Memoirs of an Outstanding* Teen

Chapter 42: Overreacting

I quickly realized that my elite society membership wasn't going to be all rainbows and butterflies. Becoming a prefect meant that I had to go through the initiation process before I could get my badge (basically be tortured by the outgoing prefects).

On the same day our names were announced, we were told to pick a piece of paper from a jar that would contain a burger order we had to make. I picked mine, hoping that I would just have to buy a patty somewhere and throw something together quickly. But to my disappointment, the girl that wrote my order had at least fifteen instructions there, all the way from which kinds of German butters she wanted on each bun, to what type of cookie cutter to get for cutting up the lettuce into the shape she wanted. And the torture began.

It was already around 2:00 pm when we got these instructions, I had already missed the bus, and I wouldn't make it home until at least 3:00. Two hours to run around town and get all the randomness for the burger. "Pray to your stars to make it."

Then, as if my afternoon wasn't packed enough with just that burger order, we were told, that we had to come to school the next day, wearing a housekeeper's dress, a head scarf, and an apron. And we had to bring a broom or a mop along. Was it that we had to show we're ready to serve the school or something? I don't know. But what I knew was that I had no housekeeper's dress back home. Heck, we didn't even have aprons. Our housekeeper cleaned in whatever she found herself wearing, and my sisters and I also cooked and cleaned in whatever we found ourselves wearing. Where would I get all this Devious Maids fanciness, and when in burger filled day?

My fellow prefect, Tina, must have noticed the look of confused annoyance on my face. "What burger order did you get?" she asked.

"It's a whole list of things. I think I'll be spending the rest of the afternoon getting it ready. But I don't even have the apron or the housekeeper's dress, so I don't know what I'll do about that."

"Oh, you don't have that? We have extra aprons and my house. And our housekeeper has some dresses. She's a large, so I don't know if you'll mind that..."

"No, that will be fine! I'll bring a belt or something. Thank you so much!"

"Okay, then I'll bring them along tomorrow morning."

"Thank you! I'll just come wearing my uniform and find you here."

"No problem."

I got to school the next morning, hoping that her majesty would like the burger that I, her most humble servant, made. Actually, it was more like, "You better love this burger more than you love your own mother, because I spent five whole hours trying to put it together, and I might just suffocate you with it if you don't." Would you guess what she did when I handed it to her? She never even opened the freaking lunch box to check it!

"This is fine, thank you!"

Do you know the amount of stress I got tangled in to get you your perfect burger? Do you know how many perfectly good buns I threw away because I messed up your order by a fraction of a percent? I put three instead of two strokes of your South Germany almond butter, and I thought, "Well this is not quite what she wants. Let me, the humble servant, redo this whole step with a fresh bun." I used the star-shaped instead of the heart-shaped cutter to make the imprint that you wanted at the bottom of the top bun, and I thought, "Oh no no! Her majesty must get perfection. She wants the star shaped imprint, not the heart-shaped one. Better get rid of this bun too." And now you want to tell me that you won't even bother to check the perfect artistry of my work?! What? Do you eat puppies for breakfast?

I had hardly recovered from this annoyance when Tina came with my outfit. Maybe I overreacted. Maybe I was mis-projecting my annoyance. It just so happened that she grabbed her father's apron when coming, and it had the most obviously masculine slogan printed on the front. Something like, "Father's Apron" or "Men wear this when they cook" and I remember, as soon as I saw that apron, the disappointment I felt brought me on the verge of tears. In my head, the apron seemed to read, "This idiot couldn't even bring her own apron so she's wearing her friend's dad's apron. What a loser!"

Throughout the day, if anyone chuckled even a little bit anywhere near me, in my head, they were laughing at me and how much of a disorganized, always-gotta-depend-on-others loser I was. And all those who looked at me without laughing were silently pitying me and my pathetic failure. I wished I carried shoulder bag instead of a backpack to school so I could just toss it over the apron. I was miserable.

Okay, I'll admit it. Thinking back now, I see I overreacted majorly. But I swear, I felt just like you would feel if you accidentally went to school or work with a shirt that says something ridiculous like, "Alcohol makes me horny" and you couldn't change it until the day was over.

That afternoon, I couldn't wait to get home and take the apron of shame off my body. And as soon as the thing was off and I was in my cleaner clothes, I hailed a cab to town to go get myself a better apron.

Then the next day, I had to have the awkward conversation with Tina. "Hey, thank you so much for lending me the apron. I hope you don't take it the wrong way, that I had to go get another one. It's just that that one had that slogan, on it, and people were staring a little. But I really appreciate your help, because I would not have been able to buy any of this in time the other day. Thank you, but please don't be offended."

Luckily, she was a forgiver, "It's okay, I understand. Don't worry about it."

I think we might have been friends if I didn't forget her birthday not too long after that and make her hate me forever.