388 Boothe Shot First.


I didn’t have to be on the jury, which is probably good for all parties involved.

Okay, so you know how when you were in school these was always that one guy who had the big sideburns and wore the paperboy hat,  or the guy that always came to school in a suit and tie, even though there wasn’t a dress code?  I wasn’t either of those guys, but I knew them.  I hung around with them.  I’m sure that if a person went to a larger school there would be more than one of these guys wandering around.  Honestly, they’re douchebags.  Maybe it’s easier to see that in retrospect, or maybe it’s easier to remember them since they had a uniform to accompany their douchiness.  (For the record, I was the nondescript fat guy.  Not to be confused with the popular fat guy, like your Chris Farley types)  I’m not sure, but I know these archetypes still exist.  I see them wandering around.  The funny thing is that their parents don’t seem to be the earlier generation’s hat guy, or suit guy.  They simply take up the mantle spontaneously.  Like they get possessed by some shared memory.  Usually they grow out of those tendencies, but it seems like they are forever marked.  The suit guy ends up liking expensive coffee and wearing corduroy jackets, and the hat guy eventually starts selling weed and gets all political.  Strangely, they both have a predilection for wispy beards…

Why do I bring any of this up?  I had a dream where I was the suit kid.  I wasn’t myself, but I was playing the part of the young debate enthusiast.  I was hanging out with a group of teenage stereotypes, one of which was hat kid, and ended up getting soda spilt on my pants.  Of course I had a spare set of clothes in my briefcase, along with my debate notes, so I went to the unisex restroom to change.  I’ve never heard of a school with unisex restrooms, but whatever.  It was a dream and it seemed logical at the time.  Anyway, I changed my pants and was checking my hair when someone started yelling through the door. 

It was a fat girl named Natasha.  I have no idea why I remember that.  She wanted to know how long I was going to take, and I said that the door wasn’t locked (It didn’t have a lock on it.) and she could come in and do whatever she needed to.  So she did, and I went out. 

That was the whole dream.  Completely pointless as far as I can tell.  Got me thinking about those teen stereotypes though.