| At 7:30am the alarm goes off. The wailing awakens me from my dreams and shuttles me back into the real world. One deep breath in and out as I sit up in bed, barely able to see 3 feet through my groggy eyes. I reach the bedside table which is home to the source of the alarm, that damn phone. The pre-day headache makes me want to take a Ferris Bueller style day off, but the yell of the alarm says otherwise. Ten minute shower, ten minute breakfast, and I’m out the door. The infinite line of parental cars means I’m late for first period, off to a great start. I wander into class and head to the back of the classroom, less likely to be called on there. As the teacher drones on, all I can do is stare outside at the beautiful fall day. Lectures turn into white noise as I dream of doing anything but schoolwork. Bells ring as the period ends, more alarms. I check the board as I leave class to catch what I missed in my daze, but the sheer number of “exponents” and “derivatives” give me an unforgiving headache. Exchanging smiles with friends in the hallway is the closest I’ve gotten to any social interaction this morning, yet it’s the best part of my day so far. The cycle of daydreaming repeats until I find myself at lunch. The line of a hundred screaming students waiting for the mediocre “slop of the day” makes me want to puke, yet every day I find myself in that same line. If Mean Girls got one thing right about high school, it’s the division of lunch tables. Freaks and Geeks sit with a sandwich in one hand, and an AP textbook in the other, while the Kings and Queens of the class sit at high tables surrounded by their loyal brigade of underclassmen. I down the last of the slop and prepare for the last two classes of the day, the home stretch. A few more hours of mindless notetaking and finally home free. As I drive homeward, I feel a sense of freedom for the first time all day. This feeling carries me all the way home, but soon dies as I remember all the assignments the teachers have decided are worth my time outside of school. Forty Five minutes of work from each class quickly turns into hours of my night spent in front of a cheap school issued laptop. Looking up from my schoolwork, the clock reads 10pm, where has the day gone? As I drift to bed, I dread the upcoming day. Maybe tomorrow will be better… Maybe… Photo Credit: Chris Campbell, “Classroom Clock” March 21, 2005 at 9:41:34 PM CST |
Formatting the essay as a narrative was very unique. Was the next day any better? Maybe instead of using Mean Girls to describe how most tables are occupied by cliques you could describe some cliques you saw at different tables.