1. Did improv at my old school
2. Went to a course on marine biology at the Minnesota Zoo
3. Did choir since sixth grade
4. Played soccer in middle school
5. Took Spanish for three years
6. Attempted to be friends with people I don’t like
7. Built tree forts throughout grade school
8. Read Harry Potter
9. Played ultimate Frisbee almost every day possible with my friends at my old school
10. Invested myself in the theater at my old school
A. Some people are ignorant and immovable
B. Clingy people are hard to ditch
C. I just might be a ninja
D. Just because I like to do something doesn’t mean I’m going to like other people that like to do the same thing
E. Vegetarians scare me
F. Guys are more fun than girls
G. A teacher can be one of your best friends
H. There are stupid people and stupid questions, no matter what anyone says
I. Yo no hablo espanol buena
J. The British are awesome
Answers: 1G, 2E, 3D, 4A, 5I (that was kinda a freebie), 6B, 7F, 8J, 9C, 10H
Lessons I learned by attempting to be friends with people I don’t like:
1. Clingy people are hard to ditch- So this is a “No duh” but at the time I hadn’t really experienced the... Suzie (I changed her name on the off-chance that she somehow finds this). Suzie was a year younger than me and also in choir. She was moody, pseudo-emo, an attention whore, gloomy, and really whiny. She would repeatedly say something like “If I died no one would come to my funeral.” Being the sweet, innocent 15 year old that I was I had never come across a person like Suzie before. Concerned, I reassured her that I was her friend (we did sit next to each other in choir after all) and that many people liked her. Liking this response, Suzie proceeded to repeat such phrasings as often as possible. She also refused to listen when she asked for advice in choir and I replied, and she would often huff and pretend she was crying and hiding it behind her short hair. After a while I stopped responding to her attempts to fish for compliments, told her frankly what I thought of her (which was nothing happy) and switched spots in choir. She persisted. I switched schools (for more than just that reason). It was a good move.
2. Mutual hatred can lead to great friendships... but not usually- Third grade recess was a battleground. Every day two teams built forts in the woods and attempted to sabotage the other. The teams were clear, defined, and an ancient ritual. Boys vs. Girls. I broke the ritual. I sided with the boys. I was unafraid of the woods, cuts, bruises, yelling guys, mud, and insects. I was an ideal candidate for joining the boy’s side. Almost all accepted me with open arms and I quickly went up in the ranks but one was particular hellbent against “putting the girl in her place.” His name was Bartie (again, changed). Bartie would jeer at me, degrade my my ideas, and push me into the snow. He tried to find followers for his Anti-Anna campaign but he was rejected by all the other guys. After a little while I really tried to connect to him, and it went about kind of like this:
Anna: Hi Artie
Bartie:...
Anna: I like Hotweels
Bartie: *throws snowball*
After multiple years of trying to befriend him he came at me again and again, sometimes hitting or pinching me and calling me names. I learned to loathe him as he loathed me. Then I went to a different high school as him and discovered Suzie.
3. Killing with kindness is effective and fun- I played in the band at my middle school. We really stretched the word band. We had about 12 flutes, 10 percussionists, and an assortment of woodwinds and brasses. The girls were the flutes, the boys the percussionists. Yet another evolution of the classic fort war. Naturally I became a percussionist. Enter Zach (that was actually his name, I just thought it was generic enough to go untouched). Zach was one of the “new kids” and had bleached blond hair. Not to mention a stone cold heart and a mean disposition. Zach would tease me because I was a girl, and when I outplayed him he would complain to his friends that I was mean and call me a show-off. He had two favorite instruments: Anna’s head and snare drum (in that order). He would often pass the time banging beats out on my skull and since the percussionists were pushed to the back due to our general noisiness the director never saw. What’s more she ignored my claims because I couldn’t prove it. I turned to one of my dear friends Breanna and asked her how to get rid of the problem. “Kill him with kindness” was her response. I took it into mind. The next time he handed me the cymbals even though it was my turn to do the snare I would thank him with a smile and a nod. When he would practice on my head I would tap along. When he yelled at me I smiled at him and thanked him for his insight. Not only did this work (he left me alone after a week of such treatment) but it was the most fun I had in band. Every time I put the theory into practice I could see the cogs turning behind his head as he attempted to anger me. When it didn’t work he looked like he was going to foam at the mouth. It was his turn to complain to the director but have her do nothing. I never saw Zach again after our middle school graduation and my cranium thanks me frequently.
