LJ Idol - Season 8, week 4
Whether you look back fondly or not I’m sure everyone remembers high school. The anxiety of your first day, the chaos of the cafeteria, the natural ebb and flow of the semester system. What I remember most clearly are the people who populated the school I attended for five years*.
Being a drama nerd and self-proclaimed band geek the people who first come to mind when I reminisce are fellow actors and musicians; the people I spent years taking classes, going on trips, competing in competitions with. These people made up my best friends, my first love, my confidantes. They were the lifeblood of my high school experience.
Then there are all the others who attended high school at the same time I did. The sporty kids I never really got to know because sports practices and play rehearsals always took place concurrently. There were the smokers and potheads who never spent a minute more than they had to in the building. And there was another group, a very special group I have and will forever call chicken-heads.
Now, in my further adventures through life I’ve realized the most common meaning to that term is quite different from mine (a quick check on Urban Dictionary will explain if you’re unfamiliar) but suffice to say to me a chicken-head is a phoney, vapid, popularity-hungry girl who, despite her actual level of intelligence, acts like she’s dumb as a post and spreads fake friendliness anywhere she goes. I’m sure you’ve encountered such a specimen before. If you haven’t, I’m impressed, and a little jealous.
In my white, middle-to-upper middle class public Catholic high school, there was a fairly large amount of privilege happening on any given day. Even by that standard these girls were a special breed. They walked those halls like models strutting down a runway. They smiled and flipped their hair with the best of them. They moved with a kind of hive-mind, cutting their hair in the same style (long and blonde, no bangs), doing their make-up the same way (powder and mascara with just a hint of lip), coordinating their outfits for non-uniform days (skirts or dresses the first day, sweatpants the second), always commanding the awe and adoration you could tell they felt they deserved.
Because of the different circles we ran in my exposure to girls like this was low. In hindsight, this was a bit of a double-edged sword - I was grateful to escape the infuriating experience, but because of that I lacked a certain expert knowledge in how to deal with these girls. As a result I was constantly astounded by their sheer egotism, especially in the face of the Catholic school teachers and administrators, who seemed to dote on them and allow them any and every concession.
In my second-last year at the school I thought it might be a good idea to run for student council. It was rare to see someone from outside that in-crowd holding court in the council office, but I had an appetite and an aptitude for leadership and felt I would be good for the job. I planned a campaign, daydreamed about slogans and speeches, and picked up a nomination form when elections were called. I was quite excited about it, until I heard that one of the chicken-heads was planning to run for the same position. I was paralysed. I desperately wanted to stand for election but felt I had no chance against one of them. I debated with myself for a week before deciding not to turn in a nomination form. I bought into the over-confidence she exuded and absented myself from the process before it had even begun.
I will forever regret not running. She got acclaimed and spent her entire term working on a boy who didn’t want to be with her. I would have at least spent it working on the things I’d been elected to do.
* In Ontario, at the time I went through high school it was a five-year program.
Being a drama nerd and self-proclaimed band geek the people who first come to mind when I reminisce are fellow actors and musicians; the people I spent years taking classes, going on trips, competing in competitions with. These people made up my best friends, my first love, my confidantes. They were the lifeblood of my high school experience.
Then there are all the others who attended high school at the same time I did. The sporty kids I never really got to know because sports practices and play rehearsals always took place concurrently. There were the smokers and potheads who never spent a minute more than they had to in the building. And there was another group, a very special group I have and will forever call chicken-heads.
Now, in my further adventures through life I’ve realized the most common meaning to that term is quite different from mine (a quick check on Urban Dictionary will explain if you’re unfamiliar) but suffice to say to me a chicken-head is a phoney, vapid, popularity-hungry girl who, despite her actual level of intelligence, acts like she’s dumb as a post and spreads fake friendliness anywhere she goes. I’m sure you’ve encountered such a specimen before. If you haven’t, I’m impressed, and a little jealous.
In my white, middle-to-upper middle class public Catholic high school, there was a fairly large amount of privilege happening on any given day. Even by that standard these girls were a special breed. They walked those halls like models strutting down a runway. They smiled and flipped their hair with the best of them. They moved with a kind of hive-mind, cutting their hair in the same style (long and blonde, no bangs), doing their make-up the same way (powder and mascara with just a hint of lip), coordinating their outfits for non-uniform days (skirts or dresses the first day, sweatpants the second), always commanding the awe and adoration you could tell they felt they deserved.
Because of the different circles we ran in my exposure to girls like this was low. In hindsight, this was a bit of a double-edged sword - I was grateful to escape the infuriating experience, but because of that I lacked a certain expert knowledge in how to deal with these girls. As a result I was constantly astounded by their sheer egotism, especially in the face of the Catholic school teachers and administrators, who seemed to dote on them and allow them any and every concession.
In my second-last year at the school I thought it might be a good idea to run for student council. It was rare to see someone from outside that in-crowd holding court in the council office, but I had an appetite and an aptitude for leadership and felt I would be good for the job. I planned a campaign, daydreamed about slogans and speeches, and picked up a nomination form when elections were called. I was quite excited about it, until I heard that one of the chicken-heads was planning to run for the same position. I was paralysed. I desperately wanted to stand for election but felt I had no chance against one of them. I debated with myself for a week before deciding not to turn in a nomination form. I bought into the over-confidence she exuded and absented myself from the process before it had even begun.
I will forever regret not running. She got acclaimed and spent her entire term working on a boy who didn’t want to be with her. I would have at least spent it working on the things I’d been elected to do.
* In Ontario, at the time I went through high school it was a five-year program.