Over the past few weeks, I’ve had several different conversations with several different people, which have all, for one reason or another, wandered back to our high school days. These high school days all took place at different high schools, at different times.
But we all had one thing in common.
“I spent a lot of time in the library in my high school years,” confided my bubbly friend N over a cup of Nescafe on the weekend.
“Well, I hid in the library a fair bit,” said my outgoing friend M over a glass of red a few weeks ago.
“You spent year 8 in the library, didn’t you Al?” said my all-knowing friend A, on the phone.
Choose any night on Twitter and someone is using their 140 characters to confess their misspent youth with the Dewey Decimal System. These are bright, funny people. Very good in writing. Those hours of isolation amongst the dusty shelves have stood them in good stead.
I have just one question. If we were all in the library, who was in the playground? Surely someone was out there, living the dream, being the Cool Kids.
Was it you?
‘Fess up. Did you spend your high school years in the library or, er, smoking behind the bike sheds?