Study Hall Rambles #1: The Tutor Center

For the first time in my high school career, I have elected to sacrifice earning course credit to have a forty-five minute free period in my day. Intending to become an even higher-achieving high-achiever, this period was originally intended for completing any and all assignments from my first two classes and over-preparing for all my afternoon courses. In reality, I do my best to get out of study hall by getting a magical blue pass from my favorite teacher. I wander the halls and drink a lot of coffee. I've also stopped that terrible buisness of doing homework at home because I can cram all my afternoon assignments into this time (combined with my lunch period if we're talking papers to write).
So despite the fact that I should be studying subjunctive verb conjugations en espanol and reading the first act of Henrik Ibsen's A Doll House, I'm doing what I always do: sipping a cup of joe and musing. My study hall musings are actually incredibly beneficial; some of them have even become the college admissions essays I worry so much about. I feel as if these little breaks in my school day have led to brain exercises that elevate me to higher planes of thinking, inching me closer to perfect self-acualization (read: I am a lazy piece of pretentious crap).Thursday and Friday study halls are a bit different, however. Due to my misleadingly high GPA, I was asked at the beginning of the year to volunteer one or two days of service to the Tutor Center at my high school. The idea is that when students help other students succeed, we will cure cancer and invent cars powered by rainbows. Since the advisor is a math teacher, she figured my english brain might make up for some of the gaps in her knowledge. Ideally, we make a good team. Realistically, there's only two guys in the tutor center during third period, one who needs help with geometry and biology, and one who just wants to get to shop class.
It's hard for me to phrase this in a way that doesn't make me sound uppity and horrible... but I don't spend much time around people like our shop class enamored friend. The tutor center is also conviently right next to my school's "technical education lab," so I often encounter other mechanically-minded gentlemen on the way to and from class. Though the tutoree really doesn't want any of my help, (and my advisor is perfectly content to let me "study spanish" and "work on the newspaper" on the computer ((TUMBLR)) all period), eavesdropping has been illuminating.
If you've ever wondered who actually thinks studded, airbrushed Ed Hardy t-shirts are worth the price, he's your man. If you've ever scoured the earth for someone who earnestly believes lung cancer only effects people who smoke cigarettes "the wrong way," your search would end with him. If for some reason, you're dying to lose your faith in the future of humanity, lend him your ears and your masochistic urge will be forever satisfied!
I'm not being fair. I don't hate this fellow. I don't even dislike him, I'm coming to see. He is so very different from me, and he isn't malicious in any way. He clearly has trouble learning, and by senior year he's become belligerent and unwilling to accept help. He doesn't want to learn, and in a few short months, society will tell him he doesn't have to any more. I don't blame him for longing for a respite of what he clearly considers torture.
That doesn't change the fact that it pains me to watch people in the dark, people who don't take the same joy in an unopened novel that I do. It makes me greatful, however, that I have this weird sponge-like brain that sends all kinds of happy chemicals to all my extremities when I hear names like Victor Hugo or F. Scott Fitzgerald ) because it's helped me succeed in the manufactured school environment.
Then again, try to teach me the finer processes that those happy-making chemicals go through, and I'm stuck. I realize there are people who feel pain like mine when they watch me stumble through my own science/math-ignorant darkness.
So maybe this is idealistic, naive, or just plain reaching for a point. But I love my mornings in the corner of the tutor center, pretending to mind my own buisness, learning lessons that can't be taught in a text book. There are billions of people out there, as my favorite author put it once, we live a world full of people, full to bursting, who are full of talents and gifts and differences that are wonderful and amazing and often go uncelebrated.
That is, unless I don't like you. Then you're just a stupid douchebag who annoys me.
That's how that works, right?
I can only be a mature philosopher for about 600 words, and then my 17-year-oldness kicks in again. Some people suck. Namely, me.

ALSO: Everyone who follows this blog is a person that definitely doesn't suck!! Thanks for the comments, specifically on my last post. They were super helpful and compassionate and just a;ldfkjasd wow I'm lucky you guys are so nice :D