The Second Person Experiment (AKA this bizarre little side project that i haven't been able to avoid.)

 *UPDATE*
I posted this before I was introduced to Christine H.'s I've Come a Long Way, Baby Blogfest, but consider the below entry a first draft. I suppose I'll have to follow up with a final draft later. Also, it's not too late to enter the blogfest, if you're willing to show some before and after of your writing. And there's a contest attached to the blogfest!

“Excuses are like assholes. Everyone has one and they all stink.” –Grandpa

               

You avoided getting a summer job for three reasons 1. you’re lazy 2. you had prior obligations and 3. you try your hardest not to listen to your parents. Sitting on the toilet, you ponder these truths.

1. Yes, you are lazy, but you’re lazy with class. You still bathe and you still workout, be it once every week. You still wear Axe body spray and hold doors for the ladies, old or hot. You work hard on your material, and it pays off - everyone laughs at your jokes. You are the class clown. Well, you’re a clown at least.

2. Video games. Parties. Video games. Sleep. Video games. Yes, you were very busy this summer. There was no time to ‘freshen up and head to the mall and ask for applications’ like your mom asked you to do on what seemed like an hourly basis. You were simply too busy. So busy, in fact, you didn’t even have time to fill out the day planner your dad bought you. That was supposed to be the proof that you were trying. Well, you weren’t.

3. It’s not that they are always wrong, but they are 99% of the time. “Allen, do this, do that, and everything else will fall into place.” Well, you listened to them for the first twelve years of your life and look where that got you.

There’s only one person who had lead you in the right direction and that was Grandpa. You miss him and wish he were still here to tell you what to do. And then you realize he would’ve told you to get a job. He would’ve sided with your parents. Their 1%.

Dammit, someone forgot to change the roll. Oh yeah, it was you.

On Monday, your school counselor concludes three things during your after-school meeting 1.you’re messed up 2. you’re on the wrong track and 3. you’re too comfortable with failure. All of these things you have known since you were twelve.

“And?” you ask. It’s not necessarily a rhetorical question. You genuinely want to know what Mr. School-Counselor thinks you should do to turn your life around.

“Mr. Jacobs,” he says to you,” you’re doing so well in U.S. History and Spanish, test-wise, but you’re not completing the assignments.” He looks at you, waiting for a reply.

You grunt (and?).

“Well, if you do not turn in the homework, you will not pass.”

Grunt (well, duh).

“Mr. Jacobs, what can I do to motivate you?”

Grunt (you don’t know).

“We need to work together on this. Yes, this is my job, but I really do want to see you succeed. It’s what I want for all of our students. It goes beyond being able to go to college and get a job, Mr. Jacobs. It’s about the pursuit of happiness.”

Grunt (don’t quit your day job).

As you leave the counselor’s office, a poster catches your attention.

It’s a cat hanging from a branch. HANG IN THERE, it says.

Let go, little kitty. Let go.