‘There are two types of people: those who enjoyed their time at high school and those who didn’t. The former is easy to find as they extol the virtues of the good ol’ days and how they wish they could go back. When they get together, they pass stories around, like the joints, they once smoked at parties, while sitting at beer-soaked picnic tables in pub gardens. They talk about the time they made the science teacher cry, the parties at which La Roux’s “In For The Kill” was played in between wordless dubstep on some rich boys’ DJ decks. They revel in a time before things got tough, before taxes and responsibility when things were easier. Then, there is the other type of person, who, like me, sits firmly in the I-couldn’t-think-of-anything-worse camp. For us, high school was a constant negotiation, a continued policing of our gayness, our fatness, our body, or our attitude. It was not a place where we learned that things might get better; just a place where we simply hoped things would not get worse.’
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