I am on a Most Wanted list.
Actually, it’s more like the Lost and Found of my high school alumnae committee, which for the last 30 years has experienced monumental difficulties in tracking me down and verifying my existence. It’s kind of exciting — as if I’m Sydney Bristow of Alias, with this amazing ability to change my hairstyle and persona as I jet set from one fabulous nightclub to another.
The members of the committee, in their cute cheerleader skirts or rumpled football jerseys, follow my antics on high powered computer software but are simply incapable of keeping up with my constant, surging movement, and they lost me somewhere in Tunisia or Morocco when I slipped out the back way, foiling their nefarious attempts — again — to send me information about the upcoming reunion festivities.
Oh, Reality Check.
I’ve never been in a nightclub. Or a pink wig. And I don’t know where Tunisia is.
I live 30 miles away from the high school in question, but to give the committee some credit, people do move away and change their names and alter their make up brands and renovate their wardrobe and stuff. I myself have changed my glasses frames several times since high school.
It’s just that, I’m not that difficult to find.
In a spirit of helpfulness and generosity, however, I feel moved to offer these hapless and overworked volunteers a few pointers in my direction, and in the hopes that at least one or two graduates from a class of 500 might have gone on to successful careers in the FBI or CIA, I herewith assemble a series of subtle clues:
Subtle Clue #1: I have an odd maiden name. In a town of 50,000, we were the only family with that name. (By the way, you might check the spelling on it — I am incontrovertibly sure that it was spelled correctly on my diploma and in the official records; it does not, however, appear to be so on your records. Perhaps this has something to do with our little problem?)
Subtle Clue #2: I write a column every two weeks in the local newspaper, using my married name — which, amazingly, (Clue #3) the committee has. (Not so amazingly, it turns out: ten years ago, when they couldn’t find me for my 20th reunion, I wrote a committee member with my maiden name, married name, present address which is still my address since I haven’t moved in that ten-year period, and phone number. Dang. I knew I should have included more complete information.)
Subtle Clue #4: My mother — with that odd last name — lives in the same house that I lived in all during not only my high school years, but junior high, elementary school, and kindergarten. She gives out great treats at Halloween.
#5: My brother — with that odd last name again — is a member of the school board. He might remember me. Given the stories that he has to tell about his high school days, I’m pretty sure that his own alumnae committee remembers him.
I think that’s it.
I know it’s not much. It is interesting to note, however, that should I ever decide to do something truly appalling, such as use an incandescent light bulb instead of a compact fluorescent, thereby compelling me to purchase a ticket to Argentina and live out my life in exile, I should do just fine remaining where I am, in plain sight, since I am apparently invisible, a condition that aptly encapsulates and describes my overall high school experience.
Mercifully, those were not the best years of my life.
I don’t know what their problem is. I find you with ease every time you publish a new blog post. 😛
Ah, but I you are, fortunately, on this committee. I am happy, though, that you are on the Committee of Middle Aged Plague Readers!
Why is that do you suppose? But it happens. Now if my High School lost me, I wouldn’t be too surprised, it was a long time ago and far, far away. However while I was in High School, on an island in the western Pacific that was 67 miles long (only 30miles were inhabitable) and between 1 mile and 12 miles wide, if you measured from the end of one peninsula to the end of another, which is a stretch. There was only one high school. Still they managed to lose my records every year in one form or another. The odd thing is that 90% of the students were there for only two years, while I spent 10 years on the island. They even forgot to put my picture in the year book the year I graduated, and the teacher in charge of it was my home room teacher. It was the first time I ever saw someone go that pale. They didn’t even have a “No Photo Available” place holder. I simply refused to let it be the end of the world, I liked college better any way.
Wow. So, do the Committee members of my home town have relatives on your island — long lost relatives?
Like you, I infinitely preferred college, and once I was legally out of high school, never looked back!