Remember when I told you I’d written some stories about feeling like a misfit growing up? Here’s another one. You’re welcome.
The high school where I served my tour of duty had an open campus policy for upper school. This meant if you were in eleventh or twelfth grade you could do as you pleased during lunch but if you were in ninth or tenth grade you were stuck on campus like a prisoner. It wasn’t fair! I needed to breathe! I needed to hop in my car and drive 20 feet away and then drive back about 20 minutes later, like a civilized adult! Why was the school depriving me of my freedom? Most sophomores didn’t pay heed to the Draconian rules. As there was no one to prevent them from driving off campus, they just did so as if it was their right and no one was the wiser. Back they’d come, toting purloined booty from nearby far-off lands—a ketchup blob on the upper lip that glistened like no cafeteria ketchup I’d ever known. A rich burp redolent with the scent of Dr. Pepper when everyone knew the only prune-flavored beverage the high school threw its government money behind was watery Mr. Pibb. The most brazen (more…)
