Here's an honest account of a story from my actual life, I promise. In my last year of high school, which was 2012, I was in my school's journalism class. We made the school paper. Every once in a while I'll stumble across one of the old issues of that paper in my piles of papers I've never gotten rid of and I'll find something I wrote, and it's just so awful, terrible. I'm so awful at writing, even moreso when I was in high school. Awful. But that isn't what this story is about, I'm going off on a tangent. This story is about someone in that class with me.
It was the last issue of the year, the last issue we were doing at all before leaving high school. A big deal, at the time, because bigger deals didn't exist yet for us. I had a love/hate relationship with that class. We had to do a lot of work. I managed to avoid most of the hardest, most hands-on work, luckily. One time I was asked to do some superficial story requiring an interview, and I accepted it, because the teacher was insistent, I guess. I don't like saying no to people. So one day that week I was fiddling around with some lesser assignment on the computer (that class was mostly an excuse to use a computer for an hour a day, they let you use your own desktop background, and I had a USB with a doesn't-require-installation version of chrome on it) and eventually the teacher suggested in relatively good faith I think that I should head on down to the classroom of the person I had to interview, and pull them out of class, and interview them today. I said, okay, I'll go down there, which room is it, and they told me the room and I walked down there.
I stood in front of the door to that classroom for ten minutes. I was shivering. I was terrified. I couldn't think of anything worse than interrupting class and pulling a stranger aside to talk to me about something. I also had to take pictures of them. I was just paralyzed with fear that whole time and on the verge of tears. The pushing and pulling of the different forces surrounding me eventually stopped when I retreated to the journalism room and I don't remember exactly what happened. I was still shivering and I felt so ashamed that I couldn't do it, that I was nervous and I couldn't make myself do what I was told to do, I was just terrified someone would punish me for not doing what was asked of me. The teacher seemed confused but eventually when she saw how nervous I was she tried in some way to comfort me, and it was horrible and awkward despite being a kind gesture. Everyone else managed to secure the whole thing for me, the interview bit, sent a paper to his class or soemthing, eventually I did the interview and it was fine, and I took the pictures and it was fine, and I never had to go into that classroom and interrupt the teacher.
This still isn't the story I'm trying to tell, that was another tangent. The story I want to tell is how the one in-journalism-all-four-years kid who was in my class with me, she was this awful evangelical replublican person like so many of the people at that horrible school, and for the very last editorial section of our very last edition of the paper she managed to get herself a spot, and she was going to use it to make all the same pointless half-thought-out argumetns you've seen a million times about why intelligent design should be taught in schools. I don't really know much about her, I just know that she did this one thing, and scattered anecdotes from others, and the things she said and the way she behaved with people. I don't know why she felt the need to do this, not for sure, but one thing I do know is that every week we got letters to the editor, and every week one or two of them were rebuttals to the editorials from the previous issue, and of course that wouldn't be happening for the last issue. And that's always annoyed me.
I bet she's worse, now. I bet all of them are. I hope they're not, though. I hope they changed. After all, they all got their scholarships and their grants and their loans, and they all wore the hat with the tassle on it, and they all bought the rings and they all went to the football games, and they all stood for the pledge of allegiance and they all called people "fag". They did everything right, they're the winners. They deserve to be successful, after all - everyone dserves to be successful, to be wealthy, distinguished. Her mom was one of the science teachers, and the head of the marine biology club.
I don't want to be one of those people who dwells ceaselessly on past events, but it's all I know, really, so that's why I told this story and not a different one. Thank you for your attention.
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