ADYNATON

Let’s rant:

First of all, waking up early and being forced to learn. You pray for a storm, a holiday, a miracle,

anything to get enough sleep to function as a decent human being. Don’t get this wrong, learning can be fun ... until the grades come in. Pressure. Expectations. Oh, joy.

 

Second, people. Adults and young adults. Maybe you’re a people person, but for everyone else,

we’re not about that life. Including the stereotypes, there are many different types of people; we got

the freshmen up first. Now, I must admit that you can’t always tell what grade others are in, due to

personality or looks. Sometimes you’ll see elementary‐looking freshmen (those poor squirts who end up shooting up late, and being a head taller than the rest), other times they already have a beard. You

never know. You might be able to tell by how they act. Not even remotely like they’re in high school,

more like they’re still children.

 

Freshman: [Based off a poor friend’s experience] Imagine you have been seated next to a

freshman. You’re sitting there, in Earth Science, (trying not to scream) as pencils are being thrown at

you. “Does this bother you?” is repeated too many times in your ear. Or you’re doing your work, as the

kid lifts the desk just enough to create a shockwave, so every time you write you add an extra line going anywhere. “Oh, I’m sorry, did I bother you? I won’t do it again,” repeated over and over again. You get that test you didn’t study for back: 100%. A perfect score (it’s Earth Science; it’s easy). “How’d you get 100 and I got only 65? I copied off you!” This is usually where you snap. Thank god you’re not a

freshman anymore, you think. Responding to the freshmen is a good way to blow off steam, though.

After venting all those stressful emotions, you feel much better, and maybe now the kid knows not to

bother you. To be fair, though, being a freshman isn’t great either‐ it’s your first year in this large building (so everything is different), and you’re at the bottom of the food chain. Ah, embarrassing memories.

 

Sophomore year is pretty nice; you are now used to the strange schedules and layout (to an extent), and your main worry resides in the PPSAT. Then junior year rolls up and now you’ve got college essays to worry about (unless you push them off to senior year), and of course, the ACT and SAT. Senior year goes by surprisingly quickly, assuming you didn’t slack on taking your SAT and making your college plans, and suddenly you’re an adult without even realizing what happened.

Schedules are a little strange, though you get used to them: flex, where there’s a class cut into

two classes that change every even day. Second, flex, fourth, sixth. A series of numbers that reminds you of your test coming up on factoring. In the end what everyone really looks forward to (other than school ending) is lunch. When will lunch be ... that’s what everyone wants to know, that little break of freedom, strange food, and the possibility of having friends. Or either sitting in the bathroom to hide in a stall with a slightly smashed sandwich and a snack, or going to the library to appear studious and less of an emotional train wreck. One freshman stayed for two lunches on his first day because he didn’t know which was his. Oh but wait, the labyrinth’s layout: [Based off the ranter’s first day] so, first class is gym. Where is the gym? Should I ask? I really don’t want to... but I really don’t know. Let’s ask. The lady points down the hall, “turn left, then turn left again.” I follow her directions, but found myself at a dead end, leading outside (which I later called the electives hallway, where Creative Writing happens, yay). The bell had already blasted through the school when I found the gym. The teacher yelled, “If you are a freshmen then you’re in the wrong room. All freshmen in health.” I panicked. I knew something was wrong. I waited until he introduced himself and a few guys got up, wrong teacher, and I followed quickly (ignoring all the older kids watching and softly laughing). On some of the doors and walls, I noticed a piece of paper explaining that freshmen were supposed to be in health. I was so rushed and flustered that I completely missed it. I walked to the nearest health classroom without actually looking at the room number and matching it to my schedule. Knowing my luck, my name wasn’t called during attendance, and I was pointed one door down. A terrifying experience. It didn’t help that there were school maps in the offices that I found out about a year later (not that I knew where the offices were, anyway). Or that my first class upstairs‐ I went up to my teacher and asked them where the room was. None of my first floor teachers knew the second floor layout. It was a mystery. The room numbers must be in some strange code, because it’s not one to two; it’s one to five to three. No correlation I can find. I put a lot of faith on school maps, but when they fail I might just give up and cry on the stairs. And now we come to the neglected, marginalized portion of the school: Oh the humanity. The classes are outside of the school building and in these small, cold, cramped boxes. Is someone shaking their leg? Earthquake. When you walk, the floor wobbles. Does your next class happen to be near the front of the school? You’re late.

