Poor luck for the optimist/schmuck who one day called the phone booth that usually sat silent in our high school hallway. A survey about our cafeteria food, you say? Boy, bub, good thing for you that I answered . . .
Leading with the fact that I never actually ate the cafeteria food, I kept that schmo on the phone for at least 45 minutes, ranting away on such urgent topics as the horrors of Beef Pinwheel -- a cafeteria standard about which, fortunately for him, I had a whole theory.
But why stop there? I had opinions for days in those days, and he -- the dope -- sat through them all. A partial list of my usual complaints back then involved enforced pep rallies, enforced typing class, enforcement in general, and the dearth of vegetarian options.
And did you know they keep us trapped in here ALL DAY?
Eventually Mr. Lucky interrupted with a sigh. “Don’t you have any goodie-goodies I can talk to?”
What?
“You know, good girls.”
Oh man, I assured him, there are tons of ’em in here.
“Let me talk to one,” he said.
The halls were filling as classes changed. I stretched the phone receiver temptingly outside the booth, pointing at random girls I didn’t know. “Some guy wants to talk to you.” They veered away from me as they passed.
I went back to the phone. “They don’t want to talk to you.”
Deciding finally to make do with what he had, he let loose with something smutty.
More surprised than I cared to let on, I screamed a laugh into the phone just to split his ears a little and hung up. Then I went looking for another audience, possibly even to class.
Leading with the fact that I never actually ate the cafeteria food, I kept that schmo on the phone for at least 45 minutes, ranting away on such urgent topics as the horrors of Beef Pinwheel -- a cafeteria standard about which, fortunately for him, I had a whole theory.
But why stop there? I had opinions for days in those days, and he -- the dope -- sat through them all. A partial list of my usual complaints back then involved enforced pep rallies, enforced typing class, enforcement in general, and the dearth of vegetarian options.
And did you know they keep us trapped in here ALL DAY?
Eventually Mr. Lucky interrupted with a sigh. “Don’t you have any goodie-goodies I can talk to?”
What?
“You know, good girls.”
Oh man, I assured him, there are tons of ’em in here.
“Let me talk to one,” he said.
The halls were filling as classes changed. I stretched the phone receiver temptingly outside the booth, pointing at random girls I didn’t know. “Some guy wants to talk to you.” They veered away from me as they passed.
I went back to the phone. “They don’t want to talk to you.”
Deciding finally to make do with what he had, he let loose with something smutty.
More surprised than I cared to let on, I screamed a laugh into the phone just to split his ears a little and hung up. Then I went looking for another audience, possibly even to class.
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