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.

What Goes Around Comes Around-- Really.

Back in the day, when I was a little college baby (man, I’m dating myself already!) I interned in the newsroom of a major business news magazine in Manhattan. It was beyond an amazing experience, maybe not the work itself but the whole living in the city as a 21 year old, staying out way too late, having a little too much fun and definitely spending a little more money than I should have been.
Years later (I won’t tell you how many though) I’m still using what I learned from my entire experience that summer. For example, I can still look back on the nights that I didn’t come home until the sun came up. Bad idea. Fun at the time, but really, bad idea. Going on dates with boring accountants? Also might seem like a good idea at the time, but when you’re sitting at the table in a Thai restaurant and your date can only discuss the best times to file your income taxes, you soon learn that accepting the date was also a bad idea.

But, of course, we also learn good ideas while misbehaving-- err, uh, having a good time-- during a more wild part of our lives. Who would have thought that it’s always wise to keep a little toilet paper in your purse when heading out to the bars? We really have no way of knowing when that place that offers $5 free refil Bud Lites will run out!

And that you should always be aware of your surroundings. You never know when you’ll overhear a fashion designer talking to a religious Jewish man in a 24-hour deli at 2:30am. They might both then ask your opinion on fabrics to pair for fashionable yalmukes, or Jewish head coverings. You also never know when a NYU law student will approach you while you’re eating hot dogs in the middle of the night in Union Square, offer to read your tarrot cards and, believe it or not, be correct in saying that you’re going to have a fabulous sexcapade in the fall. Not kidding here, by the way. Both really happened.

What I also learned was that it’s more useful than I realized to stay in contact with all of the people you meet on these interesting journeys. I certainly don’t have the name of the law student, and I definitely don’t know if the men in the diner ever successfully developed a JCrew-esque designer yalmukah line. I probably should have kept his card though-- who knows how famous he might be now!

I wouldn’t have realized but the people I met that summer have helped me in ways greater than they would have imagined since then. The intern coordinator at the magazine? Unbelievably kind and helpful whenever I email her with a writing question. My friends that I met at work? A couple are still close to me and help me get through each and every day at work-- thanks, Gchat!

But, what I’m realizing now is that these relationships really are reciprocal. I’m trying to not laugh out loud at my desk right now, but it’s hard not to. Here’s why:

I recently learned that a reporter from the magazine was in search of stories from real people who had quit their job in a funny way. I wasn’t sure that what I did to my awful boss was funny per se, but it was definitely a bit dramatic and perhaps just what this kid was looking for. (I wrote about my bad boss on this blog back on May 19th.)

Essentially I had been abused for months upon months but, like so many Americans, I couldn’t quit my job because I needed the health insurance and the money. But, when I finally had another job lined up, I happened to know that Mr. Asshole was on the side of the road somewhere waiting to get his car towed. I recognized that it was the perfect opportunity to finally stand up for myself, explain how I had been mistreated and quit my job. Ultimately, of course, this made his life more difficult-- he had to interview people and hire and train someone new. Poor baby. Real work can be exhausting!

Anyway, this supposedly is just the type of story that this writer was looking for. I don’t know that I would have qualified this story as “funny” but it’s certainly a good example of how, as I said in the last post, karma is a bitch. It also shows that it’s important to maintain our connections with other people, not just so we can help ourselves but so we can help others. In this case, I think I can aruge that I helped both the reporter and myself: he got his story, I got the satisfaction of saying my piece. Now I’m not out to hurt anyone or damage anyone’s reputation, but ahh, revenge is sweet, isn’t it?