Monday, June 4, 2012

GBE2 Blog On Prompt 55 “High School”



“Oh boy,” I said when I saw this week’s prompt. “This will not be an easy prompt for me to do. How do I disclose as humorously as possible how much I utterly loathed high school? And how do I do it without sounding mildly deranged about it?”

I had to go to two different high schools due to moving. I did not much care for either school. At the first school, I encountered some mild bullying in the form of the girls from my gym class getting on my case because they decided I was a tattle tale or something. (Because every time someone hit me with the ball, I would look in the gym teacher’s direction.) I also had some mild problems with a very aggressive girl in my math class. (Inappropriate eye contact, her habit of assuming I was giving her dirty looks.)


The other bullying came in the form of not-very-mild and extremely annoying sexual harassment from a boy who was on the football team or something. He sat behind me in biology. He would tickle me when I sat down or stick his hand under my butt. Telling him to stop did not work because he was the type of moron who does not know that laughing is an autonomic response to being tickled. Telling the teacher did not help because she was the type of moron who blames the person being harassed instead of the bully doing the harassing. Special Bonus Stupidity: The moron had a girlfriend who sat across from me. Guess whom she gave grief to. If you said “boyfriend,” you are a very naïve and simple soul.

At the second high school...

--I did not get along very well with the newspaper class because they were a tight-knit clique and I was a failure of a high school journalist. (

--A boy decided to spend three years in school and one year after graduation harassing me because I was somewhat hostile to what might or might not have been a friendly overture. Given that I had an extremely difficult grade school and middle school experience due to a) being in special ed and therefore easy prey for bullies and b) having the social skills of an anxious cat at the time my hostility was mostly understandable if not excusable.

--Another boy decided to spend three years harassing me because of inappropriate eye contact. That is to say, the ridiculous little twit decided that it was weird that I was always looking up at the same time he was. He then decided that I was “lying” because I always had a “different reason” for looking in his direction. (Let’s see: the first time was because you made a goofy face when I looked up. The second was because you made an odd noise. The next time was because the person next to you coughed.)

--A girl and her best buddy decided to harass me for three years. I am not sure of the exact reason, but it seems to have something to do with a) the frequency of my blinks and b) having to be in a group with her during World History.

--I sat next to two different boys who would say random bizarre stuff just to see what reaction they got.

--I was intermittently harassed by a fool who decided my reading Dragon Magazine (a magazine for players of Dungeons and Dragons) meant I was a Satanist. And that I was a racist because I liked Mark Twain and I would not check out Malcolm X for him. (Note to moron: I was not the LIBRARIAN. I was just there to PUT AWAY BOOKS.)

I also had some antipathy toward high school rituals such as Spirit Week and Homecoming. I especially hated Assemblies during Spirit Week, where various stupid traditions took place. They were pointless and kind of stupid and I hated having to attend them because I would usually end up getting harassed for some reason (usually because someone decided it would be clever to knock the book I was reading down into the bleachers.) Graduation was dull though pre-graduation was annoying since we had to buy caps and gowns and the people selling same would try to get you to buy all kinds of useless baloney and would ignore you if you tried to explain that you couldn't afford anything. 

(Me: No. I do not want anything to remember this school by. No, really. Nothing. Stop trying to sell me things. I mean it. No, I will never change my mind because I hate this school!  

Sales person: ...are you sure? 

Me: YES. I AM SURE I HATE THIS SCHOOL.)