glanced up at me briefly I made sure to act very nonchalant and move along and he quickly went back to his work, and when I went by there a couple of days later, I saw that my paint job was gone.

Two days after my second effort at artistic achievement had been eradicated was a Wednesday. I went to the cafeteria as normal for dinner and afterwards put the ID that I used to get my meals in my top shirt pocket and when I got back to the dorm I smoked some weed with my roommate Gary. I had just had a pop quiz in one of my classes the day before and was pissed because I found out today that I got a 71 on it and thought it was unfair of the professor to have given it and once again I found myself out of my dorm during the early morning hours wandering and was again at the wall with my trusty paint can. Now when I stood there I was seething with that resentment and wrote: Screw prof Jamieson on the wall and just when I was finished and feeling the same thrill I had felt before I suddenly heard a man's voice behind me say: So you're the one whose been doing this! Stop right where you are! My thrill was suddenly replaced with a primal fear and I bolted, and he said Oh no you don't! Stop right there! There was no way I was going to stop so I kept going and could hear him chasing me. Because I was pretty high, I stumbled forward but somehow managed to keep running but in the process the paint can dropped from my hands. Behind me I heard him say: You better hope I never get my hands on that butt of yours! the voice said, but I was able to elude him and get back to my dorm room. When I got back my heart was pounding and I could still hear that threatening voice in my head. I was thankful that it had been a moonless night and was quite confident that he couldn't identify me even if he saw me on campus in daylight.

The next day, I went to breakfast, and couldn't eat because I realized that my student ID that was also used as a meal ticket was missing. I had to get to my English Lit class, and so I decided to go back to my room afterwards to pick it up, thinking it was in my other shirt.

I went to the class and was a little late. Everyone looked up as I walked in. Professor McNamara glared at me and then continued speaking. I looked around to see Laura. Something about here had attracted the moment I had first seen her last semester. My heart fluttered whenever I got to talk to her. The class seemed to drone on, and since I had missed Monday's class, I struggled to keep up. I found out we had a paper due in a few weeks and I groaned as the professor mentioned it. When the class broke up, I lingered and waited for Laura, and she finally reached me.

Hi Laura.

Hi Paul. Saw you were late again She looked around as she talked to me.

Yeah it was hard to wake up. She rolled her eyes as I continued: Can’t believe there's a paper due already.

She assigned Monday, but you weren't here. I have to go, OK?

Yeah, OK. Someone else that didn’t give a shit about me I thought. Things were really crappy. I had no way of getting anything to eat until I found that damned ID unless I paid cash. I went back to the dorm and looked in my shirt and looked everywhere else and couldn't find the damn thing, and I couldn't figure out where I had left it. I left to trace my steps that I used to go to the cafeteria but still no ID. When I got back to my room, a note was taped to my door addressed to me. I opened it up and read:

"I found your Student Identification. If you wish to claim it, come to my house next to the Maintenance Garage at 5:15 PM. Jeff Krug"

I was relieved that someone had at least found it. I got some candy and snack food from the vending machines, I wasn't going to eat much until I got the damned thing back. I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out who this Jeff Krug guy was and finding out where the maintenance building was and wishing I could pick it up earlier, although I knew I would still be on time for dinner since they served until 6:30.

Chapter 2

I Learn The Price to Pay

I looked at my watch and saw that it was already 5:15 as I put on a pair of jeans and a pull over shirt and wore an old pair of loafers with no socks since it was getting warm out as spring was finally here. I walked over to the Maintenance Garage and could see the lights on in the house next to it although it was still light. I knocked on the door and I looked at my watch and saw that it was around 5:40. The door opened, and I saw a man with short brown hair, wearing khakis, a pull over shirt and tennis shoes. He had dark eyes and was about 6 feet tall and I figured he weighed about 190 pounds of solid muscle and he looked to be in his mid to late 40's. He seemed to look familiar, but I couldn't remember where I had seen him.

Are you Jeff Krug? I asked.

