When I finally made it to High School I was already doing drugs and forming my own opinions about the world. I could already see the legions of slaves fighting traffic and reporting to their taskmasters every morning. Then after a long day at work returning home to squeeze out a few hours of freedom to spend with their family or keep up with the house and yard. Everywhere I looked was a chain and shackles, the epitome of a dreamless population settling for the first decent thing that comes their way. Conform, assimilate and reproduce–and somewhere down the road you'll find something you don't want to slit your wrists about.
I was taught by those same conformists, the mortgage protectors. People trapped by possessions were giving me the same hook. The curriculum was memorization-work, buy, work, buy, 2+2=4, work, the meaning of Robert Frost is that its boring and stupid to take the past less travelled, buy, the Pythagorean theory is for private schoolers with a future…reproduce.
I made straight "A"s because I was high. I dosed my first hit of Acid when I was 15 because I wanted to hallucinate, my friends threw a blanket over me and kicked my ass, we all thought it was funny. I smoked cigarettes because it was a sign of rebellion and began to fight and slam dance because it was the only thing that felt real. On the weekends, we used to hang out at Dragon Park next to Vanderbilt University where all the Skin Heads, Punks and Skaters used to congregate, drink, do drugs and set off explosives (one time someone threw a live grenade).
Most of my friends were the misfits, the skaters, punks, dopers, and the strange. Sure I had friends all over the gamut, cheerleaders, jocks, rednecks most of which turned out to be the crack heads and the single moms of my town. Funny the popular kids had the harder time once out of high school, I guess leaving a world that they ruled and going into one that could give a shit, leaves a hole to fill, maybe with drugs, maybe with sex, maybe with robbery, or maybe with denial.
My best friend Aaron developed a nasty Heroin Habit in Eleventh Grade and started talking about suicide. He would cut himself and finally got a gun from someone at Dragon Park. My friend Eric and I ratted him out to his mom, that night he was placed in rehab. Eric and I felt like hypocrites so we went "straight edge" pretty much through the rest of high school. No drugs, no alcohol, not even cigarettes. Without drugs I found it very hard to stay focused in school and my "A" average dropped to a "B".
I worked with convicts after school at McDonald's, a place where my manager sold drugs through the drive through window. My friend Eric and I worked there for about two years. Our better-ass classmates would come in and ask us why we worked there with disgust. I guess it was that no one ever painted a better picture or told me that the world was bigger than the suburban slavery I was surrounded by.
I realize now, even way back then I was mentally defeated. Growing up my father was the first to remind me of our families limitations. Both my parents worked 6AM to 6PM everyday except weekends. When i wanted to play sports I was told I couldn't because they didn't have time to take me to practice. When I was sixteen, I was instructed to get a job that I could walk to, so I could save up to by a car. Thus McDonald's. Then when it was time to graduate I was on my own.
My High School class was 407, I was number 72. We had fights about three times a week. Luckily no guns, just knives, chains and kids getting set on fire (but he deserved it). My tenth grade science teacher was arrested for dealing cocaine in class one day, it was a drag because his class policy was that as long as we didn't wake him up we'd all get "A"s. I remember being beat up at my locker by some rednecked camaro loving fuckers and the shop teacher just laughed.
…but I loved playing bombardment in gym class.