Welcome to 9th grade. Highschool. Your first period: Air Force ROTC. Well, that’s my first period.
Oh my god. Of all the things that I thought could go wrong I had never foreseen this happening.
The day began, like most first school days begin, no one knows what your homeroom is. My school has 3,000 students. I had three possible homerooms. Remember at the beginning of this blog, back on 8th grade, I talked about the confusing alphabetical order system? It turns out that it is some sort of legal requirement for all the schools out there. From the chart that was hung up in the school my best guess was to go either to “Cooper 1” or “Cooper 2” or there was the possibility that I would have to go to a homeroom somewhere in the “S’s” because of the hyphenated second part of my last name.
So, anyway, after the homeroom shuffle, when it was time to go to first period, and in my schedule it read as “Aerospace Science” — which was listed under room 014 — which I searched quite diligently for, until I finally asked a teacher where it was. I was told it was on the ROTC Hallway, the one place I had decided not to look. You see, I had not signed up for ROTC, and I could not imagine any classes of mine taking place in it. I am a strong conscientious objector and in three years, when the government has decided that I am old enough go off and die (but god forbid I take a drink while doing so), I am going to point to this blog, and to the time when I was seven and a reporter in Montgomery, Alabama interviewed me at a protest of war, and I am going to show them all the pictures of me at other anti-war protests, and I am going to say that “all war is immoral” — except for maybe class-war, which is a war without guns. Other kids who are reading this: you should do your best while you still can to prove now your contempt for all war because it’s only so long before you and I get inspected, detected, injected, neglected, and SELECTED for war. Unlike how I take care of my homework you should do your best; diligently work at this, do not put it off. I AM A CONSCIENTIOUS OBJECTOR.
I’m going to take a stand. I am going to go the, I think it’s the guidance office, and demand a schedule change, on the basis that I did not sign up for ROTC, and even if I did my parents would not let me stay in ROTC, and I can’t even believe it’s legal for these people to put me in ROTC without my parents written consent. Since I didn’t sign up for it, I was told, the only way I could end up here is if a guidance counselor had signed me up for it. This doesn’t make sense. How can a guidance counselor, whom I’ve never talked to, sign me up for a program for which there is moral debate, without my parents knowledge? I don’t even have a RIGHT to sex education. My parents have to sign for the school’s version of that. Maybe there is something in my record, written down, talking about how I need some form of discipline. I don’t feel too safe…
My math teacher is a dick again. His name isn’t Richard. His name is O’Donnel. And just him opening his mouth makes you rather hear his nails on the chalkboard. Not only that, the guy is allergic to hand moisturizer. What a bizarre allergy. What’s up with people who are good at math and really bizarre allergies? And not only that, but this is my 3rd time taking Algebra; this time because of a computer error, which makes me hate every moment. I would rather be in Geometry. It’s at least a new subject. Maybe I can do something about this class too.
Otherwise the rest of my day was kind of like watching a B movie. Although not unpleasant, nothing surprising, and the jokes were in bad taste.
My lunch time is surprisingly similar to middle school, except despite the fact that there are three times more students in the room, it is quieter. At the beginning and the end the administrators use the loudspeakers, but they don’t abuse us. We still can’t stand up unless we have a reason that is acceptable to the staff (one of whom, who thank god didn’t have a loudspeaker — just went around sweating and yelling at some students for ipod use — and is really annoying), but at least we can do it more than twice.
After school me and my friends went down to a local restaurant, Generous Joe’s, and caused a big raucous. At least a few people did. Two people wasted a whole lot of catsup. That thing I said about bone-heads still applies — in highschool too. Generous Joe’s is not McDonalds and also, wasting catsup all over a plate anywhere is just disgusting and rude. I didn’t tell them that at the time, but at least a couple of them will be reading this blog — so yeah Danny, I’m calling you out on this one. Don’t spray catsup on your plate, spray it in the JR ROTC hallway.