That Young Adult Minefield Otherwise Known as High School

Trench Warfare

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Want to be rendered completely inconsequential?

Get on a school bus full of teenagers.

Oh, yes. I did.

The Boy had a choir concert a few weeks ago and I was working that night. I volunteered to "chaperon" during their day practice (read: be an adult presence to prevent civil unrest) so I could hear the concert. I figured chances were good I would get called out that evening and I didn't want to miss it (my instincts were correct on this one.)

Part of the gig entailed my riding with the kids to the auditorium. This, apparently, was non-negotiable, so I did was I was told despite my wanting to turn and run straight into 2010 when I heard this small detail. Picture, if you will, me sitting on the bus, little clipboard in hand and looking all "official", right? Picture, if you will, me sitting in the very front, specially-made-for-nerds-and-or-THAT-parent seat. I had a great view of the sprawling box, nay, school, in front of me. I busy myself scanning the sheet for names I recognize from The Boy's earlier years.

The pack begins it's decent (or, in this case, ascent.)

I get a few cursory glances but for the most part, I'm ignored. Which is fine.

And then The Boy gets on. He looks straight ahead. Not a glace my way. Not a nod of recognition. Not a small smile, nay, not even a wink. He walks on, and on, and on....to the very back of the bus.

It's embarrassing, you see, to have a parent.

Riding the bus? Yeah, it's as bad as you remember. Teenage dramas notwithstanding (with the music, and the who's going to sit where and with whom, and the subtle yet oh-so-rigid pecking order), you don't realize how many potholes are on your city streets until you're on a school bus. Because let me tell you they hit Every. Single. One. It's not unlike a carnival ride--the bounce is enough to warrant head gear, and more importantly? Texting is damn near impossible (The Geek was getting a play-by-play).

Upon arrival at our destination we are combined with other teenagers both young and old from other schools in the district.

It was like going to the zoo and observing a pit of vipers.

Lord help us all, teenage girls? Volumes and frequencies so unreal that dogs for 4 square blocks were howling.

And guys let me just say this: if you're having trouble meeting said girls, join the choir. Seriously. You've got a 2:1 girl-to-boy ratio working in your favor. I don't care where you land on the Geek/Stud continuum you cannot go wrong with these kind of numbers working in your favor.

Some snipits of conversation:

"Where's Fro? Fro owes me money!"

"Oh my GAWD. That guy in the blue shirt was SO checking me out! I was like, EW! Turn away!"

"Ohmigod! This is my SONG!"

"Hey, guess what? I got a job! When did I interview? Yesterday! And when did they hire me? Yesterday!" The friend responds: "Really? When do you start?" The answer: "I dunno."

Of course there was the one dude who showed up an hour after everyone else, way too cool to ever remove his shades.

And there was the teacher who completely lost her cool and told all her high-schoolers they were acting worse than the middle school kids. She might as well have told them she didn't like their choice in clothing for all the good it did. That is until she threatened to take their lunch away. Which I gathered is paramount to purgatory.

And the (white) guy with a solo part in a gospel tune. The young man was rather enthusiastic about his role. I'm talking channeling the Protestant-Preacher-on-a-Sunday-Morning-Thank-You-JEEZ US-For-Showing-Us-the-Path-To-Redemption enthusiastic. The gravelly voice. The forceful delivery. The fists in the air. The feet a'stompin'. The Elvis hips and Bono cum The Fly ego. All present and accounted for. To the vast amusement of his peers (and, quite frankly, me.) But you gotta love those kids, they all cheered for him when he finished.

And, lest I forget, the Alpha Girls. Of which no gathering of say, three or more, would be complete without.

The whole experience was more surreal than I would like to admit. You don't ever want to go back there. Trust me.

Here they are! I present to you Young America's Finest: