As was mentioned last week, I was tinkering with the idea of going to my 20-year high school reunion. By Friday night, I had decided to go. Spouse, being the good-natured freak that he is, obliged. I had previously arranged for three-ish friends to meet us there. Meeting people at the reunion -- people that we like and enjoy spending time with -- would keep the evening from becoming a total bust if, per chance, the reunion ended up being lame-o. (That part right there was some foreshadowing. As if the title weren't foreshadowing enough.)
First, let's describe my high school. Generally speaking, there were three groups of people: F People, Jocks and Cheerleaders, and the Preppies. The first and most rowdy of the groups were the "F" people. Each gender in this particular posse had it's own name. The girls were referred to as "F Chicks" and the boys were called "F Dudes." Both genders of this "F" clan had big hair, usually permed, wore thick black eyeliner, tight-as-hell pants and black rock-group t-shirts. Metallica, Megadeath, Black Sabbath, and Ozzy were the most popular.
The Jocks and Cheerleaders group is a self-exclamatory group. Most of these boys and girls participated in sports while the other boys and girls pumped pom-poms and yelled "Rah! Rah! Rah!" during the sporting events. I don't recall that they cared much for music.
The third and final group was the Preppies. The Preppies wore everything Ralph Lauren. Sometimes Ruff Hewn was allowed, but I'm pretty sure you could only be a Preppy if you had closet-full of shirts with silly horses embroidered about your right breast. Or was it the left breast...? I don't remember. The Preppies listened to Howard Jones.
I explained this to Spouse last week. And he said, "Where on earth did you fit in?" Hah! That is the eternal question for my very existence. Where on earth do I fit in? I feel as if I'm in a state of flux for positioning when it comes to people grouping.
In high school, I was in serious limbo. Most of these groups are defined by what you listen to, your athletic prowess, and what you wear, right? (Sex 'n drugs prolly had something to do with that too, but we won't go there today.) I liked Metallica, Ozzy and the like, but couldn't be limited to heavy metal. I couldn't run or jump or hit anything good enough to be athletic, and well, even back then, I knew it silly to dump $80 on a polo shirt with a horsey on it. So there you go: Limbo.
Here's the first 18 people of my class (alphabetically.) Can you spy the Rabid?
Now back to the reunion. Wouldn't you know, that as the events of Saturday unfolded, those three-ish friends dropped their supposed commitment, one-by-one. The last friend bailed on us just as we were driving to the Grand Ballroom at the UVU. We were dressed and ready. Spouse was even wearing khakis. We also had a babysitter. So what did we do? We went to the Grand Ballroom anyway.
The plan was to show up late so as to avoid the overpriced buffet du grandeur and maybe sit in the back for the program. I wanted to sneak in unnoticed and announced. Well, like that's gonna happen at a reunion. And maybe I should have known that because I've seen Grosse Pointe Blank 12 times and in each of those 12 times, the welcome-lady accosts John with uncomfortable cheer. Every time.
Some lady (who I don't know) sees us at the door and runs over, all-smiles, while chewing on her three-day-old dinner roll. "HI!" She screams over the blare of Whitesnake. "What's your maiden name? Did you sign up for dinner? Are you just coming to the program? Do you want to buy the DVD? Did you register on the web site? Do you want to put your name on a name tag?" After a few moments of me staring at her like she's alien, she decides to back off and finish that three-day-old dinner roll.
Spouse and I started to walk toward this Grand Ballroom. And as we approached, I could smell the pretension. I could see the old cliques and the brainless flitting about to and fro. It was just too much like high school.
This is where I looked at Spouse and said, "I don't want to go." To which Spouse replied, "Look woman. I put khakis on for this thing. You get in there."
Yeah, but, there's no one in there that I want to talk to. I already see everyone I care about and none of those bastards care about me. They didn't care way back then, so why the heck would they care now? Then I remembered Tom's comment from the Should I Go post. He said, "Stay at home, create a Facebook page, and ignore those bastards simultaneously in two different worlds."
Why didn't I listen to Tom? Or Lifein360 who said his reunion was lame? Or Megan in her Green Glass post where she talked about leaving the past behind and moving on? Why the hell did I think that attending my 20-year reunion would be even the least bit entertaining?!
"Let's go see Inception." I said to Spouse. "But take my picture first, as proof that I was here."
He was all over that idea and we left. Only we discovered later that every showing of Inception within a 20 mile radius was sold out for the night. Is there nothing else to do in this town? Movies and reunions? Is that it? Lame.
Now, had my date been a hired contract killer, like John Cusack, then maybe the reunion wouldn't have been so lame.