end of school and fools
I got out of school at 11:20am this morning and proclaimed over and over again that I was free. My mom dropped me off at home and then sped back off to work, so I stole her portable CD player, popped in a CD, and locked the door behind me on my way out. I ambled to Thompson Park, sneering in disgust at the cluster of men hacking down trees with chain saws and stuffing the remains into this mammoth piece of machinery that was growling and had revolving teeth. For whatever reason, the concept of clearing trees from a park did not equate, as that seems to be one of the key places in which trees thrive. I circled the lake, CD player in hand, and soon came across a large area where the sand meets the water that had been fenced off. Apparently they were replanting, though I didn't understand what purpose the potato sack-like covering served by blanketing the new seedlings. I cut the path to the bridge because I didn't want to walk past a group of teenagers conversing while sitting atop some picnic tables. An older couple walking their dog were treading in the opposite direction, and what had once been grass and trees to the right of the path was torn up. The thick scent of cow manure poisoned the air where they had pulled back the sod. I continued meandering through streets whose names I didn't know, and every time I began gravitating in the direction of home, I swiveled on my heel and turned back the opposite direction. This pattern did not continue long due to my dire need of water.
Tuesday was the first day of finals this week, and as people were finishing up their photography final, a girl whipped out her cell phone and stood by the door, chatting fairly loudly into the receiver. The instructor commanded her to put away her phone and sit down, and when she didn't comply, he repeated the statement. Eventually she whined in defense that she was calling for a ride, but she continued making no attempt to follow directions, even as the teacher began phoning the office for an escort. After the staff member had arrived and was ready to cart her down, she finally folded up her phone and carefully tucked it away into her purse, asking where she should put the exam she had just taken.
"The trash," he replied.
"Where should I put it?"
"The trash," he reiterated.
She let it flutter into the garbage can on her way out.
During the semester-long photography class, she was notorious for her threads of complaints, and it made me smile when she approached a printing machine in a half of the classroom in which we were instructed not to enter, and she got permanent ink slathered all over her white shirt. Veins protruded from her neck as she screamed at Mr. A, somehow missing the logic that the stain had been a result of her inability to listen. When instructed to stop speaking, she would jerk her head up with irritation and announce that she was talking about boys. I marveled at her obviously God-given talent of completely missing the point, and also that she could even consider holding a conversation about boys when none will ever be interested in her due to her hideousness externally and at heart. To smear frosting over this moist cake of insult, she idolizes S as if she is David Bowie himself -- S, the girl who God must've decided to experiment upon and award a mind constructed of paper mache.
The end.