A Psychology professor once told me (well, not me specifically, because that would have been weird) that he had an enhanced ability to smell fear, and that the smell? Nauseated him.
And so? When it came time to administer exams, he would hand out the test materials and then flee the room. Our test-taking anxiety stench offended him.
We cheated a lot in that class. Duh.
Also? It turned out that he was sleeping with his teaching assistant, so looking back? I am not at all sure whether he was fleeing our scent or seeking out some other lovely aroma.
There was a lot of cheating going on.
Plus? He would always buy a huge bag of candy and toss it out on a middle table. For us to snack on during the exam.
Who sings that song? I Smell Sex and Candy. That’s right . . . Marcy Playground.
Awesome song.
Anyway. I got an excellent grade in that class, because . . . duh.
Before that?
There was high school. More tests. I am awesome at tests.
But high school? I sucked at high school. Especially after we moved to San Diego.
I was a junior and I was completely fucking lost. The school was enormous. More people than I had ever seen, but no one to see me. I was accustomed to feeling small, but now?
I was invisible.
Only at school, though. For every step of the almost two-mile walk from our house to school and then back again? I was a glowing target.
So many people with nothing better to do than torture me.
I had no idea what to do with torturers who were not related to me.
I tried to make myself smaller, but somehow? Smaller made me an easier target.
They seemed to be able to smell my fear.
Good times.
Plus also? If you are ever in the habit of stopping by a small liquor store to buy a bit of candy on your walk through cat-calling hell? It is unwise to buy a lollipop.
Just saying.
OK, so about one month into the school year, I heard someone talking about a test you could take. And if you passed this test? You never had to go to high school again!
Are you fucking kidding me? I signed up that same day.
And then? I studied my ass off.
I couldn’t find a book written to help me prepare for this particular test, so I just prepared as though I was going to take the SAT test and hoped for the best. If I was ready to take the test to get into college? Surely I would also be ready to take the test to leave high school, right? It had to be pretty much the same thing.
For the next several weeks, I was insane. I wrote out essays late into the night. I took endless practice exams. I pored through the enormous paperback test-prep book and obsessed about the things I didn’t understand.
Trigonometry? What the fuck?
And then came the day of the test. A Saturday.
I got up early and walked to school, my stomach stressed and knotted. Turned out on Saturdays? It was a reasonably pleasant walk. Assholes sleep in on Saturdays, apparently. I walked quickly because I didn’t want to be late, my admission ticket tucked carefully into my backpack.
It took me a while to find the test-taking room. I had expected there to be crowds of people, but there were no crowds. I followed small hand-lettered signs through the empty campus to a smallish room with a single round table in the center.
There were only three of us taking the test that day.
There was me. And there were two other girls, both of them more pregnant than seemed humanly possible. Just . . . stretched . . . taut.
And both of them? Were sucking lollipops.
Not even kidding. One of them offered me one, but I declined.
The other one asked me how far along I was.
I explained that I was not pregnant, that I was thinking I might be able to go to college early if I took this test.
Blank stares.
And then there was the test. I opened the booklet and stared at the first question.
That question has stayed with me all these years.
1) You are preparing a batch of cookies to bring to a friend’s house. You are concerned that the recipe will not make enough cookies. You decide to double the recipe. If the original recipe calls for ½ cup of milk, how much milk will you need to use?
a. ¾ cup
b. 1 cup
c. 2 cups
d. ½ cup
I finished reading the question and looked up. Was this a joke?
The two other girls’ faces were screwed up in concentration. The room was quiet except for the sound of their lollipops. In an otherwise silent room? Lollipop sucking is a noisy activity.
The smell of the candy filled the room and mingled with the scent of pregnancy and fear.
The fear dissipated.
Leaving me with just an awareness of sex and candy.
And triumph.
They gave me a little card. A card that excused me from ever attending high school again. So fucking awesome.
Me and the slutty girls, free to roam the city!
Not much that could go wrong with that genius plan.
Snort.
And yes, you’re right!
That does mean that I never officially graduated from high school.
Instead?
I am all proficient.
And now I bet you suck a mean lolly.
Tramp.
Hee!
And somebody else?
Is first in line to see that show.
Just saying.
I went to grammar school in San Diego for a few years back in the dark ages of history, and whew. You definitely took the right way out there.
Also? I like Marcy Playground. But that song would not be on your mixtape because man: overkill on the radio in 1998, don’t you think?
And yes, liking Marcy Playground does make me something of a dork.
This should be obvious by now.
Way overkill on the radio.
But lovely nonetheless.
I’ve been listening to it for the last 20 minutes in an endless loop.
Because I am all dorky.
Also obvious.
Dorky is good. So is Marcy Playground.
And now that song? Is stuck in my head.
Dammit.
Also stuck in my head?
The scent of cherry candy.
Or strawberry.
Both good.
I have been living this week off of Strawberry Crush and great big bags of methamphetamine, so…
… I can’t remember where I was going with this.
Maybe I should cut back on the Strawberry Crush.
Nope.
Bathe in it instead.
No cutting back, Mister.
ohmygod you’re brilliant! and THAT was a brilliant story. you can’t make that shit up.
of course, leaving high school was my worst fear. home was where hell was so I loved being at school even if the people there were mostly assholes.
Home was not so great, believe me.
But there were others.
Strangers.
With candy!
I moved right before my junior year.
The only reason I never tried to test-out?
Marching band.
In retrospect, I should have tested out.
You so should have.
It was awesome.
And the cookies? Delicious!
That’s one way to get out of highschool….i was not a huge fan of highschool the first time around, but now, if i could…i would probably go back…
You know what’s weird? I didn’t officially leave high school until the end of that academic year. Having that card that said I didn’t have to be there? Made everything more bearable.
Although my attendance . . . was spotty.
Ahem.
No matter how horrible terrible post-high school life has gotten, I don’t think I’ve EVER wanted to go back. :-)
Me neither.
Not for a moment.
Other people talk about reunions? Not fucking even.
Done with that.
Proficient doesn’t begin to describe you.
How far along are you? just about breaks my heart.
Awwww . . . thank you, tender-hearted one.
I’ve been a little squishy lately, haven’t I?
It’s alright.
You’re all huggable this way.
SNORT!
Are you KIDDING ME?!!?!?! I took 4 fucking years of cooking class and it could have gotten me out of high school!!! Damnit!!!
I know!
I will never forget that feeling. That knowing . . . I got this.
i have had that song stuck in my head all day. and? i have loved every minute of it.
It is lovely.
Except? Now Kallan is singing it.
And that’s just disturbing.
My uncle just stopped going to high school. Two years later he just went to college. When asked if he graduated he said yes. Now he has a pretty good job. Doing big important things. But that was 40 years ago.
I just saw Marcy Playground. They were at Earth Fest in Boston a few months back. Still good. Now the song is in my head.
YAY! I am spreading the hypnotic joy that is I Smell Sex and Candy throughout my readers!
We are an army of five!
Plus also? We are all sexed up on Fun Dips.
As for high school? It has turned out to be nowhere near as important as my high school guidance counselor suggested.
He was all kinds of concerned about me.
Snort!
1. Not all girls who got knocked up in high school are sluts. Some of them are just ill-prepared and naive about life in general and smoke too much weed. And some of them finished high school. Although didn’t exactly love it because extra-curricular activities, including weed, fall by the way side once parenting.
2. I love that song too.
3. Big fan of cherry/strawberry candy.
4. That first question is fucking awesome. And sad at the same time.
5. That’s all I have to say about that a la Forrest Gump. (90s references reign supreme).
1) I was taking poetic license, as, soon after that test? I was wandering with other girls who were, indeed, sluts. And I was all about fitting in. Ahem.
2) It is an excellent song.
3) Duh.
4) That question? I remember it every time I cook from a recipe. Every time.
5) I LOVE 90′s references.
As I love you.
This post…
a) makes me all stabby about state standards for a diploma vs. proficient.
b) describes what so so many of my students go through. on more than one level.
c) gets me all nostalgic for the 90′s.
d) all of the above.
now if you excuse me, I am going to go double a batch of cookies. and eat ALL of them.
a) Sorry.
b) Sorry.
c) Sorry? Or . . . YAY!
d) Cookies! Yum!
don’t be sorry. I like it when writing makes me feel something. even if it’s mad. Oh and that test proving “proficiency?” funny. I actually went to look up the definition of proficient: “well-advanced in any art, science, or skill; an expert”.
doubling a half cup of milk does not make you proficient. It makes you alive.
