The only goth in my school!
Date Friday, March 29, 2024 - 03:01 AM PST
Topic Experiences


There was one goth at my high school-- and view this not as a retrospective long-time view, but as in 6 months ago retrospect. The girl came in with three weeks left of school. She wore black overalls, came with a painted face, black skirt and long black shirt of Siousxie and the Banshees, in a little white pattern in the center. She had a Gaelic pattern in black face paint coming off the side of her left eye, and a hello kitty backpack. She sat behind me and to the left.
As soon as she leaves for a bathroom break, the simian on my left breaks out with, as a pause in the class occurs, "dude, she is fucking goth, I hope she doesn't eat my unborn young." The raver to my right says, leaning painfully close to his companion on the left and inadvertently leaning nearer to me, "yeah, but she's fucking hot you stupid fuck." God, I hated history class.
News spreads quickly in a campus of only 1,000. I say that because, if you manage to average the fact that each of these painfully ignorant philistines only equals one-fourth of a brain, you come to the conclusion that the campus was, in fact, despite being occupied by 1,000 things that sweat, the actully coherency of things that sweat AND speak comes to 250-- a much more reasonable number. And considering she was the only goth ever to grace the grounds of that shitpit of the universe, it was a momentous occassion, worthy of cockmonger chatter from all social groups.
I say that she was the only goth, but I suppose I have been accused of being a goth on several occassions, though I managed to discourage such broad generalizations most of the time, it has seeped through to a few minds that I might be schalacking the jet-black egg of gothness. The prices we pay to wear black, neh?
On the cheesewagon ride home, I managed to grab an aisle seat near the back of the bus, to listen to the lurkers converse over the usual topics trailor trash discuss at great length-- "at what point in your family tree did you become my cousin?"(cleaned up a bit, since, if I went to the extension of actually typing out all of their grammatical errors I would commit suicide and the thirteen-headed black goat and her three thousand young would devour the world) seemed to be the main topic of conversation today, until it turned to the "new goth."
Again, seated between two simians the conversation seemed to diverge in to the looks of the new goth, and since I tired of this vein which had been rattled on my ear all day long, I turned to the topic of her Hello Kitty! backpack, which met with little success when grappling against the conversation of her bust size.
The first conversation I actually conducted with this girl took place on the last day of school, when i happened to be in dire need of a pencil for my aprobriously lethargic final-- which went something like this.
Me:"pardon me, but can I borrow your pencil for a moment, and a parcel of desk space so i might put the pencil aforementioned to use?"
Her:"Uhhh, sure."
Me:"Why thank you. Such an unusual extension of kindness compared to the rest of these heathenous cretins in this gawdawful exrescence of a school."
Her:"You really read too much."
Me:"Why thank you. Might I take a look at that book that you seem to have tucked away for when you complete the test an hour before the rest of us?"
The book happened to be entitled "The Death of Satan", and was about the removal of demonic fear in America and how we brought it down to a disney viallain with longer fangs and bigger cape.
Her: "Sure. Just don't procrastinate on it"
Me: "I'll try desperately not to. By the way, the gentleman to the left of me would like to get in your pants."

For ease of reading I will not write here what the teacher told me out of class, in the hallway. It did motivate me never to be brutally honest again in my life, however.

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