High School

by Max St. Pierre

“Dude bro man, lets dip out and go for a walk.”

“Fasho young squire lets be outro…”

And so the five boys and their female counterparts strolled outside, walked around a corner, up a driveway and over to a ledge.

“Spark that shit bruh.”

And with that…he sparked the blunt. These ten teenagers were set upon a mission, a mission of intoxication. You see, these guys were just kickin it, hardcore that is. At the top of the hill the view was second to none, spectacular you could say. Because of this epic view, local teens alike will often exploit the high points on the hill, leaving angry neighbors and “view spots” used as intoxication zones.

Anyways this one night only a few weeks ago, oh man, it was quite a night. Basically, let me just start from the beginning, the story needs run in.

As I was saying before, ten people, all gazing out at the beautiful Berkeley night, blunt sparked and all is well. As you can imagine the night progresses in a rather linear manor, nothing amazing happens and things are deemed fun.

“Alright yall, lets go, it’s getting late…” And so the motor pool begins, our car, destined to a friends house, for a late night round too.

We arrive at the destination only to be thrown aback, spray paint everywhere, trash on the streets, and oh man, everything in such disarray. The worst part is things only get worse as we enter the house, racist symbols spray painted on walls, crumbs everywhere, the floor burned and the worst, everything was covered in urine, yes urine, clothing beds, the floor. This house was used as a public toilet for a night.

Oh man the mess, and this then sent us on a journey for snacks to 7-11. The thought process from mess to snacks is so complex researches at Stanford are still at work trying to decipher the human appetite and how surroundings influence it.

7-11, this is where things go down this is where, this is where things start to heat up and this is where the night reaches the high points, in the 7-11 on Solano.

“One doughnut please.”

“$1.29!!!”

“No bro it says 89 Cents, I am not payin a &1.29”

Here the 7-11 man STORMS over the doughnuts, grabs the price tag and violently throws it to the ground, while all this is happening I am screaming and laughing at this man who is so distressed.

“$1.29!! NO 89!”

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEE OOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

I scream this into the mans face and then BAM, a hand come right out and slaps me. That’s right guys, the 7-11 man slapped me, and he spared me no pain when he did this. Taken aback stepped back, paused and then grabbed as many bananas and as hard I could threw them back, nailing his head, I then sprint out, but I look back once, I see my friend also grab bananas and he too throws them and hits him in the face. The 7-11 man then grabs a banana himself, throws it, misses, and it explodes EVERYWHERE. This was the end of the night if you ask me it as a hell of a night too.

* * * *

It was just another average day of school I was in the park. The weather on this fine day was just too amazing; you could evens say it was to die for. So here I am, I with two other gentleman, we are enjoying the weather and of course discussing politics and current events. Anyways after a small squabble a fight breaks out, this fight, sparked by intense passionate, emotional political opinions. And then BAM a chase breaks out, these two guys are running around, jumping over things and then…they decide they want to jump over a sleeping homeless person. The first guy jumps, he’s clear, the second, he too makes the leap. After this they return, the fight is over, and they come back to their respected seats. To our amazement, these jumps awakened the homeless person, as most residents know of Berkeley, an angry, awake homeless people are quite the loose cannons. The wrath begins, cursing, spiting, general spewing anger is being thrown our direction, but, we let it slide. As we know, let her work it out then all will be well, and she turns back over and again falls asleep. Now obviously the people I am with feel the slight inclination to rebuttal in a physical manor. Now I'm not talking about hitting or anything like that, I’m talking about her shoes. I suppose pre-pass-out she decided she did not want her shoes while she slept; she put them neatly by her side.

“Ey, her shoes are really just RIGHT there, fuck this lady.”

The words of encouragement begin…

“Donatello, just take one, don’t take both”

And with those few words of encouragement he went ahead with this scheme. Like a trained ninja turtle he crept on his tippy-toes, somersaulted forwarded, dashed to a tree and then with one fluid movement, he lurched forward grabbed the shoe and bolted. What happened to the shoe only he knows? Miraculously the women was not awoken or disturbed, I don’t even think she realized her shoe was gone until she woke from her dose, at which point I had already left the scene.

High school, a time of so many ridiculous events it is hard to even gander into the depths of a seniors head, as the many events that have transpired over the four years are in most, awkward, absurd, and amazing. The last four years of my life have turned into one big blur, I reminisce with my friends and all of us cannot help but burst out laughing, these four years have simply been a ridiculous time. As I reminisce with my friends a few certain nights always seem to find their way to the topic of conversation…

* * * *

Wimbledon Stylos: The name given to a buddy of mine so notorious I could have written this whole story about him, the things this man will do for laughs and “street credits” is unheard of, from crashing his car because going under fifty is “for losers only” to throwing up green he will never let down.

Alright, here we are, a boring night in Berkeley so we decide to go over the hill to Orinda/Walnut creek to find the party or the ladies. After a night of lurking the Starbucks and what not we decide it is time make the way home.

“Stylos, I will fucking give you a street cred for every minute we spend over fifty”

I say with hopes he does not take me seriously, he did.

Here we are on these WINDY roads, after all we did take the back roads home, and we are flying, the posted speed limit is 20, we are more than double. Every corner we hit is absolutely terrifying, sliding out and barely making it, but the whole time the driver is getting rewarded street cred. This is all fun and games until we get to one corner; this one is tighter than the others, much tighter.

“WALL WALL WALL”

I hear Ian Anderson yelling from the passenger seat, I look up and then…

BAM, we nail this dirt wall…going forty miles and hour, my jellybeans fly everywhere!

The car gets damned near totaled, and for what, some fucking street credits.

* * * *

Long story short, high school has been the most ridiculous absurd years of my life. Often I see school as a way to fill time between weekends, the parties, the people, all the incidents that have gone down these last four years are all in their own way obnoxious. Everything told in this story was real, and worse, everything in this story happened in the last two months, first semester is not even included, junior year all that shit. The amount of stories I racked up these four years is incredible, something that could only happen at a school like Berkeley High.

I hope that college will only continue this rambunctious pattern and over the next four years I will procure many memories similar to those at Berkeley High.