The Prep School Diaries, Chapter 1
Anyone here go to prep school? I did for one year, and it was easily the worst nine months of my life. I didn't know it at the time, but the place I went in Connecticut (nexus of the boarding school universe) had a repuatation for being a prison. Not surprisingly, they left that out of the brochure.
I went to a very liberal high school in Portland, Oregon before heading to Prepville (name changed to protect the clearly guilty). We called our teachers by their first name, and they taught us in groups of 8-20 people. Some classrooms were in a converted house, so in history, you laid your binder on the mantelpiece the defunct fireplace (provided you got the best seats) It was great. Full of us crunchy Oregonians, even though I wasn't down with all things outdoorsy.
When I got to Prepville, it was as though I had landed on another planet, and my spacesuit was a blue blazer, tie, and khakis.
For the first time ever, I saw the Wonderbread white guys who pretend to be black. Baseball cap backwards and throwing out slang like they had just driven their parent's Range Rover stright from the ghetto.
"Whaddup, dawg?" says paleface Lax player.
"'Sup, kid!" says New Hampshire backwoods boy.
I had no idea what I had just stepped into.
And the teachers. The teachers were the worst. Within three days of being there, a teacher decided to launch a preemptive strike on my friend and I who had come with me to Prepville from Oregon.
He was describing the chores students were required to do every week. Chores? Are you kidding me? I should be in college, man! I didn't say that, but maybe he could read it on my face, becuase he said right away, "Don't mess with me."
This man had a fire in his eyes that I had never seen before in any teacher. Taken aback, all I could say was "okay, sure." Little did I know that was just the first round of the many me vs. the teachers, exclusively on pay per view for the next nine months.
Anyone here go to prep school? I did for one year, and it was easily the worst nine months of my life. I didn't know it at the time, but the place I went in Connecticut (nexus of the boarding school universe) had a repuatation for being a prison. Not surprisingly, they left that out of the brochure.
I went to a very liberal high school in Portland, Oregon before heading to Prepville (name changed to protect the clearly guilty). We called our teachers by their first name, and they taught us in groups of 8-20 people. Some classrooms were in a converted house, so in history, you laid your binder on the mantelpiece the defunct fireplace (provided you got the best seats) It was great. Full of us crunchy Oregonians, even though I wasn't down with all things outdoorsy.
When I got to Prepville, it was as though I had landed on another planet, and my spacesuit was a blue blazer, tie, and khakis.
For the first time ever, I saw the Wonderbread white guys who pretend to be black. Baseball cap backwards and throwing out slang like they had just driven their parent's Range Rover stright from the ghetto.
"Whaddup, dawg?" says paleface Lax player.
"'Sup, kid!" says New Hampshire backwoods boy.
I had no idea what I had just stepped into.
And the teachers. The teachers were the worst. Within three days of being there, a teacher decided to launch a preemptive strike on my friend and I who had come with me to Prepville from Oregon.
He was describing the chores students were required to do every week. Chores? Are you kidding me? I should be in college, man! I didn't say that, but maybe he could read it on my face, becuase he said right away, "Don't mess with me."
This man had a fire in his eyes that I had never seen before in any teacher. Taken aback, all I could say was "okay, sure." Little did I know that was just the first round of the many me vs. the teachers, exclusively on pay per view for the next nine months.
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As for things to do in Portland, you can pick up a copy of the Mercury as well. It usually has listings of shows and stuff. There are usually interesting thing to do if you just poke around a bit.