I was dropping off some recycling today at the center closest to my dad's house. Its unfortunately located in the parking lot of my middle school. I opened the trunk and threw the first bag full of stuff in, then just stopped and kinda stared at the building. "I spent three of the worst years of my life here!"
Its been a long time since I've really seen the building. Its a dumpy little one-story circa 1960's number with no real windows visible from the front and no obvious main entrance. Its also really, really lacking in landscaping. It has weird skylights or vents protruding from the roof, making it look more like a laboratory where they do horrible things to mice than a middle school, where they merely do horrible things to kids' self-esteem.
So, while I was staring at the building, just a tiny bit of that pre-teen angst washed over me and I flashed to a previously repressed memory featuring me, on the bus. With a Slam Book. Opened to my page.
If I had to rank my social standing in middle school, I'd say I was somewhere near the 40th percentile. Certainly not popular, but not widely despised either. I only had one Outback Red sweater (and I got it on clearance) so that really limited my ability to climb the social ladder. Also limiting my ability to climb the social ladder: bad perm, acne, and lack of Coca-Cola rugby shirt and Sebago's. I had some Balloon's sneakers though. They were kinda cool. Right?
So, I think I was surprised that I even had a page in the Slam Book. Why would anyone bother? There were few entries on my page. A couple girls had said something like "I don't really know her. Seems nice enough." But one horribly bitchy girl wrote, and I quote, "EXCESS FAT!!"
Granted, I was still a bit chubby, but not that much! I think you would have noticed the acne and bad perm before you noticed the baby-fat. Man.
So, I've been thinking about that stupid slam book all afternoon. I'm sure it hurt my feelings horribly then, but I don't really remember anything about the aftermath. Just the book itself. Let's just hope that whoever wrote it now has an ass that is hugely disproportionate with the rest of her body.
Also, let's hope I don't ever step foot in that parking lot again. Lord knows what other repressed memories will bubble to the surface and its bad enough I subjected you to this one!