This week: The ReunionEdited by: Ŵeb☆Ŵiɫch
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So much can happen in fifty years.
Decision, decisions ... should I stay or should I go?
Hello folks! It is I, WebWitch, reporting from my Northern Command Center in lovely New England.
May has been interesting to say the least. I had those problems with Social Security, and the very difficult “easy” system they have adopted whereby one gets the runaround via phone, via in-person, or, via the convenient online applications. I had issues with all of them, causing me to delay my return trip back North for another week. That’s not bad in itself, as the weather up North was not willing to let go of the cold just yet. An extra week makes all the difference in May.
The reason I wanted to be home earlier was because my fiftieth high school reunion was coming within the week leading up to Memorial Day weekend, the last event being on the Friday of that weekend. I knew I’d be traveling and would need a couple days to get settled into the old money pit before packing another bag to stay overnight at the hotel where the closing event would take place.
Whoa, hold on a minute while I let my brain wrap around the words that just came out of my mouth. Me! A 50th high school reunion! Why would I even want to attend? Fifty years? There will be a bunch of old people I don’t remember. Okay, I’m back. Had to compose myself for a moment.
The Hotel Arrival:
I planned to meet my bestest friend all through high school. There were only a couple hours to make myself presentable. I still felt a little road-trashed because of days of traveling North, and, all the work inside the house to get it refreshed after a long winter of dust covering. There wasn’t much time to get pampered before the event, so, it meant giving myself a mani-pedi, to make my nails look like they belonged to me, even though they belonged to CVS merely hours earlier. I’m pretty smart, too, because I gathered the sizes of the glue-ons I wanted to use AND knew enough to start with the toe nails. I mean, you can’t very well attempt to place toe nails on after all the fingers are done.
Ten toes and ten fingers were done, and looked beautiful, and, I only glued my fingers together twice -- well, okay, three times, but 7 unglued digits out of ten is not bad, eh?!!! All that was left was to throw on my shoes and head down to the lobby and meet my friend so we could go into the banquet room together. You know, safety in numbers and all ... My shoes. MY SHOES! Oh my stars, I forgot to put on my shoes after the toenails were completed. I sat there looking at the new high-wedge sandals with ankle straps and the tiny holes to affix the strap. I looked back at my fingernails and felt helpless. I didn’t want to risk breaking a nail and having to prepare the surface again and place another nail on, and, chance another finger-gluing.
Well folks, I did manage to get myself all together and meet my friend at the agreed upon time. I hadn’t seen her in several years, but it was just like we were the same teens back in high school. We were actually attending a “high school event” where we had no curfew, could drink an adult beverage, and, be doing that with a few nuns, present!
One point needs to be made about the event. When our class attended that high school, it was an all girl, Catholic school The boys went to a separate Catholic high school after grammar school. Over the past fifty years, some parishes combined, and some buildings ceased to be high schools. That happened with ours. They combined both the girls and boys together at the larger boys’ high school. Thus, this 69er reunion had both girls and boys.
We looked around the room, and noticed the class officers sat at one table, the brainiacs sat at another table, and, the cheerleaders of course, had their own table. In other words, high school hadn’t changed a bit in fifty years. My friend and I were always rebels, and we maintained that position that evening.
Remember in school what the nuns or teachers would say to our parents at parent-teacher meetings? “Mr and Mrs Doe, Johnny, himself, is a good boy. It’s the kids he’s hanging around with that are getting him into trouble.” Well, I’m one of those friends the teachers warned parents about. I used to asked my bestie if she wanted to “do something wild.” It usually ended up in as an approved planned escape from class, disguised as a future career-day being held at another campus, for a career neither one of us were going into. It was fun, and we never got caught, and, left the event early to take buses to other fun places, to be back in time at our school for dismissal.
That night, wine glass in hand, looking around the room, I said, “Joan, let’s sit at the boys’ table. There’s more room, and, it would be just like us to pull it off.” She agreed, and the rest of the event went on smoothly, until it was time to get our 50th year medals and diploma. Our names were called one by one. At least everyone else’s name was called, and the medal placed around their necks and diplomas handed to them.
