This story was originally published on Thursday, September 08, 2005.
The corner of the cafeteria where my peers and I eat has just this year become infested with flies. There are at least thirty of them at a time buzzing around, landing on your food, your knees- anywhere you don’t want a fly to be, which is anywhere at all. The first day of school we tried to ignore the flies but by day two it was impossible to not want to interact with them. I caught one of the flies on accident just by waving my hand through the air- that’s how many there are. This chick told me to drown it so she could show everyone a trick. We drowned it in pink lemonade, then let the dead carcass wash up on a napkin. It lay there lifeless, then Briana, the science trickster, poured salt on it and ‘TahDah’, it was revived. I suggested that we tie it to a leash, so Briana plucked out one of her long hairs and we lassoed it around the fly’s neck. That was pretty sweet so we caught another fly, lassoed his neck, and roped him to his friend.
Much hilarity ensued, but it was the kind of hilarity that you would have had to been there for. High school was much funnier, and the above story was just a clever introduction to segue into a good old high school story. My first MySpace blog. It involves lunchrooms, and it involves plucking hairs.
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It was eleventh grade. Three Happenin Guys sat at what was probably the most exclusive table in the whole lunchroom. There were hot chicks. There were Three Happenin Guys. It was in the back of the building. That’s where bad aces sit. It was next to Street Fighter Higgins and Turtle Boy’s table. It was a cool table.
I don’t know how it is there now, but at the time our school cafeteria hadn’t been privately commercialized like a lot of the public schools out there that serve MacDonald’s and Pizza Hut. We ate the government issue crap that public schools probably should continue to serve. There was an instance though were the students were treated to some commercially available food. As we rounded the corner to the serving line we found stacks and stacks of HOT POCKETS! Hooray! Everyone picked their Hot Pockets and sat down to dine on what was probably the closest thing to a home cooked meal the school would ever serve, albeit the kind of home cooked meal you get when your mom isn’t in the mood to cook.
There was this lady, a Hot Pockets representative. I don’t know if the company was trying to contract to the school or if they were just conducting a study to see if teenagers liked the things, but the lady was walking from table to table asking the students what they thought of their Hot Pockets. “My Hot Pocket is delicious, ma’m” one kid might have said. “Mmmmmmmm, it’s warm inside my tummy” said another…possibly. The woman looked very pleased with the feedback.
I don’t know what came over me . Hot Pockets aren’t all that bad. Their representative seemed like a nice lady. I wouldn’t have minded Hot Pockets being served at the school. But for some reason I decided to sabotage Hot Pockets.
Hot Pockets.
I plucked a substantial tuft of long brown hair out of my head and stuffed it deep in the warm gooey center of my Hot Pocket. The other members of the cool table knew the plan so they remained cool. The lady worked the tables, slowly getting closer and closer and closer to ours. “I love my Hot Pocket so much I want to marry it” this one kid might have told her. Finally she reached the cool table. “How are your Hot Pockets?” she asked.
I sunk my teeth in and pulled out a mouth full of melted cheese and human hair. “What the F is in my Hot Pocket?” I cried. Everyone turned to see what the F was in my Hot Pocket. They laughed the way you laugh when you see something really gross. The representative went into damage control mode and assured us all that Hot Pockets were not made with human hair, and she was pretty convincing. It was the last time we were ever served Hot Pockets.
Previously: The Finger
