I’ll see people on the street, and I’ll think to myself “I went to school with that guy.” Not that I did. I don’t know them from Adam. I just mean that type of person, not that specific person. You know what I mean. The Princess-Girl, super popular because she’s so lovely, but bitchy and high-maintenance. Or Sporty-Girl, the athletic girl with the fantastic body and sparkling eyes but plain hair and makeup.
What about Cool-Guy! Remember Cool-Guy? Everyone loved Cool-Guy, even though he wasn’t sure why he was cool, but more than happy enough to go along for the ride and reap the chickular rewards.
There was Warhol-Guy? You know, the one with the mod wardrobe, architectural hair and mismatched bowling shoes. The guy who went out of his way to be different than everyone else.
The Dirty Librarian. You know, the girl with the glasses who was way hotter than she would believe, but would rather bury her nose in a book than try to figure out why the captain of the basketball team was trying to get her attention.
Art-Fag. Everyone had Art-Fag. This had nothing to do with either gay or art, and everything to do with pretension so thick and rubbery you could dull a ginsu knife on it. Art-Fag was ten times cooler than everyone else because he could paint. Or draw. or would carve a massive penis with a dove on top of it out of a snowbank and call it commentary. Don’t forget the musical sub-class – the Jazz Fag, who was better than any famous musician and a music-snob too.
Surely you recall Late-Bloomer? Either a boy or a girl who somehow ended with a biological clock running a year behind everyone elses? They were as children amongst the giants, frustrated by genetics and a lack of verticality. Late-Bloomer also had a corollary you’ll remember. Mustache-Guy. You know him. The dude who had the full mustache in grade six.
Just a small cross section, to be sure, but one everyone can relate to. Which was I?
Maybe I was better than Lennon, better than Picaso and had more bowling shoes than the Cosmic Bowl. I might have been higher maintenance than a Jaguar, might have raced bikes and skis despite my glasses, and could have started shaving in grade eight.
One things for sure, I could never ever figure out why everyone liked me so much, considering how short I was.