“Testing, 1, 2, 3 ... tap-tap-tap, squeallllllll! I didn’t get my diploma. Why?”
Shock set -in on all the faces of the planning committee. Papers startled to rattle, books opened, fingers went over the guest list. Amid the chaos came the laughter of one of our lay-teachers, (non-nun, in case you’re wondering.) who was one of our homeroom teachers in high school. Then, someone announced, “Oh, WebWitch, we are very sorry. It may have been left back at one of the other day’s events by mistake. There’s another student with the same last name who came to Wednesday’s event.”
“Yes, that would be my cousin. So, you’re telling me you gave my cousin, my diploma?” No wonder she didn’t show up on the final night. She made off like a bandit with MY diploma!!!
“Don’t worry, WebWitch, we’ll mail it to you. I’m sure it was just a little mix-up.” Oh, darn. I forgot to change my address from Florida to Massachusetts. I guess that diploma will be stuck somewhere in time. I know, folks, these things always seem to happen to me.
It was at that moment, when I looked into that laughing teacher’s eyes, I realized she wasn’t fooled all those many years ago, about the crazy, wild, school-escaping excursions Joan and I went on. This was PAYBACK! Heck, that made me appreciate her more than I ever did back then. I never knew she had a sense of humor.
Diploma issue, aside, it was a great evening. As we were saying our goodbyes, I asked a familiar face, my second cousin actually, different surnames, but related, who is the lady sitting at the cheerleader table. I just couldn’t recognize her. My cousin said, “You remember her? She was that snobby cheerleader, Debbie.”
“Oh, really?” Inside I was saying, What??? Athletic shape -- gone! I thought she was one of the nuns. Looked old enough to be my mother, too. I know, bad WebWitch! Bad, bad, WebWitch!
I guess it's true what they say, right, folks? Karma is a Witch!
Until next time--laugh hard, laugh often!
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Skono 🐔 👽 🐇 🧟
My Social Security question regarded a phone number from 15 years ago. I bought my wrong shoe size from 6 months ago... no way I remember my phone number from 15 years ago.
I know! It's a joke, isn't it? They do this to old people! Not that I'm old or anything.
Well done, Webbie! Did you know that those who retire after 20 years with the DMV are automatically employed by the SSA? 😂 It takes a lot of patience to deal with us old folks. 🤣
Dang! No wonder they're so good at making people miserable -- they've had years of practice!
And I thought Comcast was difficult to deal with...
Cable companies are bad enough, as well as DISH, and particularly Verizon!!! But, SS knows how to put them all to shame on the customer service misery index!
Grin 'n Bear It!
I would have been falling down laughing at your ordeal except that I know it was true. No one could make this up-- government at its most ridiculous. Just another way to torture our older-- no, our "seasoned" citizens. Now the government is urging us to wait until we turn 70-- as if we don't know they are hoping many of us won't live that long! I've recently retired but won't be seeking social security for some time to come. A few weeks ago, I was shopping at Walmart around midday on a weekday (which isn't typical for me) and happened to notice most, if not all, of my fellow shoppers were well "seasoned." When it was time to check out, the "scan and go" lanes were all lit up, but only one cashier was available. Needless to say, everyone was waiting at that one checkout lane. Fortunately, another employee did show up to open a second lane. You would think Walmart would know their customers better-- our generation does not want to scan and bag our own groceries. Plus we are smart enough to maximize our time. We aren't there for just a couple of items. Now don't get me started on all this fine print. Who in his right mind would use white ink on a silver label? Give me a break.
Exactly!!! Well put, and, my sentiments as well.
Thank you for your feedback, Meg.
Editing is BLUE
They wonder why people get old at the SSOdtice. They don’t work. Nothing gets done and they really just want you to die so they can stamp a paper. File your checks back into the fund for .... well I won’t go there
Heck no -- we won't go! Out live them nasty paper-stampers! Get your money early and often. Well, earlier than seventy. And, only the legal number of checks allowed at the proper amount, or else, they'll come after you with a vengeance!
Thank you for your feedback, folks! We editors really appreciate it.
See you next month!
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