Bitter Buddy Battle
I was nine years old when I discovered that I am socially inept.
My family had just moved to a new town and I was entering the fifth grade in a new school. A public school. Besides the sheer ecstasy of shedding the hideous green and gold plaid jumpers, this would be an opportunity to make new friends.
I didn’t make even one.
In later years I met with slightly better success, but despite usually having a best buddy, I decided that friends were highly overrated. By college I had become a loner. It suited my temperament better and it made Christmas significantly cheaper.
I promise, this is going somewhere.
Our senior year of over-priced higher education culminated with a special dinner for the graduating class. Parties and social events are not my thing, but for some reason, I was there. My roommate and I sat down at the first empty table we saw. Over the next half hour, we were joined by an assortment of social pariahs — geeks, church-going homewreckers, neurotics, really ugly chicks, and non-trads. In the movies, we’d be involved in lively conversation, uniting as one sad social circle. But everyone was relatively quiet, staring at each other in awkward silence.
Suddenly, our table was approached by several Ambassadors of the Beautiful People (aka nursing students). The fascinating thing about our nursing students is that they all were blonde, long-legged, and on the cheerleading squad. I still have to wonder whether our educational institution was supplying the medical field or the adult entertainment industry.
“Excuse me,” purred one of the naughty nurses, flashing us a perfect white smile. “We need this table.”
I looked at her incredulously. WTF?!!!
As no one ventured a response nor made any effort to move, Naughty Nurse shifted somewhat uneasily and explained, “You see, we just have sooooo many friends that we can’t all fit at one table. And your table happens to be next to ours . . .” She trailed off and smiled again.
“But there are no empty tables where all of us can sit,” my roommate protested. I watched a few other heads nod.
“But there are empty seats at lots of the other tables,” Naughty Nurse #2 interjected. “I mean, it’s not like you guys are together, right?”
Naughty Nurse #1 pouted her glittery glossed lips. “We don’t want to have to separate all of our friends.”
She jabbed at us with that last “friends.” It was kryptonite. I looked around our table at despondent faces, at heads hung in shame. Some of the girls began to gather their belongings. I looked at the nursing students who were still smiling in a way that either said, “Get a move on!” or “No cavities!” And I realized, I had to do something.
I needed to show the naughty nurses that just because they were gorgeous and blonde and fabulous didn’t mean they could push us around.
I wanted to give the rejects a sweet sense of camaraderie as we matched our will against the Circle of Friends.
I had to restore justice to the collegiate world.
And, most importantly, I had to devise a way to prevent me from having to move my lazy ass to another table.
Now, realistically, we could have all just refused to get up. It was a simple enough solution. But I was fired up and I wasn’t about to take crap from anyone.
I picked up a spoon and twirled it delicately between my fingers. “Ok,” I piped up, “you can have the table.” And then I instructed everyone to lick their silverware.
The naughty nurses’ dazzling smiles quickly contorted into looks of utter disgust.
“That is revolting,” they hissed before storming back to their table, their heels clicking angrily against the Pergo floor.
Our merry band of spoon-suckers finally began chattering amongst themselves, empowered by their victory. I descended back into my quiet solitude, satisfied with the triumph. It wasn’t World Peace, granted . . . but I didn’t have to get up.