Straight to hell
The store isn’t very busy as I walk from aisle to aisle, ensuring the stock is topped off and arranged neatly on the shelves. Since I am the only person on the floor, this task is regulated to me, while the others talk on the phone or “test” (a.k.a. play) with the product behind the counter.
As I’m jotting down a few notes on my clipboard, I see someone coming towards me. He looks familiar: short, white, slim build, dark hair. Upon closer inspection, he resembles P, a boy I went to primary school with. Nah. Can’t be. This guy has pretty bad skin, his clothes are a little ratty and his hair needs a good wash.
When I approach him to ask if he needs any help, he responds with a distinct, whispering stutter.
Then it hits me, it is P.
I don't resemble the person from our primary school days - braces, Clearasil, liposuction and an additional few inches in height - while he looks like he was stuck in the clothes dryer on high heat for six years.
He looks at me strangely, as if I am hiding something, while I ask qualifying questions in a cheery demeanour. I give nothing away.
Acknowledging him would mean that I accept him for the person that he is, and accepting him would mean I would have to acknowledge my past. And, I don’t want to do that. The past is just that – the past. That person doesn’t exist, anymore.
After he walks away, I turn around and continue making corrections on the forms attached to my clipboard.
I could’ve said something to P and tell him how nice it was to see him after so many years. It could’ve made his day. It could’ve made him feel special. But, I didn’t.
And for that, I'm going straight to hell.
Note: This happened while I was in high school. Today, I would never do that to someone I know... unless I really don't like them.
As I’m jotting down a few notes on my clipboard, I see someone coming towards me. He looks familiar: short, white, slim build, dark hair. Upon closer inspection, he resembles P, a boy I went to primary school with. Nah. Can’t be. This guy has pretty bad skin, his clothes are a little ratty and his hair needs a good wash.
When I approach him to ask if he needs any help, he responds with a distinct, whispering stutter.
Then it hits me, it is P.
I don't resemble the person from our primary school days - braces, Clearasil, liposuction and an additional few inches in height - while he looks like he was stuck in the clothes dryer on high heat for six years.
He looks at me strangely, as if I am hiding something, while I ask qualifying questions in a cheery demeanour. I give nothing away.
Acknowledging him would mean that I accept him for the person that he is, and accepting him would mean I would have to acknowledge my past. And, I don’t want to do that. The past is just that – the past. That person doesn’t exist, anymore.
After he walks away, I turn around and continue making corrections on the forms attached to my clipboard.
I could’ve said something to P and tell him how nice it was to see him after so many years. It could’ve made his day. It could’ve made him feel special. But, I didn’t.
And for that, I'm going straight to hell.
Note: This happened while I was in high school. Today, I would never do that to someone I know... unless I really don't like them.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
6 Comments:
I also avoid people from my past like the plague. I had nothing to say to them then ... why would I have anything to say to them now? In fact, I always keep my eyes open to see if I recognize someone so I can avoid them before they see me -- in case they would think to initiate conversation.
Although I doubt anyone would recognize me anymore anyway.
Six: Unless you see former classmates on a regular basis (which I'm assuming you don't), it would be hard to recognize them and them you.
But then, right when I say this, I know I'll bump into someone I haven't seen in, like, 10 years.
I have had a few brushes with my past and have either died a hideous death recalling the shit that drove me to the bitter, jaded husk you see before you. OR I've been nice and let them roam free without sticking thier head on a spike. The latter is always better than the former. Don't you agree?
kb
Actually just before I moved down here (5 years ago) I ran into an ex-classmate. I recognized him instantly -- big dumb football jock (it's not a generalization or stereotype -- he really was). He looked the same, but a little fatter, and a lot more poor white trash.
Not sure if he recognized me, so to avoid any confromtation (i.e. meeting) I hightailed it the other direction.
NOTE: I'm VERY good with faces ... I can recognize people pretty quickly.
KB: Even if I did like people from my past, I always try to pretend I don't recognize them.
It makes it so much easier on everyone.
Six: You just reminded me of a time where I ran into someone who packed on the pounds, even though they looked exactly the same as when in high school (I'll be writing about it, now).
Of course, the outcome is typically Steven.
If you're going to hell for ignoring an old classmate...don't worry, I'll save you a seat there.
I don't talk to ANYONE from before the age of 21.
Why bother, I didn't even know myself then. How the hell would they have?
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