4. When in doubt, turn to Mom and Dad- Every year during grade school towards the end of the year there would be a huge party at the local roller garden. The whole grade school and their parents would go for a night of bad 90’s music, flashing lights, injuries, pizza, and a miniature (enter correct word here) with very lame prizes that everyone loved. One of these lame prizes was the infamous Buzzer. The Buzzer was a simple prank object: you would wind it up and shake hands with somebody making them feel a vibrating buzz of the toy being triggered. Everyone had a Buzzer, including Bartie (him again!). Bertie was famous for being fast on his rollerblades and ruthless with the Buzzer. A safe haven for me, number 1 on his hit list, was the girl’s bathroom. This worked wonders, I would head for the bathroom and he would give up the chase. Unfortunately, his feeble fourth grade mind came up with a strategy. He pretended to go away until I was in the bathroom, hid by the door, and slapped me with the Buzzer wherever he could reach as I made my inevitable exit. This ended up backfiring on him. As he executed his plan his hand and Buzzer landed squarely on my developing bust (gentlemen, this hurts A LOT). I screamed, ducked back into the bathroom, cried a bit as I heard him call me a wuss, and left ten minutes afterwards. I told my father and mother after the rollerblade party and my dad did something unexpected: he got really angry. Apparently, the offense was beyond what I had originally thought because of where he hit me. My dad actually went over to Bartie’s house, sat down with his parents, and said God knows what. All that I do know of that encounter is Bartie left me alone after that.
5. Not all people that look gross are gross, but most are- In highscool there are different species. There are jocks, tools, nerds, thespians, punks, and other. It goes deeper than that. There are subspecies that form a hierarchy, a sort of system that others achieve to be. Hey, maybe you’re a nerd. You learn to accept that and aspire to become king of the nerds. In high school I was (and still am) a nerd. I was never an old-school nerd (they would play ancient forms of video games like Pong), nor was I a math nerd (AP Calc II by tenth grade). I didn’t fit into a subspecies and therefore tried to adapt into one. There was one boy named Parry (I don’t even remember his real name, I think I repressed it) who was very distinctive. He spent every free moment playing Final Fantasy on one of the school computers, talked very little, and had long hair. We’re talking mid back length. Not only was it oily, but it was... curley. He had ringlets like Shirley Temple but very shiny. Needless to say I had to resist gagging when I saw him. He seemed sort of cool though, I respect Final Fantasy a lot, and he always looked like he was having fun. We made small talk. That was my initial mistake. I later found out that I was the first girl that talked to him at all. After a month of brief and random small talk he asked me to the upcoming school dance, tried to kiss me, and called me sweetie. I vomited a bit in the back of my mouth. Needless to say I rejected him for his lack of class and showering and learned that sometimes, underneath the acne-covered, greasy, nerdy shell there is a even more nerdy greasy acne-covered person. (I love nerds, I do, but I don’t like people that don’t shower and have no class. That’s the moral of this).
2. Went to a course on marine biology at the Minnesota Zoo
3. Did choir since sixth grade
4. Played soccer in middle school
5. Took Spanish for three years
6. Attempted to be friends with people I don’t like
7. Built tree forts throughout grade school
8. Read Harry Potter
9. Played ultimate Frisbee almost every day possible with my friends at my old school
10. Invested myself in the theater at my old school
A. Some people are ignorant and immovable
B. Clingy people are hard to ditch
C. I just might be a ninja
D. Just because I like to do something doesn’t mean I’m going to like other people that like to do the same thing
E. Vegetarians scare me
F. Guys are more fun than girls
G. A teacher can be one of your best friends
H. There are stupid people and stupid questions, no matter what anyone says
I. Yo no hablo espanol buena
J. The British are awesome
Answers: 1G, 2E, 3D, 4A, 5I (that was kinda a freebie), 6B, 7F, 8J, 9C, 10H
Lessons I learned by attempting to be friends with people I don’t like:
1. Clingy people are hard to ditch- So this is a “No duh” but at the time I hadn’t really experienced the... Suzie (I changed her name on the off-chance that she somehow finds this). Suzie was a year younger than me and also in choir. She was moody, pseudo-emo, an attention whore, gloomy, and really whiny. She would repeatedly say something like “If I died no one would come to my funeral.” Being the sweet, innocent 15 year old that I was I had never come across a person like Suzie before. Concerned, I reassured her that I was her friend (we did sit next to each other in choir after all) and that many people liked her. Liking this response, Suzie proceeded to repeat such phrasings as often as possible. She also refused to listen when she asked for advice in choir and I replied, and she would often huff and pretend she was crying and hiding it behind her short hair. After a while I stopped responding to her attempts to fish for compliments, told her frankly what I thought of her (which was nothing happy) and switched spots in choir. She persisted. I switched schools (for more than just that reason). It was a good move.
2. Mutual hatred can lead to great friendships... but not usually- Third grade recess was a battleground. Every day two teams built forts in the woods and attempted to sabotage the other. The teams were clear, defined, and an ancient ritual. Boys vs. Girls. I broke the ritual. I sided with the boys. I was unafraid of the woods, cuts, bruises, yelling guys, mud, and insects. I was an ideal candidate for joining the boy’s side. Almost all accepted me with open arms and I quickly went up in the ranks but one was particular hellbent against “putting the girl in her place.” His name was Bartie (again, changed). Bartie would jeer at me, degrade my my ideas, and push me into the snow. He tried to find followers for his Anti-Anna campaign but he was rejected by all the other guys. After a little while I really tried to connect to him, and it went about kind of like this:
Anna: Hi Artie
Bartie:...
