high school

I was the president of my high school.

Teachers would say to me sentences that started, "I probably shouldn't be telling you this." It was in this way that I learned one of my life's most precious truths, told to me by the student government faculty adviser: I was voted school president in a landslide. By far the largest margin the faculty adviser had ever seen in his ten years of service to the student government polling machines. I honestly don't remember who I ran against. Whoever they were, they probably voted for me, too.

I was also told by teachers that when an individual student wins more than one informal accolade via popular ballot - for example, if the kid who won Most Likely to Succeed also won Most Likely to Become President of the United States- they must choose the one they want, sharing the titles among as many students as possible by limiting each student to a single award. After a student gives up one of their titles, it is then awarded to the runner-up. Year after year, the announced results show no fewer winners than there are awards to be won. You can look at past yearbooks- no one has more than one award. The officiating faculty explained this rule to me after I had been voted Best Artist and Most Unusual. They let me keep both titles, not to tella bout the rule, wouldnt be fair to me, no one else came close

Four years earlier, in eighth grade, the year before entering high school, we had cast a similar ballot of accolades at the end of the year. We knew the eighth grade competition was only practice for senior year, that when we chose the person most likely to succeed, we were really choosing the person most likely to be voted most likely to succeed in the more meaningful, senior-year election. I wanted Most Unusual, but the Most Unusual category was rescinded in the middle of the school year, in response to the school shootings at Columbine. Instead, I won Best Makeup. I had dope gold lipstick from the nineteen seventies, handed down from my mom, decades dehydrated and supersaturated with pigment. It was glam and goth and freaked everybody out. I didn't win because of the lipstick, though. Best Makeup was one of a handful of titles, including Best Hair and Best Eyes and Best Smile and Best Laugh, assigned at random to designated recipients in a cafeteria game of popular-girl roulette. Best Makeup was a category that didn't reappear on the ballot senior year. It was also a category that had only one winner, though the other titles were dual-nature, with one boy and one girl for each. We all knew which boy had the best makeup, anyway.

sound of one hand clapping- whats more possible- they somehow dont know i moke outside the cafeteria at lunch, or somehow trust me more because of ut

ten years later dans vbedroom nnot un the yearbok

eating disorder club

felt like i won the two years before me, presidency was a long time coming, mullet song announcement, later i ended up really liking optiginally yours