Entry 37: The Aptitude Test

Aptitude tests. Tell me, what's so imperative about these things if only YOU can be the one to pick your future?

I was sitting in class, listening to Simmons come up with another 'special' announcement of his…

"Class, today we'll be taking an aptitude test."

Honestly, I didn't see the point when I could predict half the class' future then and there. Pheebs, I could see being some sort of Neurosurgeon. Whether or not Princess manages to keep up to date with her outerwear, that won't stop her from giving her constant unwanted opinion of everyone else's. I can just picture her sitting at one of those fancy smancy judging tables, saying "Those shoes...SO do not match that sweater!"

Pttss...oh brother!

Either way, Mr. Special passed out the tests and told us to write our names on them. I spend the morning with my trusty purple pen...that I use for every freaking assignment...filling out the answers. Finally, it was time to eat. Of course, Pink boy races out of the room as if lunch lady assistant had been declared his new career.

"Eugene. I will entrust you to collect everyone's tests and place them on my desk."

First off, why the heck would he trust that loser with what he considered to be such an important assignment? I'm kicking myself for ever handing my paper to the freak to begin with.

Second, what on earth did he tell us to write our names on the tests for, if he was just going to give us name labeled folders?

Third, I find it hard to believe after a whole stack of papers was dropped, only mine and one other person's were incorrectly placed into the folders. Maybe I should make an announcement to the class half of them are wasting their time practicing for whatever job their test 'predicted' for them.

At the end of the day, I headed for the door with Pheebs, telling her there was no need to sweat about the results. She was the last person in the class who had to worry about poor test results. I made my case when pointing to our pathetic classmate hopelessly leaning against the school door.

"Harold will become a doorman. If he can master the technique."

Don't ask me why I bothered to point out his pull (not push) flaw to him. I suppose that's just proof football head was right about my being a 'nice, normal, sensitive person.'

After a night spent at ease, I returned to class to hear Simmons eagerly announcing what he was sure to be accurate test results…

"Arnold would make a wonderful ambassador to a foreign country. And Harold...congratulations on the most outstanding test scores for a fourth grader since Olga Pataki took a test!"

Tell me something, what kind of a moron compares a held back student to a well coveted colleague, when their sibling just HAPPENS to be in the class? Sheesh!

Obviously the test was a joke after hearing that. I don't know why I let my own results get to me when the constant rioting of the class implied how inaccurate Harold's results were.

"A woods person. What the heck is a woods person?!

Who the heck would even consider that to be a career? Anyone capable of acquiring a degree that is.

I sat in class the rest of the week, not caring to make a learning attempt at anything. Hey, he gave us the test. He showed me the results. I was just following his 'special' recommendations.

Although I'll go ahead and admit, those results shattered my dignity. I'm not given recognition for my accomplishments at home. I'm only applauded by myself. Despite my parents not caring about me, I at least always knew I was smart; capable of great things. Then I saw the test and it was like the world was telling me I was wasting my time trying.

Another part of me (the control freak) part of me, wasn't going to go down without a fight.

"Woods person! Ha! I'll show them. I'll be the most mountain, nature loving girl, the Aptitude has ever seen!"

Dressing in overalls, setting animal traps, letting everything in class slide in one ear and out the other. Again, who the heck would even consider that to be a career?

"Helga, you're not even trying. I'd like to see you after school."

Simmons keeps me after school to talk about my new behavior. Like he wasn't the one who handed us a stack of 'life changing' questions.

"Well, this be the REAL me Mr. Simmons. Simple as pie."

First the guy tries to push me to choose my career at the age of nine, then he butts even further into my business by telling me I'm taking it too seriously. Is he a teacher or a counselor?

I don't know what made the guy 'check his work' but he discovered purple ink and test results not designed to resemble a first initial better suited me than Pink boy.

I don't care how many freakin' tests he graded. Who grades…

"E...E...E...E...E"

Without finding something highly suspicious?

Anyway, Mr. Special comes to apologize for the flaw in grading. I'd say he made an even bigger flaw handing Klutzilla the tests to begin with.

There was no point in apologizing to (let alone telling) my parents anything…

"Fine. Fine. Is this gonna cost me anything?"

After watching Simmons leave, I was filled with relief. My parents may not show me any recognition, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm a literary giant. I was ready to go upstairs and return to my normal life until I saw Miriam's stupid self throwing my box of poems and diaries into the fire!

It doesn't matter if she's sober or not. She can't do anything right! Now here I am starting everything over. I'd hate to see the results of any life predicting test she took.