Now traffic: There are five big stairwells, one near the front, two in the back and the middle. The

back stairs aren’t used as much as the others (being so far in the back). The stairs are always heavily

crowded as people push forward. But don’t forget about the halls, now. It’s like watching a documentary

of penguins huddling from the cold. Have you ever wondered what it would feel like being a salmon

swimming up a waterfall? It’s exactly like that. Who thought it was a good idea to add a sharp turn on

the busiest of halls? Did someone drop their pencil? It’s gone. Is someone attempting to pick up a

binder? Doesn’t look like we’ll be going anywhere for a while. Not to mention the students who have

the nerve to stop and fist‐bump their friend going the other way, which leads to both of them

completely stopping or one walking with the other, only to turn around later and force back at least

seven people. I beg of you, please walk on the right side of the hall. You’ve been told this all your life;

don’t be that one person who forces me to attempt to walk around you to the right, only for you to

move to the left, blocking my path. I will push you over. Don’t underestimate a kid who only gets five

hours of sleep at night.

Has anyone else noticed all the drama? Hello, I didn’t know I signed up for a reality TV show;

take a deep breath. It could be revolving around you or you may be the source, but either way it’s

impossible to avoid. Mainly romantic issues, but fights and people getting in trouble, too. I can’t fathom

how it got this dramatic, overly emotional and quite stressful to those directly involved.

[January 13, 2016. First block, Earth Science; located in the trailers.] First class of the day, and

not a very challenging one at that. Instead of our notes, we began with a lab involving shaving cream

and math. This lab was supposed to explain how continental and oceanic crust interacted and caused

natural disasters. It started with two of the loudest boys picking on each other. It caught my attention

when one tried to get his friend back by slapping him with a hand full of shaving cream. The teacher

noticed and told him he couldn’t do that and to sit down. He kept insisting that he needed to get his

friend back, so she pulled the two boys outside, telling the freshman with shaving cream engulfing his

palm to wash his hands. The two sat in desks right outside the classroom, doing the rest of their lab in

silence. The room got chatty again.

The drama arose once more when the boy with now clean hands walked back inside and

grabbed his backpack. His conversation between the teacher started with him saying he was going to

leave, and her saying that he wasn’t. The teacher had her arm out in front to block him from leaving, but

he just replied “get out of my way,” and pushed past her on the other side. Allowing him to storm out

(considering he was a head and a half taller than her), she pressed the call button and a voice asked

what the problem was. She explained that a student left without permission; the voice said security was

on its way. The teacher called administration, too, but her story made the girl sitting across from me

angry. “Why are you lying?” she asked the teacher, trying to defend her friend. Soon enough the new

security guard came down, asked a few questions, and left. We resumed the lab for another few

minutes. The teacher could tell the girl was upset. “Do you want to talk?”

“No, I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

The room fell silent for a while. The class continued to learn about volcanoes, then the bell rang.

This was the most exciting thing since the field trip.

Main source of entertainment: eavesdropping on other people. Whether you admit it or not, we

all do it.

ATTENTION ALL COUPLES, IMPORTANT MESSAGE AHEAD:

Relationship advice: Don’t stand in the middle of anywhere. Excuse me, I didn’t realize you and

your boo were the sun; so don’t force us to revolve around you. Don’t make out unless you know no

one’s near please. Don’t only talk about your significant other. Calm down. You need to use your head. I

have a big issue with couples who are directly in front of the classroom door. I need to get through, and

I’d rather not have to look at your faces while I do. If you are holding hands but there is a gap between

the two of you and you’re in my way, I will walk between you two. If you’re complaining about not doing

your work because you were talking to them all night, good luck with your grades. I don’t care. If you

have some sort of problem my advice is mainly “then break up,” or “talk it out”. Don’t get me wrong, I

love drama. I find it hilarious. Unless I am somehow involved. If you want advice, sure. But I refuse to get

sucked into your TV show of a life.

And for the singles out there: There is no problem being single; it means you still have options. I

shouldn’t have to hear you complain about being alone in the world when all I wanted to know was if

our test on quadratics is Tuesday. You have your whole life ahead of you.

This is high school, and I’m just trying to make it out alive. That alone takes at least ten years off

my lifespan, so I don’t need you hovering like the grim reaper waiting for me to weaken.