I sold my soul today. For $5. No really. A kid gave me $5.
And may I add that I signed it away on this elegant piece of tattered
looseleaf paper written on in the most calligraphic of handwriting. In
fact, the only thing that could have made it any more official would be if
it was written in pencil. Crayon perhaps!
I consider the unofficiality of the “contract” non-binding, ensuring me
full possession of my soul, as well as $5 in my pocket scot-free. EAT
Holy shit have I got a story. So lunch ends 5th period. I’m walking out
listening to my MP3 player. I’m walking by and some short toad with
disgusting red hair stops me, telling me to put my MP3 player away.
Grudgingly, I put it away. As I’m walking off however, she waddles up
to pester me again. This time, she wants to see my ID.
This is my ID:
Cute, huh? It’s a joke running for months now. I lost my ID outside in
gym somewhere during September or October. Nobody’s noticed or given a
shit since. It shows how successful the whole program is, right?
Security, my dickhole. I’m not gonna get into the semantics of how
flawed the whole ID system is, but I know one thing: until they enact
swiping ID’s sometime in the year 2065, ID’s will remain inherently
redundant and ineffective.
So anyway, I pull out my ID and show it to her. I think she went into
seizures. She looks up and tells me, “This isn’t a high school id,” and
proceeds to SNATCH my ID from me. I’m staring at her like she just
flashed me. She tells me that she’ll give it to the level administrator
and proceeds to waddle off into the teacher’s faculty room. “FUCK
THIS,” I say, as I follow her into the room. Here she thought I was
going to strangle her, as much as the thought crossed my mind. I was
fucking livid. That’s when Mr. Mohr walked in to defuse the situation.
Mohr in himself is somewhat of a pudgy toad, as well, but he managed to
calm me down a little and keep me from making any rash actions. Good
thing too. So I go to 6th period and sit there, boiling. The
second the bell rings, I go to see Szukics. He lets me in and we have a
short little discussion on the ID system. I tell him that I think it’s
flawed in every sense of the word. I tell him why my ID, although
somewhat inappropriate in a high school setting, still identifies me
more than sufficiently. It has my name, photograph, hell, it even has
my Goddamn student number, a number that apparently stays with you
throughout your whole East Brunswick school career. This student number
is like your Social Security number; it’s fucking “Open Sesame” to all
your information. Szukics had none of it, however. Dumbass. He also
demanded I acquire a proper ID from the library. It was all I could do
to keep myself from laughing in his face. Spend $3 on an ID that’ll
last me 2 months? Riiight. So with
that, I took my ID and shoved off for class, which I was healthily
tardy for. It was Health, in which I sat behind a chair, obscured from
immediate vision, listening to The Beatles for the remainder of the
period. It was awesome. I suppose to avoid a similar situation in the
future, I simply shouldn’t listen to my MP3 player in the hallways