In case you’ve forgotten, in the 11+ years since you left, let me assure you that middle schoolers? Still totally insane.
Before I tell you about the latest evidence backing up this well-accepted theory, I should probably acknowledge up front that the whole thing is really my fault. It all stems back to my oft-documented inability to keep my mouth shut. I mean most people? They would have been able to ignore this:
“Listen black. Gianna wants to no when your damn dinner to your barshit starts. i have 3 hrs in between and my dick is going to main street to go fuck some peeps. aight? tell her on her wall. from seejaay”
That, right there, was a wall post that appeared on Dave’s little brother’s Facebook page. (Yes, the one who officially becomes a man this weekend.)
It took us a while to translate it from middle-schooler-speak after we spotted it last night. But we eventually determined that the author, one “Seejaay,” wanted to meet up on main street, in between the service and evening party celebrating Casey’s religious coming-of-age, in order to “fuck some peeps.”
So, like I said, most people might happen upon said wall post, laugh a little bit to themselves, maybe read it out loud to their roommate, and then move on. But, as we’ve established, I’m not most people.
I couldn’t let it go.
It doesn’t help that I’m oh-so-very witty and capable of crafting thoughtful responses like this one:
CJ, I’ve never met you before, but I’m pretty sure a- you’re 12 and b- your parents did not name you Seejaay. That would make you a- unable to legally drink alcohol b- unable to spell your own name and c-unable to get to main street to ‘fuck some peeps,’ since you can’t drive. Chill out, and brush up on your grammar. I promise the bar mitzvah – and the rest of your life – will be more fun that way.
I’m not sure what I thought would happen. That the middle schoolers would all rally around me? Tell me I was right and cool and pledge to stop typing “no” when they meant “know?”
I mean, I was in middle school once. I should know (no?) better. We might not have had Facebook, but shit like this used to play out in the cafeteria all the time. And the same thing would happen – someone would say something so utterly ridiculous I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. And then I would suffer the backlash.
And so it was again this time around, even though I’m, um, 25, now. The responses came almost immediately.
From Matt W…
who ever u are rachel… dont be such a stiff. it isnt good
From Brian H…
dont poop yourself rachael
I don’t know what hurt more, the misspelling of my name or the reference to defecation. I wish I was kidding, but the whole thing did actually kind of bother me.
“Dave!” I cried. “I’m getting made fun of by 12-year-olds! Make it stop!”
It got worse when I realized that I actually had to see these kids this weekend. At the “barshit.” Shit, indeed! Getting told off online is one thing, but in person? Amid the cotton candy machine and the candle lighting and the DJ playing Justin Bieber? It sounded almost as bad as being the only one left standing by the wall during a slow dance.
Just as I was starting to have legit seventh grade flashbacks, I remembered…I’m 25. And they’re 12. Worse comes to worse, I’ll dazzle them with my maturity, brush it off, be the bigger person.
Or just threaten to tell their moms. Either way.