I was sitting in Math, 3rd period, like always. End of class, Mr. Barber, reminding me of my friend’s dumb-ass dad, started to read the bulletin. Same old bull, nothing I care about, at least, I thought.
"Debate club meets today at lunch in B404" Spewed forth from his slightly, yet sickening, moist lips. I, of course, wasn’t listening very clearly and heard "debate club mmpfftttlnncchhh beeefisgudforu." Um, yeah. Slip that one by me again?
I ask him to throw me the bulletin. When it lands on the floor in front of my desk, I look at him, and say something to the effect of "I didn’t mean it literally, you jack-ass." And he looks at me oddly in reply. Ah, look, B404... Wait a minute, B404 is my 6th period teacher’s class room. At least I think so, "Hey Josh, Owen-Fitzgerald’s room is B404, isn’t it?"
"Yeah." Oh, well, Shit.
See, funny thing about Mrs. Owen-Fitzgerald is that, well, I don’t know. She’s cool and all, just, I’d rather not deal with her for anything over than 6th period. But hey, This is debate club. What’s a boy to do? I could go, or I wouldn’t go.
Thus is life, we sit here, debating the same thing over and over again. "To go, do, or live, or not to go, do, or live." So, I’m sitting there in English class, debating whether or not to go. I decide to go, considering that I was just debating on whether to go or not, I must be good at debating!
Well, at least I think I’m good at debating. I tend to argue my points a lot, most of the time making the person to submit to me, or just give up. Mostly the latter. Of course, I submit to myself and decide to go.
I walk out of English with the feeling of, "Hey, I’m going to be in debate club." I walk up to a friend and say exactly that, "Hey, I’m going to be in debate club."
"Debate club? There’s one of those here? Debate clubs are gayish."
"Yeah, I know." Wait a minute, I just said Debate club is gayish, and I just wanted to join it. Goddamn me and my submissiveness, always retorting to the collective whole. Sigh.
I buy my sandwich, and walking over to my friends, I suddenly spout out, "Hey, I’m going to be in debate club." I don’t even know why I decided to join after Scott convinced me it was "gayish." Thus is life, again, always going with your first decisions.
"You are? Yup, you’re a master debater."
"Um, OK, Bye."
And off I went. To join debate club.
What am I doing? This is suicide. Of the intellectual sorts.
Well, kind of. You need to look into what Debate Club appears to be if you’ve never been in one: Stuck up teacher’s pet assholes arguing over whether or not abortion is "cool" or not.
Of course I was scared! Who wouldn’t be? Here I am, skinny ass tall pale white boy, border line teacher’s pet, major web head, looking like some kid who is just on the edge of going crazy and shooting just about everyone, and I want to join debate club. What was I thinking? God only knows.
Of course, B404 is all the way across campus from where I bought my sandwich and bottle of coke. I start my trek, not even looking back and saying "Farewell" to my friends. I am, in my infinite stupidity, wearing my nicely heavy khaki jacket, in 95º weather. So, the trek quickly becomes a sweaty march for me.
I’m exaggerating of course, I didn’t sweat, much. Well, it was hot, but I just don’t sweat a lot from walking, you know. Ah, maybe you don’t, or maybe you do, or maybe I’m all messed up. Maybe I’m all messed up in you… Oh, sorry, Nine Inch Nails lyrics.
I approach the door to B404, not slowly or apprehensively, but quickly, with a purpose. I always have cold feet about it, but when it comes down to it, I attack whatever "it" currently is. Which is odd, because by heart I’m naturally submissive (and rather masochistic, if that’s even a word.)
I walk in the room, look at Mrs. Owen-Fitzgerald, and shrug in my stoneristic "Hey, look at me, why am I here? What were we just talking about?" way. I look around briefly, and say "This is Debate Club?" All in the area of the three seconds after I walked in the door.
This gothic guy is hunched over a table, with his back to me, was writing something. He, suddenly becoming a strikingly beautiful gothic chick (for lack of a better word) looks up and smiles and laughs slightly, with the other four people in the room.
"Yeah," she spoke as she pushed her hair back behind her ears. Wait, am I missing something? Oh yes, She spoke! Oh yes, bliss and bewilderment, she spoke! Along with some other people, but at this moment, she spoke! To me! To me of all people! Okay, maybe I’m making too big of a deal out of this, but hey, my "hot gothic chick" alarm went off. And the target of it spoke to me!
Yes, I’m over exaggerating again. The moment wasn’t quite so blissful, but I was stunned for a second or two. Quite literally. I looked around the room for a second, went "Oh. OK." And searched for a place to sit. Sat down, 3rd to last column, front row.
Only four other people in the room, her, and two weird guys, and another chick. So, the meeting officially, technically, theologically, begun.
The gothic chick, named Ida, seemed to be very much in control of the situation, being older than me, she obviously knew more about debate club than I did. Cool, a chick who can take control, and be attractive at the same time, I like her already.
She, by general consent of the other three people, seems to be president, and I’m not objecting or anything, mind you. Time to elect three more titles. Well, man, we’ve only got three more people. One person is Public Relations, one is Consultant, and one is Referee. PR is taken now, and so is Consultant, so I say "I’m cool with being Referee" to Ida.
She replies "OK, well then, we’re done picking titles for ourselves."
Essentially the rest of this meeting is us debating on what to debate about, which, in itself, is something I never got to say. "Isn’t it weird that we’re debating about what to debate about, at this moment?"
Man. I wish I said that. I am clever, and you all better recognize!
Ida came up with the idea of writing down ideas on what to debate about and putting them in a plastic bag. Me, I’m not good at coming up with exactly what to debate about, but when a topic comes up, I’m always willing to debate/argue about anything. So I sit there, and tap my finger as everyone else quickly comes up with something. I sit there and look dumb.
Ida comes up to me and says something like, "Just come up with something, like,"---I take the brave moment to look into her eyes, standard brown, even blackish, eyes, nothing special, just eyes, nothing you can call beautiful, unless you like to bullshit—"um, just anything!"
She turns around and walks back to get someone else’s slip of paper, and I hastily, because the bell rang, write down "Internet should not be restricted." And fold it up. Ida comes over and I slip the paper into the bag.
Soon I left, after a brief chat with the other female in the room.
"Everything is moving to fast, I feel like I’m going to be left behind," I said.
"Yeah, I know… Well, this year is better than last year, there was only three people or something."
"Ha, yeah, I can understand why. No one likes to argue with anyone else, especially over certain religious/political topics, we’re all kind of afraid to speak our mind, out of fear of being opposed, Which is what Debate Club is all about. Sweet Jesus, what have I gotten myself into?"
She laughed slightly, and I walked out the door, looking back, to see whether I should stay back a bit, or not. I don’t, and walk down the out door hallway, and look up at the trees. I look back down and continue walking, out and down the next hallway, out to my friends, and Gym.
"Hey, I’m in debate club."
I guy that I utterly hate replied, "Debate club? There’s one of those here? Debate clubs are cool, I want to be in it."
"No, you don’t, it sucks, we’re all lame asses, believe me."
"Well, I still want to try."
"No, you can’t, they wont allow anymore members, We’ve already picked titles, you’re too late, sorry."
"No, I’m sure I can still get in, when are the meetings?"
"I don’t know, I’m not going back, even if I am referee. Now get off my back."
Of course I’m going back, I’m not stupid.