The Eighth Page

Dreams of Hatred

Lately certain things about this school have been making me furious. There are the obvious ones, like the fact that I know a crack addict who gets more sleep than I do, and then there are the less obvious ones, like the fact that if you wash your hands in the Commons bathroom, you’ll smell like a hospital for the next six years. I’ve been trying to hold back for so long now, writing only upbeat articles about things I like, such as roast beef and the color magenta, but it’s time I let out my frustration. I either let my feelings out now, or I pay 500 bucks an hour for that guy from Frasier to listen to my problems when I’m 40. Complaint #1: Silence rules that are enforced in the library. Let’s be honest: nobody really goes to the library to study. There are some rare exceptions, like if you need one of those “books” they have all over the place, or if your Microsoft Word doesn’t work because you dripped taco remnants all over your keyboard (but if I had to make the choice again, it was a delicious taco…) Anyway, the library is an incredibly social place, and I think that the librarians should recognize that; first by wearing bright magenta suits everywhere, and second by addressing every student as either “Captain Duckford” or “Raoul.” These names really have nothing to do with my suggestion, but I’d be in the library a whole lot more often if they called me Raoul there. Complaint #2: Those squirrels that make you think they’re going to let you pet them, and then wuss out at the end. Seriously, every squirrel on this campus stands still and lets you walk within six inches of it, but when you try to touch it, then nnnnnnooooo, Mr. Squirrel isn’t so crazy about the idea anymore, is he? I am reminded of an old French proverb that goes a little something like this: “Parlevous jansouis wis, ouis chois deltois bois,” which translated into English means “You silly American. Why you try to touch de squirrel? You and your fancy jogging suits, I blow smoke in your general direction. Also, every word in our language ends with the letters ‘ois’.” And what a proverb it is. Complaint #3: That show Fear Factor. I know it doesn’t really relate to the school, but if I see the commercials for one more episode, I’m going to flip out and attack Dennis Hopper. Yeah, that’s right, the guy from Speed. Anyway, every time I see an ad for the show, I hear something along these lines, “And on the next episode of Fear Factor, we get a bunch of contestants to climb on something sort of high with tons of safety ropes. Oh, and then eat something people in foreign countries eat all the time and enjoy, but since all we have on this show are unsophisticated jerks from North Dakota who need to buy a new tractor, we don’t have to worry about it.” I’m sick of all these ads. Can’t I just watch Martha Stewart Living IN PEACE!?!? Complaint #4: Requirements. Let me do a quick impression for you: “OOOOHHH, I’m Andover, I want kids to know how to do things. OOOHHHH!!!” In case you were wondering, I was just impersonating Andover. Why are the students here required to take classes? If you ask me, everything I needed to learn I learned from Davis, the salty old craps champion who lived outside of my house when I was nine. He might not have had the best hygiene, but he knew his stuff. In fact, if it weren’t for Davis, I never would have been accepted to this school, since my whole admissions process was a $6,000 bet against the number 31. Davis was really on fire that day. Complaint #5: Baked scrod. Seriously, I just really hate baked scrod. Well that’s all the complaining I can fit in for my article. I have a lot more to talk about, but I don’t think anyone cares about how much time a week I spend combing my leg hair besides me. If you agree with any of my complaints, feel free to start a petition, as petitions have had a long and successful history here at Phillips Academy. Anyway, I’m gonna’ go eat some chocolate pudding out of the birdbath.