In this world, calling someone an ‘asswipe’, ‘wasteoid’, ‘sporto’ or ‘bonehead’ is a legit diss.
When you stand face-to-face with the guy of your dreams, you always lose your train of thought, appearing like a deer caught in the headlights.
Everything significant in your life happens by the lockers. It’s the place where you ask someone out, where you get rejected, where you launch yourself at the guy who disrespected your crush. It’s where you hide your weed.
You’re stuck in a love triangle, sandwiched between someone who definitely works out and someone who definitely doesn’t.
Your teacher is a sadist who may have raided Barry Manilow’s wardrobe. He might just be Barry Manilow.
In class, people pass you notes labeled ‘confidential’, on them questions like, “Have you ever touched it?” to which you answer: “Almost”.
You have friends with names like “Duckie”, “Long Duk Dong” and “Bender”.
House parties are sold to you as “a great social opportunity!”
The music of Simple Minds follows you through school corridors, through the library, even to the bathroom. It’s inescapable.
The popular kids at your school have to keep reminding everyone how popular they are, saying things like, “Do you know how popular I am at this school?”
Every now and then, for no reason whatsoever, you turn towards an imaginary audience, addressing them. You say things like, “I can’t believe it, they fucking forgot my birthday,” and, “How could I possibly be expected to handle school on a day like this?”
Right when you’re having the time of your life – right when you’re finally kissing the guy or girl of your dreams – suddenly, without warning, everything around you freezes. Everyone is still. But the music of Simple Minds swells again. And suddenly random names flash over your statuesque pose. This is when you feel the eternal darkness beckoning, and the slow fade to black.