Sure am. I saw him holding up a small rectangular object that I knew was the missing ID. Yup I see that you are Paul alright.

Yeah that's me.

I expected him to just hand it to me but instead he said: It's getting a little chilly out here, why don’t you come inside while we talk? I shrugged because he was right and I was a bit cold so I entered and he closed the door behind me. It was furnished simply, but was very neat and meticulous and we were standing in the living room that had a couch, coffee table, an end table, a flat screen TV, a wing chair and a single arm-less chair off to the side that seemed out of place.

So that's my ID?

He looked at his watch. "You're quite late, aren't you, Paul?

His question annoyed me since all I wanted at this point was to get it back so I could get dinner. Oh I had stuff I had to do.

I see. Being on time is a sign of respect you know.

I shrugged. OK I'm sorry. Can I have it back now?

You mean this? he asked, as he held it up by the edges.

I held out my hand to take it. Hey thanks, Jeff.

It's Mr. Krug, young man.

I made a face and probably rolled my eyes. Yeah. OK Mr. Krug then. I'll take it then.

He pulled it back. One thing I'm curious about is how you managed to lose it?

I started getting nervous as I remembered last night. Something about his voice seemed familiar. How I lost it? I really don’t remember. I had it after dinner last night, but didn't before breakfast.

So you lost it last night? he asked.

Either that or this morning. I responded with a shrug.

"Do you know where? He inquired.

Not really, I looked everywhere. I said, Where did you find it?

On the quad, near the lecture hall he said. At the mention of the building, I felt hairs stick up in the back of my neck because I knew that's where I had tripped while running away.

I tried to act casual. Oh OK. I'm glad you found it then. Can I have it back?

Since you're such a smart college student shouldn't you say may I have it back?

So he was a grammar expert, too I thought. I sighed and rolled my eyes. OK. May I have it back? I haven't had a decent meal all day.

He still continued to hold it. Strange that I would find it in the same spot. where I saw someone stumble as he dropped a can of spray paint

Then I realized what must have happened. The ID must have come out of my shirt pocket when I stumbled and I cursed to myself the bad luck. Now I realized what he was up to, and why his voice sounded so familiar. He was the guy who had yelled at me! Then I remembered where I had seen him. He was the man I had seen cleaning the paint off the lecture hall wall! A shiver went through my body and I just instinctively blurted out: I was just on the quad that's all! A sly little smile came over his face.

Doing what Paul?

Nothing, just wandering around that's all. I said defensively.

He responded sarcastically. So it wasn't your spray paint can I found right next to your ID that was used to spray graffiti on the lecture hall that same night?

I felt the blood drain from my face. Hell no! I don't know what you're talking about!

I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I hold on to your ID and have the fingerprints on it compared to those on the paint can so you can be cleared of any suspicion. Of course you'll get a temporary ID first thing in the morning to tide you over. It'll only take a few days to get the report because I have friends in the police department. I've also found out that you have Professor Jamieson for calculus and isn't that a coincidence?

The mention of the police got my attention and I knew he would have me dead to rights and I looked down at the floor. OK. You got me.

Got you? he asked.

Yeah I did it, OK? I saw a smile form on his face that made me add: You knew all along, didn't you? I realized he had planned this discussion ever since he sent me the note.

Sure, once I found the ID.

I suddenly felt helpless, and now was in damage control mode as I asked the logical question: What are you going to do?

It's up to you. I can either turn it over to the administration for appropriate action, or else we can deal with it between ourselves.

I had no idea what going to the administration would mean and I sure didn't want to find out. How would you deal with it?

He calmly responded: I haven't decided yet. It depends.

I didn't know if his answer was good or bad, but at least he wasn't losing his temper. "Depends on what? I asked.

I need you to truthfully answer some questions and if you lie...

I knew where he was going so I interrupted him: I'll answer them OK?

Good. You painted the wall the other two times didn't you? He looked at with me his intense dark searching eyes and it was clear he was again only looking to confirm what he already knew.

Yeah, I did. I confessed.

