, , , , , , , , , , , ,

As human beings, we absorb interesting experiences as something we share at a dinner table, or at a party, to be accepted. Which is a horrible system. Nightmares are something we hold dear to us, because they are experiences we ourselves wouldn’t be able to live through ourselves. We emote our need for nightmares in different ways, such as fear. Nightmares, in a basic sense, give us more hope than dreams do. Hope for whatever we saw not to be true. And, in those special times when us humans live something that could be put in comparison with a nightmare, we share that story. Because humans are terrible. And that’s basically what this is.

This preceding night there was a fundraiser movie night. If the previous sentence didn’t give you an idea about what will happen next, think about this. The movie we were going to watch was Minions, that movie that we heard about for a day then never heard it again. In other words, that movie that all of us fell asleep during it. Well, imagine that exact movie, but instead of watching it in a comfortable movie theater environment where you can eat all the popcorn you want without judging yourself because it was a special occasion, you are at an elementary school gymnasium full of 12 year olds, and all these people do is wait to get out of school and make ‘jokes’ about the male anatomy. I entered the movie night fully expecting what I thought I was to see, and I wasn’t surprised. It was most likely a trap to raise money for the school. For all they cared, they could make us pay 20$ then lie about the movie and lock us in the gymnasium for hours.

But we didn’t. I knew I made a mistake by making the asinine decision to enter this place. After 20 minutes of making Ted Cruz jokes with Lucas, the movie finally started, and it was worse than the ideals of a nightmare. It was displayed through a projector on a giant white piece of paper held up by a metal rod. The quality of the picture was mortifying and the sound shook the bleachers that I was sitting on. It was only a minute or two after this that I made the brash decision to leave (to be fair, it sounded good at the time).

I picked up my phone and went to the front room with Lucas because we had enough. At this front room a coalition of moms (the ones that brag about their children on Facebook) held guard, and when we picked up our stuff it alarmed them. “Where are you going,” said one of them. They all stared at us with their mom eyes. “We…I…um….my mom….we decided to go home.” The moms looked at us like we were atheists at Jesus-con. “Well…,’ the ringleader of the moms harshly responded. “We can’t let you leave. You have to stay until 9:30.” This alarmed us for a number of reasons. “I think we’re just going to leave…” I quietly stated with the confidence of the whatever from The Wizard of Oz. “I’m sorry,  I really am,” she continued. “But you’ll have to stay unless your mother or father picks you up.” Challenged by this, I quietly said, “Fine then,” and then greatly outwitted their mom logic. I pulled out my phone and dialed for my mom. The relief of hearing a voice that didn’t have a demon possessing it was wonderful. I put it on speaker, and then one of the other-moms said, “Kristen, Charlie would like to walk home, and we were just wondering if you could allow this.” The thought that a mom who knew not one thing about me didn’t believe I had the mental-capacity or maturity to traverse the small distance of 4 blocks when the sun was still out was humiliating. My mom quickly respond, “Yes, of course,” and that was the greatest relief of my life. Defeated by this, the other-mom said in a moment of anguish, “If you leave and you regret it, you won’t be allowed to go back.” Good, I thought to myself. While walking out, I looked back at them only to see them all stare back with pure black eyes. This is the horrifying truth behind moms. There must be like an underground cult following of moms that they use to organize and keep track of all of the immature children. Oh wait. That’s Facebook.