Unsure, But Going With It.

I'm not exactly sure if this was a writing prompt from the website, but there was definitely something in the library that became my prompt.

What was it, you're probably asking?

Well, let me just say that it has two legs, and it's walking away right now.

That's right - a noisy student.

I can fully and respectively say that I am now completely aware of how the librarian feels. With someone talking away in the voice level used in a community swimming pool, it makes it pretty damn hard to concentrate.

Well, I can assume now that that last sentence led you to ponder what I was doing when the student was talking loudly to his friend. The answer is simple: I was trying to - and here is the key word - concentrate on my English work. That's right - I was trying to find an appropriate writing prompt that I could use to my full ability to write an outstanding blog post.

But this is all I've got, so I'm going to go with it.

"SO AND SO THINKS YOU'RE SKIPPING."
"OH YEAH?"
"YEAH."
"WELL, I DON'T CARE."

That's how the conversation went, and not only is it typed in caps for emphasis, it is typed in caps because they're voices reached octaves higher than a garbage truck.

Ridiculous.

I guess I should have assumed that the dreadful hour was nigh when the grade 9 student walked in, dressed in his wanna-be gangster clothes and the, "I-could-care-less" expression on his face, while behind him out in the hall students scurry to make it to their next class on time. If he thinks he's fooling anyone, he can think again. Grade 11 and 12 students are the only ones that may be lucky enough to be gifted with a spare block in their timetable. "Gifted" meaning that after a rigorous form that needs to be filled out there's a chance that you may not even get it.

Adding to that paragraph, grade doesn't even matter. If one were to 'skip' and decide to do so in the library - you've got to sign in. A pain in the - ehemm - but if you don't, the librarian will track you down with ease and confidence, and start her 3-part killing by first:

1. Yelling at you. ("DID YOU SIGN IN?")
1. a. When student answers with an uneasy "No...?" you get:
2. A lecture, in yelling tones. ("WELL, YOU NEED TO SIGN IN. IF THAT FIREBELL RINGS AND WE ALL HAVE TO EVACUATE, AND YOU'RE NOT ON THE LIST...")
2. a. Student then gets to feet, and signs in. You get:
3. Ms. Luis stalking you. ("MAKE SURE YOU SIGN IN!" (As she walks behind you and peers over your shoulder). "IT'S NOT 11:45 IT'S 11:46! BE EXACT! AND WHAT CLASS ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO BE IN? A SPARE? WELL, LET ME CHECK THAT!")

And the "let me check that" is where everyone else in the library that is supposed to be on an actual spare clues in and realises, "Hey, that guy isn't on a spare! SKIPPER! SKIPPPPPERRRR!!!!" (insert tribal fire/dance/sacrifice here. Just kidding!)

Ms. Luis has this powerful object that perches on the edge of her desk called a 'computer.' From there, she can access your information and see what class you're supposed to be in. From there, she will yell some more at you, and then call the teacher and notify them where their missing student is.

Yep. Skipping in the library is damn difficult. So if you want to skip and be noisy - go somewhere else.

Once again, I'm not exactly certain that this was even close to a prompt on that website (there's near 300 prompts and I still have a biology worksheet to do, so I didn't have the time to check - I have 55 minutes left of my spare) but I thought that this would do. So, needless to say: I'M SORRY TO ANYONE I HAVE DISTURBED, IF I EVER HAVE, IN THE LIBRARY! (Though I am definitely quiet when I'm in here, BUT STILL.)

Movie Addict, Banker, and Used Car Saleswoman on Broken Bus.

"Anyone know how to change a tire?" The bus driver asked, pulling his large body out of his seat. He stood at the front of the bus, staring his passengers down, waiting for a response. "Well?" He finally prompted them, his handlebar moustache ruffled as he let out an impatient breath.

"Change a bus tire? Don't they teach you this sort of stuff at bus driver school?" A tall, lanky man asked from his seat. He was wearing a t-shirt with a Star Wars Logo, with the quote "There is much to be learned" underneath it.

"Don't be a smart ass," the bus driver warned.

From the rear of the bus rose a shout of hysterical laughter. It was the man in a brand-name suit, holding his head as his laughter died into a weak chuckle. "Oh, this is great. Just brilliant," he said when he looked up, noticing eight pairs of eyes on him. "I'm going to be late for my meeting because the bus driver is too thick to change a tire."

Though the driver had warned the movie addict before, he didn't speak now. He was eyeing the bank manager up, contemplating whether or not it was smart to argue. The man had a lot of power; upsetting him would be a bad idea.

Silence fell throughout the bus, and for a moment everyone simply stared at each other. They were currently stuck in downtown Manhattan, with car horns blaring at them from behind. The bus had shuddered to a stop and with a curse under his breath the bus driver had announced what the issue was.

Finally, a woman got to her feet. She was wearing black pencil skirt and a white blouse, and she looked a little uncomfortable as she faced the passengers. "Well," she finally said, and she seemed to gain a bit of confidence, because she held herself up straighter. "I guess now is a good time to offer someone a used Sedan for 14,000 dollars? Good price, and God only knows that if you take it, you won't have to take the bus again."

