Since kindergarten, I've been a part of Public School systems. Everyday filled with turmoil and ridicule. Ever night full of homework and feeling empty inside. This was my typical day in a Public School, 10th Grade.
Every Morning I would wake from a dream I couldn't remember, waking up with the same sense of confusion, pain and morning wood that I have everyday that I wake up. I would slump out of bed, throw myself into a shower, and then meet the family downstairs for breakfast.
The family was alright, I guess. Mom worked early so she was always frantic to get out of the house; my father worked nights so he'd stay in bed until noon, watch TV for an hour, slept another three hours, fix himself a bit of dinner then head off to work; My two sister's argued over everything, whether it was what TV show to watch, which boy they wanted to date, or even what they would want to be when they grew up. Sometimes I felt me and the dog were the only two sane ones in my house, and I think Grover agreed with me.
After a breakfast of either Pop Tarts, cereal with some cartoon character on the box, or milk, depending upon how hungry I would be, I'd wait outside with my two sisters, arguing who would sit next to the window, waiting for the bus to pull up and take me to school. Ours was one of the first stops, so we had to get up a bit earlier than others, and were always some of the first to see our bus driver, the 65 year old Vietnam war veteran who we were sure was a Neo Nazi.
The yellow bus would pull up, as usual, the doors opening for us. We'd enter the bus, looking at Harvey as he'd grunt with that same "I don't have to do this job" grunt he gave every morning. I'd always move towards the back of the bus, seated away from my sisters and the Nazi at the front. I'd ride the whole way talking to no one, Slipknot, Disturbed, All That Remains; typical music to drowns out life and makes me feel like punting a box of kitten into a burning orphanage.
The ride was always a long, bumpy one; the roads of our town weren't exactly in the best of conditions. If you'd walk down the aisle way of the bus while it was still moving, you'd see row after row of living, breathing bobble heads. Not as fun as it sounds. And don't even get me started with the pot holes. Those things could send a kid through the roof with the lousy shocks on our bus.
The bus would always drop us off in the back of the school, making us walk to our lockers and get our things. Neo Nazi Harvey would always arrive at the same time each day, giving us exactly five minutes to get from the bus to our lockers and then to our classes. Everytime I'd get off the bus, he'd tell me the exact same thing;
"Have fun in hell!" He'd laugh and then drive off. He was such a Bastard.
I'd get to my locker and class on time, but that was only the start of my day.
First Hour: Elective Poetry Concepts and Understanding.
Teacher: Mrs. Hampshire, the Babe of the entire teaching staff.
As I'd sit in my classroom, waiting for the class to start, I'd talk with my buddy Jared. He was that guy everyone is fiends with. He talks to everyone, knows everyone, even thinks like almost everyone.
"You do the homework?" He'd asked everyday.
"Why else would I show up?" I'd always reply.
The class was always the same; Mrs. Hampshire would teach us about something we really didn't care about; we'd wait patiently, hoping she'd lean forward wearing one of her low cut, fancy shirts she'd always wear; feeling disappointed as we watched her about to do so, then the bell would ring.
My next three classes would be Gym, Math and Woodshop. Gym was always playing sports like Baseball or Football, with Dodgeball every other day. I liked Dodgeball, mainly because I was good at it. I'd always be the last one standing, and half the time would win at the last second. The other half I get bombarded by red rubber.
Math I never really liked, mostly because I prefer letters, not numbers. And, thinking that way, you'd think Algebra and Calculus would be a draw for me, seeing as they include letter. Guess again.
Woodshop, however, I always liked. Cutting and Shaping wood, Varnishing it to make it shine, Sanding it down...you know what, you get the idea. I'll stop there to keep this innuendo from continuing.
Then, I'd go to lunch. Our cafeteria could fit 2500 people. We had 3000. Thankfully, our school allowed off campus lunch, so most anyone with a car or desire enough to walk would leave. I wasn't one of them.
Everyday, I'd sit at the same table with my three friends, talking about comics, movies, video games; anything that was electronic and entertaining for us. We'd laugh and joke, but ultimately felt empty inside as we refused to eat the food provided, seeing as it felt like it would attack us if we poke it with an eating utensil.
The bell would ring, and we'd leave. Basically, we were a cattle race in my school; The bells were just there to tell us when and where to go for grazing.
Psychology was always after lunch, and thanks to me not eating, I didn't have to worry about vomiting at some of the stuff we learned. For a psychology class, Mr. Norbert would show us a lot of pictures of serial killers work and mentally unstable nut jobs who like to eat thier own fingers. Great stuff to watch. We even saw a video of a brain dissection once. I was one of the only people of three that didn't run out the room either crying or vomiting, some people doing both. I kind of thought he was showing what he would do on weekends, sometimes.
I think the weirdest part of the class was when he showed us the subliminal messages in everyday things. Watch a Disney film, it promotes sex. Look at a famous painting, it promotes sex. I think he just had a sex addiction, because that's the only kind of subliminal message he would show us.
I'd then move on to Science, where I was always worried I'd blow the lab up. Instead, our teacher just had us watch Mythbusters and Dirty Jobs and find scientific ways that the stuff they did was practical. Basically, he just didn't give a damn.
Study Hall was always fun, because I just slept. End of discussion.
And finally I had Art. I wasn't the best at drawing, but I could win awards for my paintings. Or at least that's what I've been told. Haven't gotten a damn thing yet. Actually, I did get a detention once, because I painted a portrait of a nude woman, like Leonardo Da Vinci or some other dfamous painter from way back when did. Back then it was Art; today it's 'Immoral.'
I'd always wait for the bus afterwards, outside watching as kids got on to go home. Our bus was always the last one to show up, mainly because Harvey's a dick. Like my morning ride, I'd listen to my headphones blowing metal music as we rode home, Harvey taking the bumpiest route possible. Because we were some of the first to get on, that meant we were some of the last to get off. Just more time for me to bond with Harvey.
I'd get home and just slump around. Listen to music, look at porn of on the Internet, occasionally go on Cracked.com and write a Topic about a day in the life of me; the usual stuff for a guy my age.
At the end of the day, after a dinner with an over worked mother, twin sisiters who need to be sedated to get any sleep, and a dog that looks like if it could hold a gun it would shoot itself, I'd hit the sack after a few hours of video games, the occasional book when I really want to read, which wasn't very often.