Since school time is approaching, I thought I would start off this new blog-thing with a school story. Considering the fact that I have spent at least 90% of my life enrolled in the public education system, it’s safe to say that I have plenty stories about school. From fights on the crosswalk to basic school drama, I’ve seen it. But this story does not focus on either of those stories. Instead, this is a story about my public humiliation.
Before I begin the story, I should probably sprinkle in some facts about my high school. The first day of school is on August 4th (because we get out May 27th or something like that). However, it’s not an official first day, instead, it’s a registration day. On registration day, each grade level goes to pick up their schedule, pay their student dues, and take their class portraits. Now, this doesn’t seem too bad…that is, if the school had air-conditioned hallways. The thing about school in Hawaii, is that all hallways are out in the open, and this can be both good and bad. In my case it was extremely bad.
On August 4th of last year, I woke up to a beautiful morning. The sun was slowly rising, the grass was green, birds were chirping and shit. I could tell that it was going to be a great day. I got myself out of bed and immediately began dressing myself. My choice of clothing consisted of: A geeky pop-culture shirt, very skinny jeans, and my favorite pair of converse shoes. I did my hair, put on make-up, did the usual girl stuff. I looked good. Emphasis on looked.
Having the clever mind that I have, I neglected to remember the fact that both my parents were out of the house…and I had no driver’s license. So, that meant I had to endure a one mile walk to school. Not too bad, my ignorant past-self thought. But it was. By the time I actually made it to the high school, I was drenched in two kinds of sweat, and my make-up had evaporated from my face. Now, this was embarrassing, but easily fixable. Trust me, this is not even the climax of the story yet.
Once I arrived at school, I quickly grouped up with my friends. Our plan was to get through registration day as fast as possible, get our pictures taken, and then retreat back to my friend’s apartment to hang out. I got my schedule, took care of my student fees, and then headed over to the cafeteria, where the picture-taking was being held. There were about two-hundred students waiting in jumbled lines that day. Exasperated already, I headed to the smallest line I could find (which was already stretching back as far as seventy feet), and waited. Thirty minutes passed by until I spotted my friend Jocelyn.
I can’t remember if she was heading into the cafeteria or if she was leaving it, but I do remember asking her if she took her pictures already. She said no, but she was on her way. Puzzled, I asked if she was going into this line. She just said no, because apparently the line I was in was for pre-ordering the yearbook. She led me to a line that was next to a plastic table (don’t worry, this table will become important), which I shit you not, had maybe seventeen people waiting in it. I told her thanks, and proceeded to stand in line with her. But then I spotted my friend Alan… making the same mistake as me.
Since the line was short enough, I decided to leave it, and cut my way through crowds until i got to Alan.
“Alan,” I yelled over to him, “Are you getting a yearbook?”
”What?” Alan paused, “No…”
”You’re in the wrong line,” I pointed over to the line by the plastic table, “The real line is over there.”
”Wait, what?!” Alan exclaimed, “I’ve been standing in this line for, like, ten minutes!”
”I stood in it for thirty.”
We made our way to the real line, talking about something or another. At this point, the line was beginning to increase in size, so it went from a line of seventeen to a line of thirty. No big deal though. I had someone to talk to, so I was alright. Or so I thought.
It took us about ten minutes to get to the front of the line, and by that time…I wasn’t feeling so great. My stomach was starting to hurt a little and I was going in-and-out of hearing. Now, those who have medical experience are probably getting ahead of the story by now. See, if you recall what attire I was wearing, and then count in the two hours I spent in a hot stupor, it becomes pretty predictable for what happens next.
I began to realize that my vision was beginning to get…funny. And by funny, I mean terrifying. Everything except one circular area looked as though it were covered in yellow-colored television static.
I grabbed onto Alan’s jacket sleeve tightly and said, “Alan, I think I’m going to pass out.”
I will never forget what Alan said next. He said, “You’re not going to pass out.”
