Security Guards make new friend

By Leah Seno

My best friend Elise and I have late arrival. If we get to school before first period is over, we're supposed to go to room 105 to check in, and sit and wait until the bell rings. It doesn't really matter, and most people with late arrival don't go, but we go there every morning to meet, talk, drink coffee, and just spread the morning sunshine. The room is great; it's a sewing room I guess, and it has posters of dress patterns on the walls that say, "SEW GRUNGE." Do you see what I'm saying? The room is so hip, so Seattle. If the room had a soundtrack, many of Nirvana's oldies-but-goodies would surely be included. That's just how cool it is.

When Elise and I talk on the phone every night, before saying good-bye, we always say, "See ya in the lil' room!" It's like a sacred, time honored traditon. Our LIL' ROOM.

That tradition was cruelly broken last week when our school decided to "beef up" its security. Ya see, there's always some authority figure in the room to watch over us. It used to be Mr. Stovall. He was so rad. As he was reading the newspaper, he used to yell the articles out to us in this loud, incomprehensible droning voice. Nobody asked him to read the articles, mind you; he would just come upon one that he considered interesting, and start yelling. He was krazy. With a "K."

But one day when I walked in, krazy Mr. S. wasn't them. Instead there was this scary looking security guard/rent-a-cop/dirty old man/meter-maid guy. Unlike Mr. Stovall, who always said "Good morning" when we walked in, he glared, squinting his beady little eyes. He had a bright yellow stripe up the side of each pant leg. To this day, those yellow stripes haunt me. He had really greasy, slick hair. A bit too much Dippity-Do. And his teeth. Oh Lord, his teeth. Something's ... Wrong with them. First of all, they're NOT the right color for teeth. Let's see, what can I compare them to? The pant leg stripe, perhaps? They look radioactive. And I'm convinced he has way too many of them, or way too few, or something. Something's just askew there.

The whole time Elise and l were hanging out, he was staring intently at us. I mean, the man did not blink. Undressing us with his eyes, I'm sure. F-reak.

The next day, there were two mean-looking security guards in the room. Count 'em: one, two. That's what our school calls "increased security." An extra guy in the late arrival room. To watch over a total of about five students. But hey, you know us late arrival folk. We're wild ones. We're hooligans. We're nutty, I tell you! Look out; we're packin' heat!

So, that day Elise and I had dual eyes on us. A total off four greasy, slimy eyeballs. And we still feel icky, even after taking five consecutive hot showers each.

The next day was the last straw. There was one security guard in the room. I had never seen him before. He looked like a jolly enough guy. l entered the room, walked over to Elise, and we started talking. He said, "You all are gonna hafta quit talking 'cuz some people are trying to study." (Nobody had a book cracked! It's not a study hall anyway! What the fuck?!)

I then began laughing uncontrollably. Perhaps not the WISEST move. But when I start laughing, I can't stop. So I was cracking up, and I started talking to Elise again, more quietly, "This is not a study hall! We're allowed to speak! We could scream if we wanted to! We could blast techno music and dance on the tables! Or ska! He would have no power over us! He'd have no choice but to give in and join us in our loud, sweaty, skanking, frenzy-like madness!" When she responded, I told her to shut up because I was trying to study, dammit.

Then we were both cracking up, but quietly. Apparently he felt we were still making, enough noise to create a disturbance. He said, "Look I don't want to have to treat you two like fourth graders and send you to the office, but I WILL if I need to." Ooooooh. Way to lay down the law. So we started whispering, and I, of course, was still laughing. So he said to me, pointing, "Ma'am, have a seat over there... Ah, no, I mean way over there."

Fuck. So I sat WAY OVER THERE. Then Chris Fedosky came in, and came over to sit by me. I started whispering to him about how psychotic the security guard was. When I looked up, I saw Mister Man approaching us, and I could tell he was about to go OFF. And believe you me, an angry, dirty rent-a-cop pushed to the Iimit does not make for a pretty sight. Luckily, at that very moment I was saved by the bell. (Note the subliminal final plug for the smash-hit T.V. show). Elise took my hand, and we ran out of there, vowing never to return.

So. As for me, I am currently undergoing intensive therapy to attempt to undo the psychological damage done by those yellow stripes. And ever since they turned out precious lil' room into a jail, Elise and I have had to meet elsewhere in the mornings.

It's a damn shame.