Anna: I like Hotweels
Bartie: *throws snowball*
After multiple years of trying to befriend him he came at me again and again, sometimes hitting or pinching me and calling me names. I learned to loathe him as he loathed me. Then I went to a different high school as him and discovered Suzie.
3. Killing with kindness is effective and fun- I played in the band at my middle school. We really stretched the word band. We had about 12 flutes, 10 percussionists, and an assortment of woodwinds and brasses. The girls were the flutes, the boys the percussionists. Yet another evolution of the classic fort war. Naturally I became a percussionist. Enter Zach (that was actually his name, I just thought it was generic enough to go untouched). Zach was one of the “new kids” and had bleached blond hair. Not to mention a stone cold heart and a mean disposition. Zach would tease me because I was a girl, and when I outplayed him he would complain to his friends that I was mean and call me a show-off. He had two favorite instruments: Anna’s head and snare drum (in that order). He would often pass the time banging beats out on my skull and since the percussionists were pushed to the back due to our general noisiness the director never saw. What’s more she ignored my claims because I couldn’t prove it. I turned to one of my dear friends Breanna and asked her how to get rid of the problem. “Kill him with kindness” was her response. I took it into mind. The next time he handed me the cymbals even though it was my turn to do the snare I would thank him with a smile and a nod. When he would practice on my head I would tap along. When he yelled at me I smiled at him and thanked him for his insight. Not only did this work (he left me alone after a week of such treatment) but it was the most fun I had in band. Every time I put the theory into practice I could see the cogs turning behind his head as he attempted to anger me. When it didn’t work he looked like he was going to foam at the mouth. It was his turn to complain to the director but have her do nothing. I never saw Zach again after our middle school graduation and my cranium thanks me frequently.
4. When in doubt, turn to Mom and Dad- Every year during grade school towards the end of the year there would be a huge party at the local roller garden. The whole grade school and their parents would go for a night of bad 90’s music, flashing lights, injuries, pizza, and a miniature (enter correct word here) with very lame prizes that everyone loved. One of these lame prizes was the infamous Buzzer. The Buzzer was a simple prank object: you would wind it up and shake hands with somebody making them feel a vibrating buzz of the toy being triggered. Everyone had a Buzzer, including Bartie (him again!). Bertie was famous for being fast on his rollerblades and ruthless with the Buzzer. A safe haven for me, number 1 on his hit list, was the girl’s bathroom. This worked wonders, I would head for the bathroom and he would give up the chase. Unfortunately, his feeble fourth grade mind came up with a strategy. He pretended to go away until I was in the bathroom, hid by the door, and slapped me with the Buzzer wherever he could reach as I made my inevitable exit. This ended up backfiring on him. As he executed his plan his hand and Buzzer landed squarely on my developing bust (gentlemen, this hurts A LOT). I screamed, ducked back into the bathroom, cried a bit as I heard him call me a wuss, and left ten minutes afterwards. I told my father and mother after the rollerblade party and my dad did something unexpected: he got really angry. Apparently, the offense was beyond what I had originally thought because of where he hit me. My dad actually went over to Bartie’s house, sat down with his parents, and said God knows what. All that I do know of that encounter is Bartie left me alone after that.
5. Not all people that look gross are gross, but most are- In highscool there are different species. There are jocks, tools, nerds, thespians, punks, and other. It goes deeper than that. There are subspecies that form a hierarchy, a sort of system that others achieve to be. Hey, maybe you’re a nerd. You learn to accept that and aspire to become king of the nerds. In high school I was (and still am) a nerd. I was never an old-school nerd (they would play ancient forms of video games like Pong), nor was I a math nerd (AP Calc II by tenth grade). I didn’t fit into a subspecies and therefore tried to adapt into one. There was one boy named Parry (I don’t even remember his real name, I think I repressed it) who was very distinctive. He spent every free moment playing Final Fantasy on one of the school computers, talked very little, and had long hair. We’re talking mid back length. Not only was it oily, but it was... curley. He had ringlets like Shirley Temple but very shiny. Needless to say I had to resist gagging when I saw him. He seemed sort of cool though, I respect Final Fantasy a lot, and he always looked like he was having fun. We made small talk. That was my initial mistake. I later found out that I was the first girl that talked to him at all. After a month of brief and random small talk he asked me to the upcoming school dance, tried to kiss me, and called me sweetie. I vomited a bit in the back of my mouth. Needless to say I rejected him for his lack of class and showering and learned that sometimes, underneath the acne-covered, greasy, nerdy shell there is a even more nerdy greasy acne-covered person. (I love nerds, I do, but I don’t like people that don’t shower and have no class. That’s the moral of this).
No comments:
Post a Comment