You? you are beyond proficient.
Thank you, lady!
You? Must be an awesome teacher.
Autofill didn’t love me today.
I think because I had wine in celebration of Prop 8 being overturned and I didn’t bring any to share.
That would make me uppity, at any rate.
I hade that same feeling about testing out of consumer education and wondering who the hell couldn’t write out “$64.89″ narratively.
THIS was the test I was so freaked out about?
I got to grade that test too. Took all the little scantron sheets with the master sheet to the scantron reader with a friend to scan them through and see who got a 70% score and got to skip the class.
One of my best friends, one of the smartest girls around, missed by one question.
To this day, I don’t think she knows that technically she didn’t pass the test. Cause she sure as hell didn’t have to sit through consumer ed and learn how to write out $64.89 narratively.
Us geeks had to stick together.
I am all warm and fuzzy at the idea of you fixing your friend’s grade.
One question?
How on earth did you get them to let you grade the test?
You were all false and trustworthy?
Snort!
When my Mom was about 60, she decided to do her General Equivalency Diploma. It was important to her. She had bailed out of high school to get married when Dad was “going off to die for his country.” Mom was so proud when she’d done it. So was I, so I sent her a $10 graduation check. Hadn’t thought of that in years… Wonders if Kallan will zip down and get her little card ASAP so she can spend the days drinking juice and sponging out the carpet…
I will not be telling Kallan of the easy road.
Her whole life is easy.
She needs no easier path.
What? You think I can’t master the art of sucking up in so thorough a manner that I am sent off to grade the tests of my classmates?
Pfft.
I am the master of the invisible suck-up. I was teacher’s pet in classes I didn’t even take. Teacher’s pet gets away with so much more crap than anyone has any right to.
I learned this young.
Plus, boobs were mine at a totally inappropriate age.
The teacher did, however, grade my (and my friend’s) test manually before sending us off to Scantron-Land.
Lollipops. Girls. Authority figures.
This was all a clandestine tribute to Nabokov wasn’t it?
You wicked little Lolita.
And this totally posted in the wrong place, which is annoying because I really like nice, neat, threaded replies and my OCD is NOT out of control, thank you very much.
And Marcy Playground always reminds me of Echo and the Bunnymen. Which then reminds my of Squeeze. “Black Coffee in Bed.” One of the best. songs. ever.
OK, that?
IS AN AWESOME SONG!
And it is so sad when someone’s OCD is so clearly put on display.
What?
I WAS NOT TALKING ABOUT ME, PEOPLE!
OK, you? Way smart!
You know that thing that’s been going around lately? Where you provide a sample of your writing, and then the website tells you what author you most write like?
Me? I am all Nabokov.
Snort!
I am cracking up.
You should put that in pitches to major publishing houses.
“My writing most can most accurately be compared to that of a man who narrated a heavily-breathing pedophile with Oedipal issues.”
I know! It made me giggle.
A lot.
what? where is this? I am afraid to know who I write like. um..not that I am butting in on other people’s threads…damn. found out again.
I’ve lost it somewhere around here . . . ask Miss No Style Points . . . she’s the one who sent it along to me.
Also bad to enjoy while walking past assholes (in uniform on the army base) – Giant jawbreakers.
Snort!
Yes, I would imagine so.
what in the world are you talking about? what IS this test? you are not talking about getting a GED? am i the most sheltered person in the world? is this a test that was only for girls, hence the baking question? i am sorry to be so stupid but i must know!
Nope, in California, they have something called a Proficiency Exam. It’s sort of like a GED, but not.
To pass the test, you must only demonstrate that you are capable of the simplest tasks that might be required of a human being.
Like making change from a $5.00 bill. Seriously.
And doubling recipes.
But no, it’s not just for girls. It just happened that there were three of us there that day.
Then you had a card that said you were Proficient, that you could flash? Like if you were picked up for being truant? Do they really pick up kids for being truants? What else did that card get you? Library pass? Could you buy booze with it, being Proficient and all?
YES! I could be all truant whenever I felt like it.
And I was young and small, so I got many opportunities to flash my card. So awesome.
No booze, though.
At least, not with that card.