April 26th, 2007
High school was a bad time for me. I don’t just mean in the usual sense of having some adolescent angst and self pity, or of fretting over a pimple on prom night. I was a pretty major social misfit. Just about no one liked me, and while I didn’t particularly like most of them either, it killed me that I didn’t have any choice about my status. Though it makes a lot of sense. I think I was an immature kid – smart but undersocialized, with tendencies towards lonerism and bookwormishness. I didn’t have fashionable clothes or boobs, or a coke habit, which pretty much meant I was doomed from day one at my intensely cliquey, well off school.
Grade eight was hell, but after that I was basically just ignored by everyone. There were occasional incidents of active persecution, particularly in that shitty, cruel torture room known as gym class (guess who had no athletic skill?), but for the most part I was beneath notice. In hindsight, the neglect was probably a blessing. It’s better to pass below the radar and not get actively harassed when there’s no escape. But at the time, I felt my isolation and negligible social status keenly. I was desperate to be popular and had no idea how to go about it. I had friends in the grade ahead of me, great friends, but somehow that didn’t make up for being worthless to my agemates.
Anyway, I’m taking belly dancing lessons. And there are two women in my class who act just like the popular, snotty girls I remember from highschool. Only they’re fat and middle aged, with attitudes no highschooler could touch. They hog the mirror. They giggle and snort when the instructor is talking. The have endless private jokes which they “try” to muffle. They roll their eyes a lot. They make outraged, irritated faces if anyone gets too close to them. If there was paper, they’d throw paper balls. And it makes me feel terrible.
I know I should not be bothered by these two. Clearly they have not matured much beyond their highschool years. They are both in shitty marriages (this is one of the things they complain about), they both have ridiculous blonde highlights, they dress like they’re thin sixteen year olds when they are actually dumpy forty year olds, and neither can belly dance worth a fig. I, on the other hand, am educated, intelligent, in a loving marriage, with great friends and strong family ties, and have discovered some latent talent for dancing – but I still feel about three inches tall when they’re around. I am instantly transported back to highschool where girls like them made my life much harder than it had to be for four years.
I just ignore them, or at least pretend I’m ignoring them, but what I really want is to get revenge. You know how they say that the best revenge is living well? Well, they’re wrong. Sometimes the best revenge is revenge. I want to push them over into a mud puddle. I want to tell them they look stupid with their newsanchor hairdos and their fat rolls squishing outd of their LuluLemon exercise suits. I want to tell them they sound like a pair of congested heifers when they snort. I want to tell them that everyone thinks they are childish and pathetic – but that would make me childish and pathetic, so I can’t say anything. Except on a public blog which anyone can read.
I want to slash their tires. Would that be so wrong?
My initial thought is to simply throw out a “Would you two grow up?” next time they’re more outrageously immature in class, but they’d just respond by rolling their eyes.
So now my best idea is to take pictures of them and post them online with their full names mocking them. Eventually people will find it when googling for them and their immaturity and fat rolls will be embedded in the net’s history.
I do enjoy the irony of talented hardworking people who are unsuccessful socially when they’re young growing up and being successful, and those who coasted by on their looks and status when young find themselves on the short end of the stick in the long run.
Go with the tire slashing…. then again I am the type of guy who carries black screws in his car in case some ass hat in a civic thinks his car is worth thw two closest spaces at the movies, so will go back to my car (which I park at the end of the lot anyway since its easier to get out when the movie is over), get four of the nasty beggers and put two infront and tow behind his front tires (so he’s screwed anyway he goes) and since they are black, they blend in nicely.