Between The Lines
When I started high school, before Jesus was born, high school was done in split shifts. The underclassmen (read: me and my trouble-making friends) started at 9AM rather than 7:30AM, which, I have to say as a non-morning person, was pretty damn sweet. Soon enough, my high school decided that was bullshit and built a second high school about a half a mile from the first.
We’d get stuck in classes in both buildings, which meant we had to hustle to get from place to place. And by “hustle,” I mean, “smoke pot out of soda cans” as we ambled our way too and from the North building.
We had one road to cross to get there, a thoroughfare that wound throughout campus, that had a nice crosswalk painted on it. One of our deans, who happened to be both the football coach and a major douchebag, would occasionally patrol the area, giving PM’s (detentions) to those of us who walked out of the lines. We also had Mr. Shields*, a prehistoric relic that seemed to arise from the very dust of the earth.
Mr. Shields, well, he had a golf cart, and he liked to ride it around the parking lots of the school, busting people for parking in the wrong area, always on the lookout for those of us who cut class to go joyriding and eat tacos**. He communicated to the other deans and Parapros (paraprofessionals? I don’t actually know anything other than their name made them sound like dinosaurs.)(*puts on Nature Show Voice and whispers* “Beware of the roaming Parapros – they’re hungry and getting ready to write PM’s”) via a fairly elaborate system of walkee-talkies. Keep in mind, this was when cell phones weighed as much as a small bus.
(not actually Mr. Shields)
(probably)
Being hippies and anti-establishment meant that my parents didn’t give much of a shit if I got in trouble – only if I was STUPID about it. Like on Senior Ditch Day – I didn’t even TRY to get my boyfriend’s cleaning lady to call me in – I just didn’t show up. This pissed off my mother – not that I ditched class, but that I hadn’t bothered TRYING to cover it up.
She’d taught me many years before how to forge her signature so I could avoid these very same situations. I’d often go into the office, note written in purple crayon, begging out of school so I could “see the doctor.” The office staff must’ve thought I was the world’s sickest teen OR the world’s biggest hypochondriac.
Generally, these “doctor’s appointments” involved a lot of tacos and/or Jim Beam drunk straight from the bottle in the parking lot behind the Taco Bell.
Tonight, I must go back. No, not to Taco Bell. After a particularly vicious battle with food poisoning, I sadly swore it off for life.
I’ve been back, upon occasion, to my high school. My son, Ben, (not to be mistaken for The Guy On My Couch, Ben) he plays a ridiculous amount of instruments and my high school has a pretty kick-ass stage – we even get like famous people there sometimes, doing, erms, FAMOUS PEOPLE THINGS.
But the North Building, the scene of so many of my days as a Prankster, has since been turned into a Junior High.
The Junior High that my son will attend next year.
(I don’t know how the fuck my kid got so old)
Tonight, I get to go back and “take a tour” of my old stomping grounds. This is gonna be the kind of tour that I can’t say things like, “Wow, I puked up Jim Beam in that corner!” or “We used to smoke pot there – see? You can’t be seen from any of the windows.”
No, I have to go in and nod and smile and pretend to be a normal parent around other parents.
*whimpers*
Someone pass the vodka.
*his actual name
**raises hands
Wishing you a positive memory lane experience and ability to hold your tongue around the other “normal” people you come across. Im hearin ya on this one, girl.
Ah, don’t worry too much about being normal.
My dad (now in his 60s) went to a school reunion in recent years. Apparently he was overheard saying “Why did I come here? I fucking hated this school,” by one of his old school masters.
Who laughed 😀
That reminded me of my High School experience! My parents did not care at all either! In fact, they moved out my Senior year of school! They left the state! Told me they’d be back in the Summer to sell the house. NICE! (I wish I had awesome stories about Raves and shit, but I don’t. It just allowed me to screw my boyfriend in the living room without fear of getting caught.)
The forgery, oh the forgery! My parents hadn’t signed a note for me since Elementary school. One day, before my parents moved, my mom saw that there was a permission slip that needed to be signed. So she signed it. I took it to school the next day and my teacher was all “This is bullshit! You can’t be forging signatures in my class! GTFO!” The ONE note my mom ACTUALLY signed was the one he thought was forged. Never did that again!
I fear for my daughter, who is going to junior high next year as well. She just doesn’t quite have the knack for my signature quite yet. She’ll learn. I hope.
Wow, we obviously had similar high school experiences. 🙂 This is just another reminder of those 4 years, and why I love your blog posts. 🙂
Junior High sucks. I still have never set foot inside the building where I attended junior high – although I had 2 step-sons who went there later. We’ve moved away, so I never have to worry about my kids having to go to that school.
So here’s my good Back To My Old High School story: Back in the days when I was a step-mom to a kid who was only 11 years younger than me, I attended Parent Night at the high school. I walked into the biology room, and spoke with my former (much loved) teacher. He was happy to see me. Everyone else arrived and sat down and he started his introduction speech to the parents. He said “I’ve been teaching school long enough that I have taught many former students’ kids. In fact, there’s a parent in this room who used to be in my class!” Then he paused. You could actually see him trying to do the math in his head as he realized I wasn’t old enough to have a kid who was a sophomore. Fun times!
No, I’s so happy that i never have to go back to Gross Pointe Blank. “smoke pot out of soda cans” I do not remember doing that ever, Judge judy.
I was an asshole and could only bring myself to smoke weed on the weekends, while all the rest of the cool kids were getting stoned at “the fence” before and after school. I’m not sure what the hell I was so afraid of. I don’t think it was so much about getting caught but being too fried to function during class. Wow – I guess i actually gave a rat’s ass about getting good grades. Go figure.
We smoked out of apples and carrots mostly. Apples. Yikes.
I was such a good girl in high school that it was nauseating. That plus the fact that I don’t live in Goldsboro anymore save me from having to avoid stories like that.
Haha, this truly made me laugh! Ah, those soda can days – God bless ’em!
OMG! I am one of those Para-Pros…working at the high school I went to! How did that happen? I however, am not out to get the kids in trouble, they can do do that all by themselves, without any help from me. I stand in the hallways and giggle to myself about the good ol days when I hear the kids talk the parties they went to over the weekend, they have no idea about how to party. Gawd, I miss the 80’s!
I loved the split shift and getting to go in late! And I too remember the walk to the North building (also, always missing the first 5 minutes of math class because of it). And oh, dont’ forget the idiots in pick-up trucks who used to drive the road with water guns and shoot us. 😉
Hope the tour went well and your son has awesome memories there too 😉
Ohhhh my God. If I hadn’t moved away from the town where I went to HS, like, a second after graduation … I would be tempted to do so rather than revisit the scene of the crime!
I do not blame you for swearing off Taco Bell. Nasty, nasty, ew.
Also, your high school days sound like SOOO much more fun than my (private Christian) high school days. *jealous*
Hi there, nice to meet you…I think most parents were like aliens back then, I can’t remember mine looking at reports or coming into school, what a relief compared to all the helicopter ones I deal with now…
sounds familiar, our school experiences were quite similar.
Omg I can’t imagine touring my own school.
I think I’d the tour of the places you’ve vomited better than where the gym and school nurse are.