10 Years Later
[2009-05-14]
So it's 2009. In 1999, I graduated high school. Of course, we all know what that means: ten year high school reunion. According to my wife, I've decided to go. Frankly, I'm little nervous about it.
What's there to be nervous about?
Well first, I've gained some weight. Now, we're not talking Jaba-the-Hut here, but round is definitely a shape I'm becoming. Sure, I could work out and eat right for the next few months, but it wouldn't help. No, I'm afraid I'm like a supernova, ever-expanding until I become so massive I collapse under my own weight into a black hole from which not even light can escape.
So instead, I've opted for option two: lame excuses. Part of me hopes that
everyone's metabolism took an economy-sized nose dive like mine did, but
realistically I don't see that happening. That's why I've been standing in front of the
mirror, practicing lines like, I was part of a failed genetic experiment to combine
the DNA from a human and a whale.
Or, I sometimes get shot with cannons.
It's not 'fat,' it's 'padding.'
Or my favorite: I actually work for a fitness company — I'm the 'before' photo.
I'm also worried that I won't remember anyone. Frankly, my high school years were caffeine-fueled years of abandon, of which I remember very little, including the people who were there.
So my plan is to pretend to be a hard-of-hearing German with a severe speech
impediment. It will be a fun and exciting night of unintelligibility. My name
card will say, Allo, Ich hieße Stimpteheißlëbbinslartibartfastenstein.
On the plus side, I doubt anyone will remember me either, which brings me to my final concern:
Nobody likes me. All my life I've had fears, some irrational like my fear of clowns and dentists, some rational like my fear of clown dentists, but of them all, the haunting, silly fear that everyone secretly hates me and is only pretending to like me has probably plagued me most consistently.
Everyone knows that slightly autistic kid with all the social social skills of a box of dead badgers, but everyone is really nice to him because, well, just because. I sometimes wonder: am I that kid?
Of course, not everyone is that nice to me. And frankly, if you're cognizant enough to question your own sanity, you're probably not that insane.
So I'm going to stick with the plan that has served me well thus far: willful
ignorance. If I start picking up those subtle you're making me uncomfortable
cues, like constantly looking down and away, or frequently changing the subject, or
a restraining order, I'll just pretend I didn't notice and continue to explain
how the government is controlling us with the digital television transition. It's
in the UHF, man! UHF!
So, all things considered, I'd say I have a pretty solid plan.