In high school, a good day consisted of bright sunshine, a fire drill in an otherwise unbearable course, at least half of the freshman class being on a fieldtrip.
A bad day was everything else. Between horrible classes, drama with my friends, freshmen not knowing how to walk through a hallway, and depressing weather, my only solace was joking around with my friends during chorus. My friend Cassie and I didn’t care about chorus since we’re not exactly gifted at singing, but we cared about our senior status, and we ended up with a seat in the front anyway.
Now, if we had a chorus teacher that wasn’t biased and cared about all of her students equally, we would have possibly given her the same respect that we gave other teachers. Which, given the circumstances, was much more than the current respect we had for her.
Nevertheless, chorus was a bullshit course for us, so we were able to have fun despite the horrible teacher. One good thing about her was that she usually got pissed at underclassmen for talking through songs, but rarely said anything to Cassie and I. It may have been because we were seniors, but it’s also possible that she just didn’t notice.
One thing we found incredibly hilarious at the end of the day was her frequent use of the word “come”.
Being the mature seniors we were, we laughed whenever she said it.
When she would talk to students in her “specialty” groups, she would say things like “Who’s coming after school today?”
And students would respond with “I’m coming early.” Or “I think I have to come late. Is that okay?”
Her hilarious response was “That’s fine. I just need as many of you to come as possible.”
Even with Cassie and I laughing in the front row, it took her many more cums for her to say anything.
Of course we denied that we thought anything was funny. It would be hard to explain to a cranky elderly woman that we had been laughing about a sexual innuendo for the past few months.
Anyway, the main story here is not about the class. My story is about the tragic night of the chorus banquet.
The banquet was for all of the high school chorus. I hadn’t gone the last three years because I hated chorus, but I wanted to do everything senior year because I didn’t want to regret not doing stuff.
But I really should have stayed home that night. It was worse than I could have ever imagined.
I got there early. Only a few people had arrived, and a couple of them happened to be my friends.
They told me they had saved me a seat.
I was overjoyed. I usually avoid events like that because I’m afraid of sitting alone or with people I don’t know/like. I don’t have a legitimate diagnosis, but I’m pretty sure I have social anxiety disorder. Situations where I’m alone make me incredibly depressed and scared. Even though I wasn’t close friends with the people that saved me a seat, I was still glad someone actually thought of me.
Except then I saw who else was sitting at the table and I realized I would most likely not end up at their table.
Due to some of that lovely friend drama, one of my best friends would not sit at that table. I didn’t like a couple people that were sitting there, but I didn’t hate them either (yet). Still, I did not want to put her in the position of finding someone else to sit with. There were a limited amount of tables, and they were filling up fast. I would have hated to find another place to sit on my own if it were me. I wasn’t going to do that to her. Especially for people I didn’t really want to sit with anyway.
So, we grabbed another one of our friends and made him sit with us at a table with a few adults that were on some committee.
This began to further ruin the night, since we could no longer swear and gossip freely.
Eventually, the ceremony thing was over and we could mingle and go home.
After several tearful goodbyes, none of which were from me or Cassie, people started to leave.
I was thrilled to go home. There was a new South Park on that night and I wanted to be home by 10 so I could watch it.
Except the universe had other plans.
When I was walking to the car, I pressed the button to unlock it.
But nothing happened.
I figured maybe the small device had dead batteries. But I knew the key would still work, so I got in the car and tried to start it.
To my horror, it didn’t work.
How could my car have a dead battery? I double-checked everything before I got out of the car.
The radio was off. The heat wasn’t on. The lights were off. The wipers weren’t on. The windows were closed.
Everything had been fine. How could the car have a dead battery??
Then I remembered a weird light I had seen before I turned off the car.
I later found out that the light was telling me that the fog lights were on. But I didn’t turn them on. I didn’t even know the car had fog lights.
I didn’t bring my cell phone that night, and my best friend had already left.
I was left with one more close friend, a bunch of people I didn’t like, and one awesome adult that let me use her adorable pink phone to call my mom and AAA.
It was late at night, so you would think AAA would not be very busy.
Nope. They said they could be there in THREE HOURS.
And to make matters worse, they kept asking me questions.
“What’s the make and model of your car?”
“I don’t know. Umm…It’s an off-white PT Cruiser. Does that help?”
“Yes. Did you leave your headlights on?”
“No. I don’t think. I made sure they were off before I turned off the car. I don’t know what happened.”
“Oh. Well, we can have someone there in three hours.”
Okay, it was two questions. I didn’t know how to answer them and I wanted to cry. I did not want to wait there for three hours. And more importantly, I didn’t want to inconvenience the people that were offering to wait with me.
Luckily, one of the few people remaining had jumper cables in his car. He was the father of some freshman that I didn’t like. Proof that parents aren’t always to blame for how their kid turns out. The guy was awesome. He didn’t even judge me for not knowing anything about cars.
The one close friend that remained (out of a total of four that had been there to start with) was very supportive.
“Can I follow you home? If your car catches on fire or blows up, I want to see it!”
“Your car sucks.”
“My car is superior.”
Normally, stuff like that would make me laugh. But in my current state of mind, I kind of wanted to punch him in the face.
I didn’t, of course. Partially because my biceps are close to nonexistent, and also because he was offering to follow me home, and if my car died again, I really didn’t want to be alone.
Miraculously, I made it home just in time for the new South Park. I believe it was the “Crack Baby Athletic Association” episode.
It’s amazing what comedy can do for a horrible night.
Side note 1: I had an English teacher that had us read an article about crack babies. It was awesome.
Side note 2: This post was inspired by Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half. I love her horrible day stories, so I tried to turn one of my terrible experiences into a post also. It goes without saying that she is a far better writer than I am. But I tried!
Side note 3: I didn’t leave the fog lights on. It turns out, there was a problem with the wires and they were turning on by themselves. It was kind of like there was a really mean ghost whose only purpose was to ruin my night with fog lights. Fucking asshole.
Side note 4: Here are some song lyrics that made Cassie and I laugh.
“Come with me, where chains will never bind you.”
“Come to my garden.”
“Lift me up and lead me to the garden”
“I can't really explain it, I haven't got the words
It's a feeling that you can't control
I suppose it's like forgetting, losing who you are
And at the same time something makes you whole”
“But then I feel it move me
Like a burning deep inside
Something bursting me wide open
Impossible to hide”
Side note 5: Chorus also managed to ruin senior skip day for me. The moral? There’s nothing chorus can’t ruin. Or maybe that people that can’t sing shouldn’t take chorus. But I like the first one better.