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Tuesday, March 22, 2005

The fun to be had at other people's high school reunion!

We stopped to get a bite to eat and, just our luck, it was some high school or another’s big reunion party at the restaurant we visited.

The place was chock-full of thirtysomethings wondering what the hell had happened in the intervening days as both their dreams and memory of the glory years slipped through their fingers – one precious moment at a time.

My dining companion and I watched the festivities and wondered who had been the school jocks, who were the nerds back in the day, and which woman would drink herself into a stupor first only to later prove she was still the school slut.

After a while I got bored, so slyly walked past a table in the corner and pilfered myself a nametag.

I slapped it on and was reborn as “Bob”. I felt like a “Bob”. I became “Bob”.

Bob mingled.

“Jeez, how have you been? I haven’t seen you, well, since high school!

“Hello there, Steve. Tell me, you used to have hair… so what happened?”

“Gee, Monica, I don’t remember you having breasts in high school. Those implants must have set you back a pretty penny!”

“I’m Bob. Don’t you remember me? We were in social studies together.”

When the issue was pressed, with more than one person wondering who I was, I told them the pinnacle of my high school career was being president of the Chess Club. They seemed satisfied with that explanation because, after all, who remembers anybody in the Chess Club?

But one obnoxiously drunk lout carried on and on, “I don’t think you were in the graduating class. I was the quarterback of the football team and homecoming king! Everybody knew me and I knew everybody… and I don’t remember you, Bob!”

“You don’t?” I replied, “That’s funny, because I remember you. And I haven’t forgotten what you did to me. In fact, it’s been festering for years. Here’s a hint.”

That’s pretty much when I punched him. The next thing I knew I was being manhandled and quickly found myself face down in the parking lot outside.

As I lifted from the asphalt and dusted myself off, with the small crowd wandering back into the restaurant, I quietly took stock of my life as my dining companion appeared and helped me to the car.

Having avoided the tediousness of my own high school reunion(s), my life didn’t seem so shabby in comparison. Heck, I didn’t much care for those losers back in high school so why would I want to see them again now?

I would, however, attend a preschool reunion if there were such a thing…

“I’m Pete. Remember me? I slept on the mat next to yours during nap-time.”

“How can I forget you? You’re the guy who peed on me when I was four years old!”

Now that would be a fun reunion.

posted by Pete 2:00 AM
schizzle my nhizzle
I guess I know what to do the next time I see some reunion somewhere... Thanks for the hint :-)

René C. Kiesler
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