A story that may look familiar
I'm in drama class, in jazz shoes and athletic shorts, ringing my hands waiting for the producer check in for my AIDS Benefit piece, when Ben comes dashing across the stage and hands me one of those faded yellow passes. I'm rather annoyed that my counselor wants to call me in in the middle of a rather important rehearsal, but I change into my street clothes as fast as humanly possible and make a mad dash for the counseling office, ready to break some heads.
I get there and flop down in the chair near Mr. Garcia's desk, feeling a bit out of breath. I'll try to reproduce this conversation as closely as I can. I know I've taken artistic license with conversations in the past, but I promise my inventive little mind hasn't in any way skewed or changed this particular dialogue.
Me: Hi, Mr. Garcia. I'm rather in the middle of something important right now, so what's going on?
Mr. Garcia: [Takes the pass] The pass says 'senior mtg' on it. You're not in trouble or anything.
Me: I didn't think I was.
Mr. Garcia: What does 'mtg' stand for?
Me: ... I assumed it stood for 'meeting.'
Mr. Garcia: Good. That's what I thought too. I've been signing passes with 'senior mtg' on it all day.
[A brief, rather bemused silence. Mr. Garcia shuffles some papers.]
Mr. Garcia: Looks like you're all set to graduate. What colleges are you thinking of applying to?
Me: Hm. Well, the University of Chicago; UC San Diego, Santa Barbara, Santa Cruz and Berkeley; Cal Poly; and possibly USC.
Mr. Garcia: USC, hm? That's new.
Me: Yeah. My dad's family has some alumni of USC, so it'd be kind of a legacy. Actually, it's funny. If I went to USC, I'd be a Trojan, and my boyfriend, who attends San José State, is a Spartan!
[Pause.]
Mr. Garcia: What, did they not get along or something?
Me: [Disbelieving.] ... no. No, they didn't.
Mr. Garcia: Ah... I hate it when they don't get along.
---
Mr. Garcia is, essentially, my role-model. I can only hope to be half that man is someday.
Cheers, and enjoy the lovely autumn weather,
- Jessica
I get there and flop down in the chair near Mr. Garcia's desk, feeling a bit out of breath. I'll try to reproduce this conversation as closely as I can. I know I've taken artistic license with conversations in the past, but I promise my inventive little mind hasn't in any way skewed or changed this particular dialogue.
Me: Hi, Mr. Garcia. I'm rather in the middle of something important right now, so what's going on?
Mr. Garcia: [Takes the pass] The pass says 'senior mtg' on it. You're not in trouble or anything.
Me: I didn't think I was.
Mr. Garcia: What does 'mtg' stand for?
Me: ... I assumed it stood for 'meeting.'
Mr. Garcia: Good. That's what I thought too. I've been signing passes with 'senior mtg' on it all day.
[A brief, rather bemused silence. Mr. Garcia shuffles some papers.]
Mr. Garcia: Looks like you're all set to graduate. What colleges are you thinking of applying to?
Me: Hm. Well, the University of Chicago; UC San Diego, Santa Barbara, Santa Cruz and Berkeley; Cal Poly; and possibly USC.
Mr. Garcia: USC, hm? That's new.
Me: Yeah. My dad's family has some alumni of USC, so it'd be kind of a legacy. Actually, it's funny. If I went to USC, I'd be a Trojan, and my boyfriend, who attends San José State, is a Spartan!
[Pause.]
Mr. Garcia: What, did they not get along or something?
Me: [Disbelieving.] ... no. No, they didn't.
Mr. Garcia: Ah... I hate it when they don't get along.
---
Mr. Garcia is, essentially, my role-model. I can only hope to be half that man is someday.
Cheers, and enjoy the lovely autumn weather,
- Jessica