Returning to High School After College

A couple of weeks ago I invited over a close friend for dinner. Back in the day, we met by bumping into each other on the dance floor at someone’s bar mitzvah since our big sombreros from the DJ were covering our eyes. Actually, I don’t know if that’s true, but hey, it’s possible-- we did meet in the seventh grade.

Anyway, since we’ve known each other through the years, I guess I can say that we grew up together. We’ve also watched our friends mature as we have right along with them. Likewise, we’ve watched a disgusting percentage of the kids we used to see each day in public school NOT mature. You’d think that years after they moved away from home, graduated from college and, for some, started work in the real world, they would have, I don’t know, learned to have a little class, tact or-- dare I say it-- proper social skills. And, once again, folks, R. was WRONG.

We were sitting at the table eating dinner when my friend, E., described a situation that came up when she was home in our Connecticut suburb days earlier. She was out with her girlfriends and they stumbled upon this boy who was always known as a “popular kid” at home. He was always adorable, and I know for a fact that I recognized that even back in the sixth grade when I probably still thought he could infect me with some gross disease simply because he was a boy. (Little did I know, that really was true but, fortunately for me, I never put myself in a position where that could have happened then.)

Anyway, this boy, Ben, always knew he was cute and knew he ran with a crowd who considered themselves admired by everyone else. As expected, especially in a snotty town like mine, his attitude followed suit: he knew that he was highly regarded and, for that reason, apparently didn’t feel the need to talk to or even respect those he considered “beneath him.”

Ah, yes, I know, the classic story of the popular kid with an attitude. Most of us can relate, no matter where we grew up. But, unlike the situation that most of us face, kids from my town, never grew out of this attitude. We didn’t ever all “bond as a senior class” like the students in so many other places did once they realized that they were all equals. No, people like Ben have remained arrogant and still consider themselves better than the rest of us-- even if they’ve gained 38 pounds since high school and spend all day smoking pot and watching Lost.

Anyway, E. runs into Ben and he immediately gives each of her friends a hug. I guess he had deemed them not only worthy of affection, but also not so far below beneath him that he could--OH MY GOD-- touch them! After he went down the line of the three friends, his eyes landed on E.

“I guess I have to hug you too,” he said, as if she should consider it an honor that he’d even speak to her.

“You don’t have to be so awkward,” she replied, without missing a beat. (GO E!!!)

What she said was both right and wrong. She was right to call him out on his bizarre (read: exceptionally snobby and unacceptable) behavior. But how she labeled it was wrong. He wasn’t awkward; he was just a douche. A douche with an ego from the sixth grade. One that should have been gone by the seventh or, actually, never even existed at all. So he had a cute grin and came to school decked out in Abercrombie from head to toe twelve years ago, but does that give him the right to be so rude now? Of course not.

Believe me, when I actually lived at home I was used to people either ignoring me completely or insulting me to my face just to feel powerful. But now I’m years removed from my town and, come on, it’s still happening! That much no one ever prepared me for.

Just last week I experienced my own “hometown” moment. I ran into a girl who grew up in my neighborhood who happens to live in my current area of the city. When our eyes locked in passing her head immediately did a 180. No, I didn’t have some heinous wart growing out of my face. I wasn’t even wearing a mismatched outfit or walking with my hair a mess. (Although maybe she would have thought I was actually cool if my hair were a sex hair mess? Would she even believe that a girl as pathetic as me could ever be even kissed by a man?!) But she refused to even look at me, even though she obviously knew damn well who I was.

So what did I do? I followed E’s example. I called her out on it. I shouted to her with a bright, beaming smile, acting as if we were friends. (I can just imagine her gagging herself with a spoon at the thought of me even fake-labeling her as my “friend...”) I know that I never did anything wrong to this girl; rather, it’s her insecurity. And, in a way, it even makes me feel sort of powerful that she feels that my presence is significant enough that, if she were to acknowledge it, I could ruin her reputation in a city of millions of people.

Funny, but I’d almost argue that we’ve had a role reversal. E and I are the ones who are going through our lives carefree about who we talk to. People like Ben or the girl I mentioned have to worry about who they even make eye contact with, in fear that it could somehow lessen how others think of them.

Well, let it be known, we already think less of you. We think less of you that you don’t have the courage to get over your high school bullshit and to act like a decent human being. And for that I think that people like E and me can smile and be glad that we’ve grown up while leaving all the popular kids in the memories of their middle school photos. Personally, I’m just glad that my social peak wasn’t when I was twelve years old. That would have just been pathetic.