I don’t remember hitting the cement floor. Everything kind of went fuzzy and blurry from that moment on. I do remember thinking to myself while in some sort of hazy, lucid state that there was a reason for why I passed out. I felt someone, probably Alan, pulling me up from the ground. I faintly remember my eyes zeroing in on a nearby water fountain while Alan held my limp body. And then I passed out a second time…just before Alan slapped me (because, you know, that method seems to work in the movies).
Remember that table I mentioned? The plastic one that had two teachers sitting at it? Well, according to Alan, the moment I passed out a second time, my entire right side hit that table. I broke the table with my skinny, limp-noodle body. The coffee cups that had been sitting on the tables flew into the air, spraying all with their lava-hot contents. Except me. Or maybe it did. I don’t remember.
Luckily for me, I didn’t get a third chance to pass out. I knew what I needed to do, and chances were, I only had twenty seconds to do it before I passed out again again. As soon as I regained consciousness, I staggered straight toward the water fountain.
Have you ever seen those old Hulk Hogan fights on WWF? The ones where Hulk seemingly gets stronger and buffer with every punch his opponent throws at him? You know the ones. Well, let’s just say I was Hogan, and the water from that water fountain was the opponent. It was like anti-kryptonite. Each sip of water made me even more lucid than the previous sip.
Eventually the teachers came over to me, got me a cup of water, had me get my picture taken (I insisted that I was fine enough to take it), and then was escorted to the nurse’s office. Alan came with me for moral support.
The teacher that escorted me and Alan explained to the nurse that I had been feeling woozy and needed to spend some time resting. Of course I was mildly pissed off (at my body more than anything else). I sat myself down on one of the chairs and waited for further instruction. The nurse was just filling out paperwork here and there, not really paying too much attention to me. Alan just kept staring at me as though I was a ticking time bomb, and in retrospect I probably was.
Eventually Alan and I started talking in low whispers to each other. Alan asked me what the hell happened to me and if I was alright. I reassured him that I was and then asked what happened. Alan told me some of the general details which consisted of me hitting my head on the pavement more than anything.
And then Alan leaned forward, eyes wide, and said, “I didn’t know you would faint like that.”
”Wait, you fainted?”
The nurse was staring at me, waiting for an answer. I hesitated…if I answered yes that meant that my parents get called…and if I said no I would mean I get to hang out with my friends. My hesitation was too long for it to be taken as a no, and the nurse was already scrambling for a new piece of paperwork.
”They just told me you were feeling woozy.”
Alan had a hand planted over his mouth, like he had just been caught saying a swear word during sunday school. For the next ten minutes I had to answer questions ranging from “How old are you?” to “What did you eat the day before yesterday?”. And then the grand cherry on top of this sundae was when the nurse dialed up my father, and then handed me the phone.
To make a long story short (too late), I had to be picked up from school early while my friends went back to hang out at Jayda’s. It was hands-down the most embarrassing moment in my life, but I figured it would make a good story at some point in my life. Who knew it would be today?
TL;DR: I passed out from dehydration, broke a table, and then had to be escorted to the nurse’s room…in front of my entire high school class.
I feel like it is high time that people get to know me, quirky-fantastical, a little bit more. Lately I have been occupying my time with creating gif sets, doing TV show reviews, and reblogging. But now, I’m going to start writing again. So far, you guys know all about the things I like and don’t like, but you don’t know about me in general. By show of hands, how many of you know that I am a skinny, dorky, caucasian teenager who lives in Honolulu? The only hands that should be up are the ones that belong to the people that know me in real life.
My solution for fixing this is simple. I have decided to start a new blog-project thing called MY. This seems confusing, but just stick with me because it gets better. To put it in simpler terms, MY is going to consist of my personal life experiences along with a few friends’ experiences. For example, one post I may write could be titled MY: Stupidity Amazes Me, and it would chronicle all the asinine things that I have done in my life. Or only some of them so the post isn’t too long.
This idea has been swimming in my mind for around a week now, so I figured it wouldn’t be a half-bad idea. Don’t worry, I’m not going to stop doing gif sets and TV reviews and reblogs. I’m just going to add this in to the mix of things. So, here’s hoping this works out for the best.