The movie addict leaned back in his seat, looking completely content. "No thanks. I've already got a car. 1970 model, actually. I just don't drive because I live in New York. Busses always get top priority along with emergency vehicles, so it's always faster to take the bus."

The banker raised his eyebrows. "Top priority? If busses get top priority, then why hasn't someone come to change the tire?"

The young man returned the banker's stare. With an indifferent shrug, he asked, "No one jumps out of the way for a tow truck driver. Why are you on the bus, anyway? I thought bank managers took their private jets to work."

"Very funny," the banker replied icily, eyes locked on one of the windows.

"Hello?" The used car saleswoman called. She was greeted with the eight pairs of eyes once more. "Anyone interested in the car?"

"No one wants to buy your shitbox car, alright?" The banker snapped.

The woman got to her feet once more, strode to the front of the bus, and let herself out. The passengers watched from their seats as she stalked off down the street, weaving in and out of the crowd.

"Now look what you did. If you keep scaring the passengers off, we're not going to have anyone to eat once night falls and we're all starving," the movie addict said dryly.

"Finally," the bus driver cut in, getting out of his seat and waddling to the door. A man in a work shirt and pants climbed in, a tool box clutched in his right hand.

"Welcome," the movie addict said darkly from his seat, "to the bus of doom. We were just planning our meal, and the majority were asking for grilled automechanic. Care to join us?"

Without a word the man set down his toolbox, opened it, and began rummaging around through it. Finally, he extracted a few tools that he would need and exited the bus. With a loud ticking noise the bus was raised on one side. It took about ten minutes for the man to change the tire, and when he finished, he took his toolbox and left.

Two days later, the used car saleswoman sold a Sedan for 14,000 to a bank manager.

To Love Or Not To Love

Instead of trying to think of some witty introduction to start this post, I'm going to go ahead and say that yes, it's important to love your job. Or enjoy it, at least, if you find it hard to commit. To love, I mean.

Anyway, I would have to say that I pity the people that don't like their jobs. I hope that they were forced into that job, rather than making the decision to go with it. Being flexible isn't bad, but at least have the courage to back out of something you hate. You won't be judged. I had a 60% average in Math Principals 11, but you don't see me saying, "I'M GOING TO BE A MATHEMATICIAN! I'M GOING TO CHANGE THE WORLD USING MATH! YEAH!"

If I said that, I know I would be dooming myself to a dreadful life full of tearful nights.

Alright, went a bit off topic there.

For the sake of people's sanity and tempers, I'd have to say enjoying your job is something that is vital in life.

As of now, I am confused out of my MIND trying to think of what I want to do with my life. I don't want to end up miserable. What if I choose a path where you can't back out? Yeah, that would suck.

I don't even want to list the jobs I have in mind because I know whoever will read this will go, "Pffft. Her? Being THAT? Yeah right. She'll end up on the streets if she goes with that." So I'm just going to say that I'm being very flexible with my options, and when I go to my high school reunion I will proudly say, "Hey, sup, sup sippie cup. Whuddup. I love my job, yo." (Just kidding; I'll say it like a normal person.)

To Be, Or Not To Be ... (Passionate?)

Pieces of the Puzzle - The Glass Castle

"I began to feel like I was getting the whole story for the first time, that I was being handed the missing pieces tothe puzzle, and the world was making a little more sense." (Walls, page 205)

It is almost laughable how analogous this statement is to past event in my life. When my father was diagnosed with cancer, it was, of course, kept a secret from me. I was ten years old, so it was understandably assumed that I would not be able to handle the unimaginable: death of a family member.

For my parents' sake, I think their plans of telling me at a later date were in vain; my older sister didn't have a normal twelve-year-old IQ, and she had the whole situation figured out in seconds. Naturally, Holly understood where my parents were coming from and only hinted to me the truth - me, with my horribly underdeveloped brain.

But when I was "handed the missing pieces of the puzzle," the "world [definitely started] making a little more sense." I was devastated that my father was ill, but I had mixed feelings. I felt naive, lied to and fragile - as if I could easily be broken and therefore had no right to be told the truth. And if anything, this thought changed me. I became suspicious and I found it hard to believe anything that my parents told me. I was always thinking, "is there more to this than what they're telling me?"

I can confidently say that I completely undertsood what Jeannette was feeling. Though I did feel lied to, fragile, and all of those other mixed emotions, I began to understand the world a bit better. I became more mature, and I understood that from this point on in my life, I would have to grow up. I would have to look after myself and my sister, and in the end, it would only be the two of us that had one another. In The Glass Castle, this scene allows Jeannette to go under a considerable change; from that point on, she too grew up.

I am not saying that my parents are like Jeannette's, and for that, I'm grateful. What I am saying, however, is that this scene in the book made me realize - everyone can relate to Jeannette. Everyone has been lied to; though it may have been something simple, when you finally grasp the truth it changes you. It may be a positive change, or it may be a negative change. We may not have a disfunctional family like Jeannette, but we all have lied, kept secrets, and have been lied to. In the end, it's really just a vicious cycle.

