- May 18, 2001
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After writing this, it seems awfully blog-like. Maybe some of you guys will get something out of it anyway.
Every boy in high school, whether he will admit it or not, has in his head a list of most desirable female classmates that he, if given just half a chance, would boink like a love-crazed bull elk during the height of the rut. At the time, "Padme" was high on my list. Indeed, I confess to spending a fair amount of my high school days wondering if her curtains matched the carpet.
Some such girls in high school, whether she will admit it or not, has in her head a list of least desirable male classmates that she, if given just half a chance, would have her quarterback boyfriend quietly murder just so she wouldn't have to go though the indignity of having to look at them ever again. Being awkwardly geeky back then, I have a lot of confidence that my name fell somewhere high on Padme's list. Back in the day, people like Padme had ways of making people like me feel subhuman.
So about a week ago Padme began working as a temp for my company, and I was given the task to install financial software on her pc. I haven't seen her since graduation, but it wasn't too surprising that the years had mercilessly bludgeoned virtually all traces of hotness from her, and there were evident and obvious signs that her life had seen a lot of failure. She is living proof that if you live your early life self-obsessed, condescending, and snotty, then Karma is going to some day show up at your door with a case of Colt 45, a pack of rubbers, and a riding crop.
In spite of any lingering harsh feelings that I might have for this woman, true to my nature I was cordial and gentlemanly while I worked on her pc. We caught up on old times just like we had always been the best of friends. All too soon the atmosphere changed, and Padme's voice became considerably more demanding. She changed the topic of conversation to the fact that we graduated 20 years ago. Padme is accustomed to getting what she wants, and what she wants is a reunion. Furthermore, she wants me to organize it. Indeed, she had been talking just this week with one of her cronies and they decided that I personally had an obligation to them for such a get-together.
The reason for this is that I was the senior class president. At the time, that was something I thought I wanted to be, and for the record I was aware even then that it is customary for the class president to be involved in future reunions.
The problem is that I don't give a crap. Organizing a class reunion is way down on my list of things to do, right next to using a length of piano wire to castrate myself. From what I heard, the 10 year reunion (in which I was delighted to be involved in absolutely no way) turned out just like I predicted: Padme and a small group of her ilk (ex-jocks, ex-cheerleaders, etc.) spent the whole time reassuring each other that they are still gods among the common man. Only one guy outside their group showed up, and that was only so he could exhibit his newfound gayness to his former tormentors. The other 90% of my class found spending the night at home better than schmoozing with idiots who are convinced that high school was the high point of their lives.
And that might be the big reason that I don't want to help out with this thing: I've moved on. I had what I suspect is the typical high school career: some good times, some bad times, some pain, and some enjoyment. Unlike many, I don't look back and think that those were the best years of my life. I've always believed that my life keeps getting better as I get older, and that high school was nothing but a stepping stone on the way to greater things. I took steps in my life to guarantee (as much as possible) success and a good life. Not everybody is as lucky (or maybe foresighted) as me, and their lives have suffered as a consequence. I could maybe understand how these people remember that one touchdown pass during their senior year as the pinnacle achievement in an otherwise sad and dismal existence.
But at the same time, I'm not going to cater to Padme and her "elite" group and be involved in this thing. There is still too much resentment towards those people, even after all these years. If they want to have a self-congratulatory party, they can hold it for themselves. The people from high school that I care about are those people who I still see from time to time, and those are the people who also aren't as interested in revisiting the past.
The only reason I can think of that would cause me to attend a reunion is the cynical one: to point and laugh at the former "greats" who turned out to be fat, bald, or gay. And really, who wants to do even that when I could spend the night doing important things, like cleaning my toenails?
Every boy in high school, whether he will admit it or not, has in his head a list of most desirable female classmates that he, if given just half a chance, would boink like a love-crazed bull elk during the height of the rut. At the time, "Padme" was high on my list. Indeed, I confess to spending a fair amount of my high school days wondering if her curtains matched the carpet.
Some such girls in high school, whether she will admit it or not, has in her head a list of least desirable male classmates that she, if given just half a chance, would have her quarterback boyfriend quietly murder just so she wouldn't have to go though the indignity of having to look at them ever again. Being awkwardly geeky back then, I have a lot of confidence that my name fell somewhere high on Padme's list. Back in the day, people like Padme had ways of making people like me feel subhuman.
So about a week ago Padme began working as a temp for my company, and I was given the task to install financial software on her pc. I haven't seen her since graduation, but it wasn't too surprising that the years had mercilessly bludgeoned virtually all traces of hotness from her, and there were evident and obvious signs that her life had seen a lot of failure. She is living proof that if you live your early life self-obsessed, condescending, and snotty, then Karma is going to some day show up at your door with a case of Colt 45, a pack of rubbers, and a riding crop.
In spite of any lingering harsh feelings that I might have for this woman, true to my nature I was cordial and gentlemanly while I worked on her pc. We caught up on old times just like we had always been the best of friends. All too soon the atmosphere changed, and Padme's voice became considerably more demanding. She changed the topic of conversation to the fact that we graduated 20 years ago. Padme is accustomed to getting what she wants, and what she wants is a reunion. Furthermore, she wants me to organize it. Indeed, she had been talking just this week with one of her cronies and they decided that I personally had an obligation to them for such a get-together.
The reason for this is that I was the senior class president. At the time, that was something I thought I wanted to be, and for the record I was aware even then that it is customary for the class president to be involved in future reunions.
The problem is that I don't give a crap. Organizing a class reunion is way down on my list of things to do, right next to using a length of piano wire to castrate myself. From what I heard, the 10 year reunion (in which I was delighted to be involved in absolutely no way) turned out just like I predicted: Padme and a small group of her ilk (ex-jocks, ex-cheerleaders, etc.) spent the whole time reassuring each other that they are still gods among the common man. Only one guy outside their group showed up, and that was only so he could exhibit his newfound gayness to his former tormentors. The other 90% of my class found spending the night at home better than schmoozing with idiots who are convinced that high school was the high point of their lives.
And that might be the big reason that I don't want to help out with this thing: I've moved on. I had what I suspect is the typical high school career: some good times, some bad times, some pain, and some enjoyment. Unlike many, I don't look back and think that those were the best years of my life. I've always believed that my life keeps getting better as I get older, and that high school was nothing but a stepping stone on the way to greater things. I took steps in my life to guarantee (as much as possible) success and a good life. Not everybody is as lucky (or maybe foresighted) as me, and their lives have suffered as a consequence. I could maybe understand how these people remember that one touchdown pass during their senior year as the pinnacle achievement in an otherwise sad and dismal existence.
But at the same time, I'm not going to cater to Padme and her "elite" group and be involved in this thing. There is still too much resentment towards those people, even after all these years. If they want to have a self-congratulatory party, they can hold it for themselves. The people from high school that I care about are those people who I still see from time to time, and those are the people who also aren't as interested in revisiting the past.
The only reason I can think of that would cause me to attend a reunion is the cynical one: to point and laugh at the former "greats" who turned out to be fat, bald, or gay. And really, who wants to do even that when I could spend the night doing important things, like cleaning my toenails?
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