Curious Raman and the High School 10 Year Reunion

by Raman "Big P" Pfaff
Reprinted from V6N1, January 1992

As the unfortunate case may be, I graduated from high school ten full grim years ago leading to the basic advent of my high school reunion. Many of you look forward to such a situation, but forsooth, I was not one of those. In high school I was one of the dweebs whose main interest was reading sci-fi or watching TV all hours of the night. In any event, on to my story.

The reunion was held in the foyer(what the hell is the correct word) of a golf course in the middle of the boonies (well, a corn field actually). I got greeted at the door by one of the ex-cheerleaders who gave me and Erin nametags although I had only paid for myself (I'm not stupid). These nametags turned out to be extremely necessary items. The greeter sure had a lot of cheer but in my mind she used to be attractive - not any more. Maybe my mind had altered it's state of reality. Now we advanced into the main room. Needless to say, the first thing I observed was the food layout. It looked like something my grandmother would spread out on a family holiday: good, but not worth the $20 I had paid for this shebang. We quickly grabbed some and found a relatively desolate are to sit down and start checking out the crowd.

I have one phrase that more or less covers this entire crowd. They all chain smoke, gained fifty pounds, have at least 2 kids, and are divorced. Got the picture. If your naseuous right now you must have the correct mental picture.

The chatting began now that the food had been pounded (it kind of tasted like my grandmother's too). The nametags were necessary at this point because many people were alien to me at first glance. And second and... I'd ask them what's been up over the last ten years and repeatedly hear the same story. Tried college. Didn't really care for it. Got married to one of the local boys. Had a few kids. Marriage really wasn't my thing. Divorce was apparent. Now working at the local butcher, baker, or candlestick makers for just about minimum wage. Not a pretty sight in my exciting eyes.

When they asked me I would reply with the basics. Still in school working on my Ph.D. "Oooh, in what?" Physics. Invariably I would get the same response every time. "It figures." Did me and Einstein look alike as kids or what? Why did the majority of my high school class assume I would end up where I am today? Oh well, I guess I had a big scarlet letter P written all over as an outcast youth.

There were a few surprises. A good lawyer. An electrical engineer. A woman going to Africa to help little black babies (Sorry, I've watched Murder on the Orient Express a few to many times). Three classmates of mine all independently moved to Phoenix and had no knowledge of the others. What can I say, I thought they'd all move to New York or Mexico and set up drug shipping plants As smoke filled the room and the noise got louder, I graduated again. Fade to black.