Filed under: Facebook, High School, Probably Not The Best Idea, The Good Ole Days
I was wasting time on Facebook last night when a little red box popped up in the bottom right corner of my screen. One new notification. This is the equivalent of a getting a wrapped gift from your grandmother on any day that isn’t your birthday. It’s probably something you’re going to throw away within 30 seconds of opening, but you weren’t expecting anything, so hey, SURPRISE!
My surprise this time was an invitation to my high school’s 10-year reunion. This was the worst surprise I’ve ever received. Ever. Worse than the Christmas sweater my grandmother knitted me, when I was 7, that had a picture of Rudolph on the front, and his nose lit up. I don’t know how the fuck she got it to do that, but I hated her for it.
Here’s the thing about high school reunions. For the first 2 years after high school, you’re just happy to get away from all the morons you had to see on a daily basis the 3 years before. Then you go through a 4-5 year period where you graduate from college, start your career and move on to the next phase of your life. But then, once the 8th year out rolls around, you start to think about where your life has gone, and you wonder what other people have done with their own lives since senior year. You start to think that maybe that asshole from English turned out to be a nice guy after all. That maybe the rhinoceros who had a crush on you in accounting will have shed a few hundred pounds and be worthy of a phone call these days. That, right there, is the point where you start looking forward to your 10-year reunion.
But, thanks to Facebook, the high school reunion has been rendered obsolete. All those people I hated 10 years ago? I’d still hate them now. Nothing’s changed. I’ve seen the pictures. I’ve rejected the friend requests. The people I would like to see again? I’m probably already friends with them anyway. Why ruin a night with them by sprinkling in a whole slew of jackasses I could care less about ever running into? (Unless it were with my car.)
So thank you, Facebook, for saving me from a night of pure, unadulterated torture. Because I’d rather run razorblades across my entire body and dive into a sea of hydrogen peroxide than listen to what Stephanie Wickman has been doing with herself for the last ten years.
For more on the shit show that is the high school reunion, I refer you to this page:
Who Are You Going To Run Into At Your High School Class Reunion?
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