The following is based on some strange yet comical events that occurred to a friend during my high school years.
Why We Hate Harry Potter
So the other day, you were walking through your high school on a mission. This wasn't some damn essay for your English teacher, or a "Draw-your-school" art assignment – you wish it was. At least then you didn't risk getting shoved into locker no. 225. No, this was going to be no picnic.
You felt bad for Adam that he had only two people for the Harry Potter club. You felt even worse as the club secretary. Of course, forgetting to set up your stall at club day last week didn't help. So you decided to help him. But you didn't stop at "decided." No, you had to go too far, dammit. You had to "promise" to help him. And now this promise was hanging over your head like a contract to the devil – you had to do it.
All you needed was one more convert into the wizarding world. "School rules dictate you must have at least 3 people to form a club," Ms. Welker had croaked. "Any less, and you can kiss your hamwarts's dream goodbye." She was one of those adults who thought Harry Potter was for grade schoolers, i.e. the lower rungs of society. We were high schoolers. We were expected to enjoy Jane Eyre and idolize Shakespeare. After you realized what she meant by "hamwarts", you made the promise to Adam. You promised you'd find one more addition to the Harry Potter club. Otherwise, all the WalMart costumes and extra books you stole from the library would be for naught. Otherwise, hamwarts would be shut down indefinitely.
At least it was afterschool now. No bustle and elbows down main street. Everyone was either milling around waiting for a bus, serving detention in an empty classroom, or running their own clubs. Only difference was, they had what you needed – MORE PEOPLE. For some odd reason, youpictured Voldemortas WalMart's CEO.
You follow the sound of voices down Livingstone to classroom 434 and peered in. Well, whaddya know, as the folks in Boston say. It's quite busy in here, filled with a dozen 14 year olds. You see a kid with his back to you wearing a pointy wizard's hat. Choosing your words carefully, you walk up to him and ask, "Uh…hi there, I was wondering if you're interested in joining the Harry Potter club? We read the books, have discussions, and role play often. If you'd like to learn more, I have some pamphlets with me."
Suddenly you realize the room has gone deathly quiet. All the other people are staring wide-eyed…not at you, but at the kid with the wizard's hat. He turns around and tries his hardest to look down on you with authority and contempt, fake white beard and all. You try your hardest to look him in the eyes without exploding in laughter. "And what have we here? Another hobbit desperate to seek sage words from Gandalf the Grey?" With great difficulty, you keep a poker face and reply, "Well, are you guys interested in joining the Harry Potter club or not? We bring sugar cookies on Tuesdays." A chubby white kid in the corner gets off his chair slowly, but Gandalf pushes him down angrily and addresses you in layman's terms. "FOOL OF A TOOK! How dare thee challenge the winds of fate! After this hobbit, Rohirrim!" Horrified, you see that everyone has gotten off their feet and drawn wooden swords. As you flee hastily from the classroom, you can still hear them cry FOR A RED DAWN! far behind.
Whew, that was close. Not that they would actually hurt you with their cheap wooden swords. You were more afraid that they would break one of them and scream bloody murder for the world to hear. So you take a moment to regain your composure in the form of a trip to theconcentration camp mess hall of a cafeteria.
As you exit south of the mess hall, you enter the blue section of your high school, Hurst. Everything here was blue…walls, lockers, shoes…moods. Well, except those of the always-pissed varsity football D-Line. Speaking of which, who were in your way…
Too late. They're advancing towards you. Chests puffed out, red-black jerseys and all. "What are you doin' here, punk?" one of themdemands in his best macho voice. The others laugh stupidly and snort like hogs. One of them bears a startling resemblance to Fang, but you don't have time to ponder that disturbing thought. You tell them you're looking for members to join the Harry Potter club. You didn't add that you were one of it's two members. "I know what that is, that's a book for pussies, hehe," one of them replies. Okay not interested, fine, be that way, I'm off. But another jock says, "Hehe, that crap's for nerds. Only gay people with glasses read that shit. No pussy in it, hehe." Another one adds loudly, "Man, I want some pussy right NOW!" This remark is greeted by hard high-fives and more laughing and snorting. You're standing there in the middle of this, wishing you could leave, but you know you can't.
