I like my schedule this year. I was actually able to choose classes that I wanted to take. You know what I wasn’t able to choose? The carpet. I hardly know where to begin. Did someone think it would be cool? Funny? What happened to the inviting, water-stained blue carpet we used to have? And why wasn’t the A-wing’s carpet changed? What does this unexpected transformation mean for our future as high school students?
Remember when all of your friends hosted their birthday parties at laser park? I’ve been driven to that mildew-y industrial complex countless times. Once inside, you walk into a black-lit room with glowing pink floors. That’s what the carpet on the second floor looks like. Laser park.
On September 3rd, I sauntered into my literature class ready to seize the day and start the year on a good note. But when I walked upstairs to go to my second block class, I opened the doors at the top of the stairs and had to dive into a corner to avoid the kids shooting at me with those obnoxious laser guns that go “SHOOOOMP” when they hit you—and you aren’t allowed to dive in laser park. It’s exciting, sure, but not when I’m trying to focus on school.
The seizure-inducing carpet (that, by the way, the school should have informed parents about) is made worse by its juxtaposition to the brown A-wing carpet. Before, the stark transition from the main wing to the A-wing was kind of cool, like walking over the equator from one time zone into another. Now, it looks like you’re stepping out of a dance club into a pool of mud.
Imagine the conversations in the science work room:
“Wonderful weather we’re having today, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, John.”
“Oh… well then, wonderful carp—“
So this year I’ve been busy noticing how mirthlessly boring the brown carpet is in the A-wing and how terrifyingly exciting the new carpet is. But just like Maine’s lobster ice cream or Rita’s Swedish Fish blend, this new carpet is a mistake. It’s too bad you can’t throw a cup of carpet in the garbage and order a new one.