What Am I Thankful For...?

Have you ever read a book that made you considerably thankful for what you have? I think many of us have, so now that we're on the same page, let me introduce a book to you. I'm going to tie the book into a few of my own personal experiences, as well. That way, I can feel that this blog will be understood in more depth.

What I first noticed about The Glass Castle (written by Jeanette Halls) is that the children seemed to be brainwashed into thinking that the life they have - constant moving, irresponsible actions from their parents, sleeping in boxes and starving for days upon end - is acceptable. It's as if the parents have told their children from time to time that everything they're doing is okay - just to cover up for their recklessness. This was hard to understand at first, because growing up, my parents were responsible. They both held very respectable jobs for the government and they were always careful for money. I always felt that their number one priority was my sister and I: they were always so good to us in the form of feeding us, clothing us and giving us a beautiful home to live in. They took us on trips and they always drove us places that we needed to go. We were able to see our friends and have them over, or stay with him. When our friends stayed at our home, my parents were always very thoughtful and treated them as if they were one of their own.

I couldn't believe what I was reading when I came to the part in the novel where the mother and father had put their own children in the back of the U-haul. My family and I rented a U-haul once. Where did I sit? In the comfortable seat in our van beside my sister. There was no huddling in the back of the U-haul, fearing for my life if the doors flew open. Sure, I worried over the fact that the doors would open of the trailer, but only because I didn't want our stuff to fall out.

The next appalling thing I came across in the book was how the parents swear - and, in an almost encouraging way - is how the mother and father allow the children to swear. My mother always, always gets mad at me if I say an inappropriate word. Seriously.

Though things went downhill with my family and I no longer speak to my father, what I am most thankful for in my life is my mother and sister. They are both rolemodels to me. They also both supported me (and continue to do so) in the darkest of times. My mother is a strong woman who doesn't let things bother her. Whenever someone would send a negative comment or insult her way, it's as if I can actually see the negativity ricochet off of her. My mom is also good to me in so many other ways - driving me places I need to go (she drove me to Westbank to get an Xbox 360 after Christmas because they didn't have any in stock in Penticton), as well as supporting me financially.

My sister is intelligent. Growing up, I can always remember my dad praising her for her outstanding work in school. (I was always making lousy marks.) I can remember them having in-depth conversations about something I didn't have the slightest clue about. I watched her apply for student loans, which required filling out a long and complicated form. Half of the words I didn't even understand, and I admired how grown up my sister has become.

In the novel, though the siblings play together, I can't really sense any close affection towards them. Jeanette admires her father, while Brian and Lori do not. Brian, under his breath, speaks of how his father has let him down on countless occasions. Lori took lashings from her mother so other children wouldn't be upset with her.

It seems that the love that is shown in this novel is fake; though there is appreciation towards others at times, no one really feels affection for the other. The children appear to be embarrassed of their parents, but they dutifully act "fake" or like "real children" in order to shield their parents from the public's eye. Is this right? Is this really an acceptable family?

I am so grateful to have a loving mother and sister, that I would seriously go to the ends of the Earth for them. I feel like that I haven't given to them in the ways they have to me. I feel as if they are too good to me. It may sound selfish, but I am entirely grateful that I do not live the life that Jeanette did. There have been hard parts in my life, but they were short, and they weren't my whole childhood.

Unraveling an Appalling Secret

It was definitely a deplorable ending to "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson. Who knew that the small town of three hundred, all approaching each other with 'good mornings', talking of gossip and "speaking of planting and rain, tractors and taxes" (Jackson, page 227)could abruptly turn on each other and stone to death the one that pulls the black dot from the box?

I have to admit: I have seen this before, in the movie "The Wicker Man" and the book "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini.

The film "The Wicker Man" conveys the same sort of idea that "The Lottery" does: a small, friendly town and a harsh, ghastly secret that isn't revealed until the end. It's all done like this in order to allow the audience to feel appalled, and no doubt exclaim, "what a twist!"

With this movie, the town has a celebration, or ritual that they follow every year. And it includes the one, same thing that the short story does: murder. It is horrible that such a festivity can occur with the death of an innocent life. As well, the only time that someone considers what the town is doing is wrong, it is when its their own life on the line. Such as Mrs. Hutchinson, who had screamed, "It isn't fair, it isn't right" (Jackson, page 234).

Conversely, the novel "The Kite Runner" has the same approach to murder, but it's not a yearly celebration. Citizens in small towns are forced to watch as sometimes wrongfully accused people are buried, then stoned to death. This is under the rule of the Taliban that such grotesque actions ensue. As well, the citizens must act as if they enjoy what they see. Connections from this novel to the short story can be made by the way of the murder (with stones), as well as the persuasion from a figurehead with authority (The Taliban, and Mr. Summers [The Lottery]).

Indifference is a word that applies to all three of these works. Under figureheads, a crowd of people will either act out of fear or apathy, loyalty or uncertainty, and commit horrendous acts. Indifference is something that is still seen today. The question is: when will someone finally stand up to what is wrong, and disown the word "indifference" from their vocabulary?