Suddenly, a cellphone rings. It's answered by the big buzzcut one in the middle. Wait, they're all buzzcuts. Oh well, thank God for cellphones. The jock answers it and after about 30 seconds of mostly incoherent mumbling and grunting, he switches it off and puts it back in his pocket. "Jen wants me to pick her up now, she's at the mall," he says to the others. One of them grabs you by the neck and holds you off the ground. "Now you be a good little kid and wait till your momma gets home." He stuffs you into his locker (which had no books in it anyway) and locks it. From inside, you can hear the usual laughing and snorting as they walk away.
2 hours later, still cooped up in the cozy confines of the smelly locker (what was that smell…used bandages?), you hear footsteps. You utter a small cough and say, "Ahem. A little help here." A sweet-looking girl of about 14 raises her head. "Jesus? Is that you?" You rap your knuckles against the metal of the insides. "In here." You look through the small cracks in the locker and you can see her there…very pretty, toting a Bible in her right hand. "Don't worry, O fellow Christian! I shall end thy terrifying imprisonment," she assures you. You're about to ask her how the hell she knew you were a Christian (though not a very devout one) when she started performing some kind of crazy gungho prayer. Holding the Bible high above her head and screaming at the top of her lungs till she was red in the face, she sounded like Jesse Jackson on crack. "LAWDD! Give me tha STRENGTH! to do THIS! Give me the POWA! to unseal this DEMON KEY… from the GATES OF HELLL!" She stood there for a moment, as if expecting the locker to open magically. After 5 minutes of this "miracle-waiting", you reply dryly, "I think God has you on hold for now. Can you just find a janitor?" The girl looks back at you, perplexed and a little miffed. "Good samaritan, we are ALL God's janitors." For a moment, you can't say anything. Good thing she can't see you laughing. "Well, be a good samaritan yourself and find me a janitor with a crowbar." She scowls and leaves reproachfully.
Twenty minutes later, Biblegirl gets back with Fred the janitor and his crowbar. He jimmies open the locker and out you go. Free at last! You thank Fred for the nice work. Fred gives thanks in return by slapping your buttocks and grinning toothishly. Well, that wasn't necessary. "Er…anyway, thanks for the help." "I was merely doing the Lord's work," she smiles. You decide hey, why not now? This is a good time to ask…
"Do I want to join the Harry Potter club?" she asks in a sweet tone. "Ooof course I'll join - " You relax and breathe a sigh of relief. "If I was a damn heathen like you! HEATHEN! Go back to practicing your magic, voodooman!" She was in hysterics. "Harry Potter isn't anti-Christian, yeesh," you reply as a poorly aimed Bible throw skips behind you. "WHAT!" She's on the verge of exploding. "Harry Potter is HERESY! HE is the ANTI-CHRIST!" Hey eyes are flaring. You notice she looks like one of those cartoon characters with steam coming out of their ears. "HE is in league with SATAN and ALL his foul MINIONS! AWAY you HEATHEN! NONBELIEVER! ARGHHH – SEE YOU IN HELL!"
10 minutes later, you're in the red section of your school, Graham. It goes nicely with your red welts. She literally beat the book into you you wonder as you look at the outlines of the Bible imbedded in your arm. Well, this isn't going as planned. You start to doubt whether this is going to be worth it. No way. You made a promise to a good friend, and all the Bible-beatings and locker prisons in the world wouldn't stop you from achieving your goal. What was it that your old history teacher had told you years ago? There is never a goal that you can't reach. Then you remember that he was beheaded a year later trying to teach some African pygmies to write. Okay, so that was a bad example. These kids in front of you are now your last hope. They seem…relaxed? Why are they smiling so much?
"Hey, are you interested in joining the Harry Potter club?" To your surprise, they all nod yes, albeit very slowly. "Sure…baby…anything you want." Well, that went pretty easy. TOO easy. One of them looks dreamily at you and asks, "How…m-much…will…there…be?" You frown in puzzlement. "How much what?" you ask. "POOOOOTTT!" he screams, and starts hiccuping uncontrollably. You stupid bastard. Forgot these were the stoners. "Uh, sorry, we don't have any pot. We have – " One of them yells, "LIAR!…you…you said there would be harry pot…I wanna KNOW what kinda POT this harry pot is…momma?" Another raises a finger and says lazily, "Hey…YOU…wanna…wanna joint?" You refuse and say no thanks. She throws an empty plastic bag at you. Looks like she recently used it as a weed container. "I'm yur girlfriend…h-how could you treat…yur girlfriend like that!" She starts to cry.
Oh what the hell. You throw down your Harry Potter pamphlets and walk back to room 434.
"So, got any room for a hobbit?"