“If opportunity doesn’t knock, build a door.” Doesn’t that just make you feel all warm and tingly inside? You might say, “All your articles make me feel like that, Citizen M!”
Hi. It’s me again.
Originally, I was just inserting that quote to a) create an artistic appeal, b) seem intellectual and one with myself, and c) show my appreciation of doors. But recently, a few sources have approached me with a rather pressing issue — sitting. Okay, yeah, my inspirational quote has nothing to do with sitting, but I really liked it. Just work with me.
Back to sitting. Not just ANY sitting, though. I mean THE Sitting. Woah, capital S? Yeah. It’s that important. It’s the Sitting that encompasses the entirety of our high school struggles into something beautiful and surreal.
The Senior Courtyard. Lunch eaters everywhere anxiously await their not-necessarily formal induction into that jolly square of superiority for 3 years. Once the seniors leave in May and go on to do adult things, it’s a known ritual for the upcoming seniors to shuffle into their place.
It’s a privilege — nay, a right — for these blooming young adolescents to solidify their place in the courtyard. The moment they step foot through those doors, and the clouds part and rays of sunlight shine down as the four infamous tables shed an incandescent light and the breeze blows and the concrete… doesn’t do anything — that’s when they know. They made it.
SIKE! They thought! Because, to their dismay, as they found themselves experiencing this touching moment, they also found a bunch of underclassmen sitting in THEIR courtyard. Hey! You! Non-seniors! It’s not called the Senior Courtyard for giggles, I promise. Did you happen to notice that it’s literally all seniors? “What? Woah!” Yeah, no, it’s not new. You’ve been here all year, maybe even two. Don’t flatter yourself with ignorance.
I guess I should first say props, though. If I were an underclassman, I would never even consider the idea of sitting in the Senior Courtyard. So congrats on having the courage to do something that makes everyone else really angry! I said it takes three years to get there. That’s 21 in dog years. That means you (and your dog) have to wait just like all the other simple folk.
The argument that your senior friends invited you there is invalid. That’s like saying I can bring in a giant panda bear because he’s my friend, right? Okay, yeah, they aren’t the most compatible of comparisons, but you’re catchin’ my drift. I can guarantee that while you might be friends with one or two of them, the other 15 or so actual seniors aren’t very happy about your presence. Unless you are literally Barack Obama, you don’t get special privileges. If you want to be the president, you have to start with being like, a governor. Then build your way up to the House of Representatives or the Senate and then… I don’t know. The secret service. Politics.
I’m also going to point out the fact that the Courtyard, in all its greatness, has minimal shade. So I say to you: DON’T take up the shade! You’re young. A little sunburn won’t hurt you. And really, the best way to prevent this little indiscretion is NOT to come into the Courtyard at all.
Yes, it’s nice outside and everyone is, indeed, a child of Mother Nature. But Mom says if you’re not a senior, peace out! Go inside. You can get fresh air on yo’ own turf.
This is no personal attack. You’re all probably great people. But the year’s almost over. I think you can withstand a few more weeks of cafeteria hoopla. I’m not quite sure what that means, but I don’t care. I’m in the Senior Courtyard.
So, here’s a summary that should translate a bit more simply.
The Senior Courtyard is for seniors.
Dog years are, in fact, important.
You are not Barack Obama.
Remember that quote? About the doors? Yes, if the opportunity doesn’t present itself, go after it on your own! Except, like, if you’re an underclassman attempting to get into the Courtyard. You shouldn’t be building any doors, unless it’s on your way out of our space and into the cafeteria. I am now realizing that the quote probably worked more against me than in favor of me, but we can still appreciate my effort. Thanks for reading, my fellow Americans. This is Citizen M, signing off. I’ll probably go take a nap now.