I used to believe I was the most innocent kid in class. Everything was always censored from me and I learned to joys of becoming a social outcast much too early.
Until one day, I learned the horrifying truth, babies do not naturally occur from kissing.
Needless to say, my life was changed forever. And probably for the worse.
In elementary school, the three biggest “whisper-behind-the-teacher” topics were video games, Kidz Bop, and sex.
Unfortunately for me, my gaming setup was a Wii, which paled in contrast to everyone else’s modded Xboxes and Alienware laptops with liquid cooling. And since I had zero friends I never talked about anything with anybody.
Talking about sex in elementary school is like talking about quantum physics—expect it’s a bunch of 10-year-olds spouting bullshit to sound cool with their friends (who are also spouting bullshit to sound cool.)
Then in 7th grade, everything changed. We had to take a mandatory SexEd class.
Established by state law to prevent kids from thinking females had male genitalia and vice versa, the idea of teaching kids about sex isn’t made with ill intent.
Getting the news about the class in 7th grade, I thought that it would be helpful to prepare people for adulthood.
Then I learned the stark reality: Kids didn’t actually know too much about human genitalia or sex. All the education people ever got came from porn of people being splattered with fake semen and guys with dicks 8 inches long.
While elementary schoolers are definitely capable of watching porn and telling their equally stupid friends about what they saw, they won’t bother to take that information and Google it as a sort of “fact checker” for whatever preconceived notions they created as they watched porn.
Since the “fact checker” isn’t thrown into the mix, facts and quackery mingle together constantly. For example, people told me that females have a hole where I thought penises were. Having learned this valuable information, I felt smart.
But I thought it was like a second butthole but for piss.
Needless to say, I eventually shattered my innocence while gaining completely futile knowledge when I Googled everything to try to wrap my head around why females apparently had second buttholes that periodically spewed out their innards.
After learning the truths to my classmate’s shitty explanations, I still hadn’t learned about anything lewd (thanks to Google SafeSearch) so it took a while before I learned about the stuff normal people learned about first, like masturbation or sex.
When my dad gave me, “The Talk” he didn’t explain too much. I tried my best to sound like I knew everything already, and none of us really wanted to prolong “The Talk” more than needed, so I ended up walking the other direction without learning anything new. Luckily, I had already sifted through enough online SexEd courses and read on the laws and stuff to figure out everything they taught you in a “real” 7th-grade SexEd class.
In fact, I did learn everything. I don’t want to sound like I’m showing off, but my hopes were set a little too high for what the SexEd class could teach.
Because it taught absolutely nothing. 7th-grade SexEd wasn’t any better than elementary school whisper-behind-the-teacher-SexEd.
The teacher never explained sex. He just expected everybody to be corrupted, which is fair enough considering we were middle schoolers filled with god-knows-what hormones.
The tiniest bit of helpful advice besides telling us to not get STDs (which is sorta obvious in itself) was to use condoms during sex (which was also obvious.)
All-in-all, sex education was a complete failure.
Neo Studies Popular People
When I went to 7th-grade science camp I ended up being in a group with a bunch of friends. But for some reason, out of the hundreds of other students, I was the only one who stayed in a cabin separate from my group.
This meant I had to find out where my group was at while staying away from them on my off-time.
Since I slept separate from my group, I couldn’t stay up-to-date with them most of the time. If we weren’t together, it would be my job to run around to magically pop up from behind a bush just on time to join everybody in the next activity.
Mornings required that I brush and just sprint around like a madman because the different cabins had certain “off-limit” rules in place that prevented me from just sitting by their door and waiting for them. Plus, there was a wild bison that roamed around that we had to watch out for, so being alone in the mornings was also prohibited.
You could call the cabin I was staying in a lot of things. A shit hole. A hole that is comparable to shit. Or maybe a slightly shitty hole.
But I’ll call it a shit hole.
But aside from the overwhelming deodorant spray and plant-infested bathroom (with a broken tilted door that had no lock), the shit hole was also a room full of jocks and various subtypes of “popular people.”
My group’s schedule was different than the one the people in the cabin had, and it just-so-happened that my group always finished faster than the group in the cabin. Meaning I got into the empty cabin after activities and always took a shower first. It felt good to beat them to the shower every single time. Not exactly a good way to get on the good side of the popular people, but it was worth it.
Another great pro from my situation is that I had the chance to study popular people in their natural habitat, which you probably guessed from the header of this subsection.
What do Popular People Do?
I stayed in a bottom bunk opposite to the door, meaning I could see almost everything. (Basically everything except the person directly above me.) I had the best spot to observe popular people.
Another Fun Fact: The kid above me farted a lot, which is another reason to call the room a shit hole.
The first thing I noticed was the lack of cool slang or special drugs that enhance your charisma.
They just stayed up late at night on their phones and showed each other pictures of girls from our school and gave them ratings on a one-to-ten scale.
Saying I was disappointed would be an understatement.
Firstly, anybody with common sense can tell you that summing up a person’s various complicated characteristics and entire personality into a number is stupid.
It’s like how people use Instagram slider stickers to give each other ratings with a single fucking dot on a single fucking line. If people were that simple I’d have a lot more friends.
Secondly, is having a stalker album on your phone normal? Sorry for throwing logic into this, but having a stalker album with one target is “normal” in that you are focusing on a single target. The guys in the cabin were going after everyone. And yes, that was also a life-changing experience.
What I Learned:
I hate interacting with people, and I also have a newfound fear of popular people.