He nodded. I saw you watching me one time I was cleaning the wall, didn't I?

Yeah.

Why were you there?

I don't know, just wanted to see it that's all I guess.

I see. He paused OK. Since we've established that, I want you to sit down on that couch and write down what you did each time on a separate piece of paper. I want dates, and details and why you did it, understand?

I was really nervous. Do I have to do that? How do I know you won't just turn them over to the administration or the police after I do that?

I suppose you don't but whether you do what I say or not there's enough evidence to prove you did this. He paused as I thought and I nodded and then he continued. However if you keep your part of the bargain, I'll destroy them in your presence when we are done, understand?"

I figured at this point I had nothing to lose. OK, I'll do that.

He walked across the room and opened a drawer in one of the end tables and took some items out and came back to me. The items were three pictures, I looked at them and saw that they were photos of the handiwork on the wall; the first saying, Weed rules! the second saying: Party hardy! and the last one my latest Screw prof Jamieson that were all in red. I realized the photos were in the order of my actions. I took these pictures and you can use them to sharpen your memory as you write your confession to each one, and I'll hand you each photo in turn so you can write about it.

He handed me a pad and pen. I expect you to tell me exactly how you did each one and more importantly say what you were feeling while you were doing it and it better be honest. I nodded and sat on the couch and complied as wrote down the details of the first incident while looking at the photo of it. As I wrote everything seemed to come back to me of that first time I did it and the words seemed to flow easily onto the page. Finally I was done with the first narrative and handed the photo and the sheet to Mr. Krug who then held out the second photo to me. I looked at the words Party Hardy and stifled a chuckle as I recalled that incident as well and began to write. Again the words seemed to surge from my mind to the paper and it took another five minutes or so to finish and I handed that sheet back to Mr. Krug as well together with the photo and then saw him hold out the third photo. I saw the words Screw prof Jamieson staring back at me. My thoughts were less joyful as I remembered that recent night and then thought of the panic when I realized I had been caught. I wrote furiously and finally was done and when I looked up Mr. Krug was waiting to take it. I handed the pad, pen, the last story and photo back to him.

He read the last one over and from time to time would mutter uh huh or OK and when he was finished, he walked back to the end table and took out a stapler and stapled the appropriate photo to each episode page I had written. He then walked back over to where I was sitting. They are well written and it tells me you are too smart to have acted this way. After he said that he placed my confessions in a pile on an end table.

I admit it was wrong OK? I actually appreciated the praise even though I knew I was in trouble.

He nodded and continued. Yes you were. Do you have any idea how much extra work and cost these incidents caused us?

I guess there was some.

More than some. It took several hours each time to clean that wall off.

I said I'm sorry OK?

Well you've kept your end of the bargain by writing these narratives. I'm going to prepare an agreement for you to sign that will outline the punishment.

Why don't you just tell me?

I want it in writing so there's no confusion later. And if you agree to accept the punishment it stays between us. If you don't, it goes to the administration, understood?

Yeah. I understand. I responded. I felt the tension rise inside me since the uncertainty of what he intended to do was building He left the room and I heard some typing on a keyboard as I waited and looked around again at the room and on the wall I saw a commendation from the city for something but before I could read it he came back in.

This is the agreement. Go ahead and read it and if you agree you need to sign it. It was a single page and I read it:

Informal Student Discipline Agreement

I acknowledge that on three different occasions over the last three weeks I painted graffiti on the rear wall of the lecture hall and that doing so were violations of the University's Code of Conduct and maybe crimes under the law. I also acknowledge that should this matter be referred to the Administration I would be not only be liable for the clean-up costs of approximately $3500.00 but would also subject me to possible suspension or expulsion and as well as possible prosecution. I have also learned that my actions have caused Mr. Krug at least 15 hours of hard work to restore the wall to its previous condition and have disrupted the functioning of the entire maintenance department at the university.

I regret my actions and want to make amends by cleaning up the damage I caused with my last act as well as additional sanctions designed to ensure that I am properly punished for my actions.