A man at the airport holding a sign that read
“Wank”, growing increasingly anxious as the
curiously named person for whom he was waiting
never came;
A man driving a golf cart, utilitarian,
janitorial-type vehicle labeled “Logistics”,
invoking perhaps a secret Logistics department
where all problems miscellaneous and last-minute
are solved;
A beautiful woman of long, symmetric hair
wearing a white hat and all-white clothes
walking into a spot beneath a ceiling window at
an airy cafeteria, then illuminated by sunlight,
then walking away, then never seen again;
A very polite child telling the airplane
waitress that, yes, he would like a lemonade
and his sister chiming in that, yes, she would
like a lemonade as well please before the two
returned to unheard conversation, though one
likes to imagine they talked of the financial
markets and international diplomacy before
sipping their lemonades, yawning, polishing
their cuff links, and reminiscing about their
favorite toys.
Via Tim, which I took as a throwing of the gauntlet to make the
World’s Most Personal Weblog Post Ever.
When I was in fourth grade, I went into the girl’s bathroom by
mistake. The kids never let me live it down that week. (Fortunately,
little kids make up for their meanness by having a uniquely poor
short-term memory.) To make it worse, the teacher pulled out outside
the classroom in front of everybody and asked me if I did it on
purpose. I said no, and she didn’t believe me.
When I was in the second grade, our class threw a surprise
end-of-the-year party for the teacher. By “our class,” I mean “one
overworked mother.” At the end of the party, the teacher thanked the
class. Thinking it’d be mature, I stood up on a chair, threw my arms
out, and yelled “No, thank you.” Then, a long awkward silence.
When I was in the second grade, there were twin girls who were fat.
(Disturbingly unhealthily so, now that I look back.) Of course, you
don’t say that to their faces. So the three of us managed to sit
together at a table in the library. Thinking it’d be edgy, I said
something to the extent of “You guys are fat.” After the trip to the
library, I had a long talk with the teacher about what is and isn’t
appropriate to say. Then I had to make a public apology to them in
front of the class. When I hesitated to make the apology, the teacher
winked at me. And that’s when I realized that some adults are evil
bastards out of sheer ignorance.
When I was in the fifth grade, a cute girl held open the door for
the entire class as the entire class marched back to the homeroom from
Spanish class, which was held in a nearby group of trailers because
our school was in bad need of an expansion. I playfully tapped her
butt with a folder I was carrying. That’s just as bad a faux
pas as an adult as it is when you’re a kid.
When I was in the fourth grade, the music class teacher assigned a
song with lyrics. Everybody got a part to sing. After I sang my part,
the next person hesitated so I started singing his part too. And then
I just sang the rest of the song; I couldn’t sing, but I thought it
was hilarious. It was not.
When I was in the first grade, I would chase after girls with my
lips held out for a kiss. (Yes, I have seen that Powerpuff Girls
episode. I watched TV instead of having friends as a kid, God knows
why.) The girls would run away, a leitmotif in the lives of
people who do this as a child. This kept up until a teacher saw me
doing this. To avoid having to be told off by the teacher, I laid my
head down on a bench and pretended I was tired. Maybe it was then that
I realized my life sucked.
I rode the bus for all thirteen years of public education. When I
was in the second grade, a fifth-grade girl was the Bus Monitor. She
made minor decisions, like making sure people kept out of windows or
deciding which highway we would take today. (Not really, but that in
my mind is what a bus monitor should be able to do. Get on it, bus
drivers of America.) She offered me a seat beside her in the morning
because I was one of the last to get on and there usually weren’t any
seats. So it was out of pity. One afternoon, she stood up near me (I
had a seat to myself in the afternoon. Score.) and announced in the
afternoon that there was candy to be passed out. The whole bus
cheered. Thinking it’d be mature (I was a very mature kid.), I grabbed
her hand and kissed it in front of everybody. She pulled her hand back
immediately and said something like “Gross.” After that, I had to sit
somewhere else in the morning.
I tag Carey Lowell, Zooey Deschanel, Kristina Fey, Rachel Leigh Cook,
why the lucky stiff (famous porn star), Vannevar Bush, and the
markdown2 module. I think I won the Most Personal Weblog Post Ever
award, so I also pick the Morton Salt
girl for my extra eighth slot.
The less I say about this, the less I’ll ruin it—but this
is always what I wanted The Dark Balloon to be and what I know
Digg and reddit will never achieve. “The Wheel” by Drew
Meger.
