Gotta’ get down on Friday
Friday nights: the epitome of the high school experience. A time for dates, concerts, and rages (aka parties… see I’m not new to this, I’ve got the lingo down).
Despite knowing this night wouldn’t live up to any Rebecca Black song, I tried to make it sound cool, telling all my friends, “Hey, guess what I’m doing Friday night?” One person thought I was going 16+ clubbing, but he was wrong. I was going to an elementary school dance.
No, it wasn’t that I was trying to expand my friend group, I had an excuse: I had to babysit some neighbors who were attending. I figured it wouldn’t be that bad, just a bunch of kids running around like crazy, no big deal. But between some brat intentionally whacking me in the head with a balloon and getting hit on by a group of fifth grade boys within the first five minutes, I knew this was going to be a night to remember.
I mean, I guess I can’t blame the fifth-graders for trying to flirt with me, I probably did look like a tall 11-year-old. As I kept seeing girls file in with short skirts, heels, and lots of make-up, I immediately felt that sense of inferiority I had always felt around older kids. Then I reminded myself that I was a senior in high school… and no one over age twelve would be caught dead here.
As the constant screaming, crowding, and awkwardly shimmying parents began to escalate, I instinctually began to make myself smaller, sitting in a fetal position on the floor. I decided to take notes on my phone so I could write a Diversions story about everything I was seeing.
Sitting there I befriended a pretentious middle-aged woman reading Andre Agassi’s autobiography, and by befriend I mean she stood a bit too close to me.
I figured this was actually a lot like Prom. Girls screamed when the lights went off and the music started. Couples held hands, chased each other, and got into big fights. Ultimately, all of the girls were dressed up and spent their time on the floor, while all of the guys ran around in sweatpants avoiding the girls. Not much has changed.
In the end, I’m sure it was a valuable experience. I realized I needed to update my look to get guys my age to flirt with me. But hey, I had an arguably more interesting night than my friend who was watching a four-hour Kenneth Branagh film, at an event sweatier than Holiday Ball and rowdier than a Girl Talk concert.