Citizen M is a regular columnist for The Mountain. The anonymous writer provides a sarcastic and cynical view of student concerns.
Hola, mi M-igos! It’s Citizen M here, back for another year of ranting and causing somewhat-pessimistic mayhem. This issue, we will be discussing the correlation between lame plays on words in the beginning of a sentence and the number of people who roll their eyes. My apologies, everyone — creativity is limited when school is in session.
School. The word burns our eyes and simultaneously burns our energy. The word school to us teenagers even tastes sour as it comes out of our mouths. Technically, we’ve already endured an entire quarter of homework and, for some of us, tears. But I think I speak for all of us when I still simply say, “School? No, thanks.”
It’s pretty obvious why school causes dramatic turmoil within the student body. We have to get up early, we have hours of work to do, and the freshmen all decide to stand right in front of the doors connecting one hallway to another (cough, cough).
Everything is a problem for us adolescents. So you would think that, with all of this piling on top of our hectic lives, nothing could make it worse. You’re wrong. One word. Thermostats.
When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I do is put on some new clothes (which I hope is an activity you all engage in, as well). Usually, what I wear is based off of two core factors: the level of my laziness and the weather on that day.
Although laziness is a considerably more influential factor, weather still plays a pretty big role in the decision of my sick threads. Is it a nice pants day or sweatpants day? Is it flippers or boots? Dress or cardboard box? Usually, I just hit my alarm clock, stand up, stick my hand out the window, and see if the sky and I are smiling. But lately, even this previously foolproof method stands to be invalid.
Picture it — you’re sauntering down the sidewalk of Mt. Hebron High School, ready to show up like you weren’t even invited. Girls, you’re sporting your Ugg boots and sweater things; guys, you’ve got your khaki pants and rad polo. You woke up feeling pretty good, and you’re walking into the front doors looking pretty good. The bell rings, and you kill it heading down the hallway to first period. And then, you walk into first period, ready to absolutely destroy any test or person coming your way when BAM. Heat stroke.
I can see myself in 20 years looking back and still not being able to explain how deeply and disappointingly the temperature of our school has affected me. How, at 6:00 am, with the remains of sleep still clogging our eyes and our comforters wrapped tightly around our un-energetic selves, were we supposed to know that it would suddenly become 4 billion degrees when we walked into class?
Let’s go back to that imagination of yours. You feel yourself sweating and your palms start to do that weird clammy thing. You desperately need to abort the situation. So, like any normal, forward-thinking person, you just take off the puffy jacket and pull down your sunglasses. This serves as only a temporary solution, though, because as soon as you walk into SECOND period — Ice Age.
I first enrolled in school back in the day when crayons were the most professional writing tool (don’t even get me started on that 64-pack, hot dog), nap time was more important than everything else, and crying was a daily part of every single day.
I can see myself in 20 years looking back and still not being able to explain how deeply and disappointingly the temperature of our school has affected me.
Back then, room temperature wasn’t an issue. We didn’t have to worry our tiny infantile selves over what Hello Kitty sweater or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles jacket we should wear.
While it could be argued that those first three things I mentioned are still pretty significant in our high school lives (seriously, 64 different crayons? How are there even that many colors?), it is certain that this inconsistency of temperature in our classes has begun to overshadow what really matters. The question, “Why can’t things be like they were in kindergarten?” arises for the thousandth time in our adolescent lives every time we go to class.
Honestly, I have the utmost respect for this fine establishment for the county. But they need to get it together. Personally, and this is just me, I would rather not die of dehydration, or frostbite, for that matter, when I’m trying to apply the quadratic formula in the middle of math class. The words “room temperature” ring like the angels in heaven themselves have descended unto my ears. Trust us, Mt. Hebron; lukewarm is perfectly okay (just not with the obvious — Campbell’s ravioli, coffee, pool water…other things that make me uncomfortable when bland).
School is difficult, which is understandable — you know, the whole “college” and “getting an education” and “becoming pretty alright” thing is significant for us underdeveloped human beings. But — and I think I speak for a good portion of the students — class shouldn’t be super hot, and it shouldn’t be super cold. It should be super in the middle. That would certainly make our classroom environment a bit more enjoyable.
Until next time, my fellow classmates and faculty members, stay fresh and funky.