Welcome to high school lunch.
Let’s get the first question out of the way: what’s for lunch? I’m having the same thing I’ve had since I was little: a peanut butter sandwich. You would think I would be sick of peanut butter after all of these years, but really I am just sick of jelly and Fluff. I also have some sort of cookie product. Oreos are a good choice. You can’t untwist a Chips Ahoy. Finally, I have milk. I used to buy milk, but now I just bring something like a Hershey’s or Yoo-hoo. If you couldn’t guess, I like chocolate.
Now on to the more important question: where do we sit? This is a much more complicated question than we realize. So complicated that we can’t think of food at a time like this. What makes it so complicated are The Rules. These rules we just learn to follow one way or another, and if we are going to grow the balls to break these rules, then we better aim for the blue ribbon at the county fair. I’m talking Linus and the Great Pumpkin big. But right now we don’t have time to grow these “juevos grandes”, so we better just fall in line.
Basically, we need to find out what group we are allowed to sit with. Let's look at our options.
First, we have the Jocks. The captains of the school. A football in one arm and a cheerleader in the other. When it is time to go to prom, all they have to do is look at the women in their bed and go:
"Eeney meenie miney mo,
Catch a tiger by the toe,
If he hollers, let him go,
Out goes why oh you,
And you will be the one I take to the prom,
And sleep with later that night,
Unless my parents are up!"
Sorry, Suzy and Suzy's mom, but it looks like Jennifer is going to be the school slut this Monday. Up top Bret!
I don't think we are going to sit with the Jocks.
Along the same lines, we have the Cheerleaders, who are...like, totally awesome! They're so pretty, and energetic, and pretty, and awesome, and pretty...and if we want to sit with them we have to BE. AGGRESSIVE. B-E AGGRESSIVE. Unfortunately, the minute I go over their "spaz alert", which was implanted in their brains when they got their pom-poms glued to their hands, will go into the red. Besides, they're so fucking air headed. You just want to snap them back into reality in the back of your 85 Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera.
We're not sitting with them.
There is a general "Cool" group as well, and they are sort of a collection of high ranked individuals. There are the Good Looking People, which could mean either normal good looking or "hot off the runway" good looking.
We also have the Class Clowns, those comedic martyrs willing to go to the principal’s office for a joke. You can hear the nails being driven in as they deliver the joke.
"Paul, please tell me what you know about Harold Pinter."
"Pinter, I hardly know her!"
"No, Paul, we are talking about 'One for the Road'."
"WELL IT'S...ONE FOR THE ROAD, TWO FOR THE SHOW, THREE TO GET READY, NOW GO, MAN, GO!"
"Paul, please go to the Principal's office."
"Alright, but, 'Ah'll be bach'."
There are others in this group as well. It's sort of a not-as-dysfunctional, yet not-as likable Breakfast Club.
We aren't sitting with them.
So who are we left with? We have Weirdos, who are generally nice people, but certainly walk to the beat of their own, fucked up drum. You look at them and you don't know what is looking back. Again, nice folk, so we'll say "maybe".
We also have Geeks, not to be confused with Nerds. Nerds are academic. They can tell you why you will indeed use trigonometry at the super market. Geeks are into more pop culture things. Date night is the Geek and his DVD collection of Battlestar Galactica. But like the Weirdos, they are accepting and we could sit with them, if necessary.
Finally, there are the Losers. The bottom of the barrel. They just don't seem to fit in anywhere right now. Maybe they never will. They would love it if we sat with them. And maybe we will. But maybe not.
I don't fit purely into any of these three, but I think a combination of the three will indeed work. We could be Leekdos, but that sounds like a side-effect of Viagra. We could also be Geirsers. Geirsers sounds like Geezers, and I don't consider anyone here ancient. Weekdos would work. It rolls off the tongue pretty well. But I think it should be W-e-a-k, not W-e-e-k. Weakdos.
Welcome to the Weakdos table.