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Enjoy the show. Throughout high school, my cluelessness and naivety rarely got me into trouble.

In fact, I firmly believe now, as an adult, it probably saved me from a lot of potential misfortune.

That doesn't mean it didn't also contribute heavily to a close call that I had with a real-life

monster. Our math teacher, sophomore year, I found particularly annoying. One of those educators

who always seemed to kind of be put out that she had to

teach a class and made comments about how she felt like she was always babysitting. One saving grace

was that my best friend Nick was in my class. I remember being grateful that I had a friend in

class who would not only provide me

with the sense of familiarity, but also was quite gifted with numbers, and I figured it could

help me ace my math course for once. On the first day, Nick and I walked a class, and when we saw

that the room was set up with chairs and sets of two around the

room, we were pleased and immediately sat down next to each other. Once that teacher entered,

however, our hopes were dashed. She immediately organized us in alphabetical order, and Nick was now

two rows behind me.

On the other hand, there was no one next to me, so I thought, hey, I'll take it.

About 15 minutes in class, the door opened behind me, and when the whole class turned to look,

in walked the school weirdo.

He was a tall goth kid who wandered the halls blasting metal from his headphones,

never speaking to anyone and gave off a very finite fuck-off vibe. His hair was dyed black. He had piercings and tattoos and those unforgettable jeanco jeans. You know the kind. Our instructor

asked his name and when he stoically lifted his class schedule up so she could read it, she directed him to his chair.

...