It's Time for my Monthly...
Behind these dark and mysterious eyes, there lie many secrets...deep, dark, powerful secrets. Secrets about the people I meet, the places I go, the adventures I have...oh, the secrets. But if you ask me where I am on the first Saturday morning of most months, I will hesitate to answer, because this, my pets, is my darkest secret of all...
On these Saturday mornings, I will rise from the shelter of my deluxe duvet cover and mock the sun with a knowing chuckle. I will walk to the window wearing nothing but a miniature kimono and stare from my second floor window into the trash shaft below. "It is time," I say aloud.
After a quick shower and a tooth brushing session, I will don my costume: juicy couture sweatpants, puffy coat, large hoop earrings, "Mario Forever" fake tattoo, and Timberlands. I then put together my survival kit: one identification card, a registration certificate, a calculator, and, not one, but two #2 pencils. That's right sweet children, almost once a month I pretend to be seventeen, walk into a Brooklyn public high school, and take my SAT.
Some of you are probably wondering why I would do this and if I have a fake ID. No, I do not have a fake. How weird would that be to be 25 with a fake 18 year-old ID? How ironic. The truth is that you don't have to be in high school to take your SAT. Think of all of the people who go back to school later on in life. You also don't have to use your social security number. So, it is not on my "human" record that I do this.
The reason: because sitting for a 4 hour test at 8 AM on a Saturday, when you probably were drinking until 4:30 AM the night before, is tons of fun?!! No. Because I have multiple personality disorder and Yvette, my 17 year-old personality, wants to get into a good school? No. Because I'm just up at that time and don't have anything better to do? Yes and no. Because I work for a test prep company that needs research since the SAT doesn't publish most of its tests? There you go.
This is actually a pretty standard practice by test prep companies -- sending out researchers to take the test so that the company knows what kind of questions show up and, thusly, can make $$ off of test prep materials that resemble the actual test.
Regardless, though, remember when you walked out of the test at age 17 or 18 and said to yourself, "Thank God, I never have to do that again." Well, welcome to my Hades. I might as well be rolling a huge boulder up a mountain only to have it roll down the other side.
There are some perks to not actually caring what your score is, though. For instance, I slept through an entire Verbal section once. I have also written essays (there's an essay now, for those of you who were not aware) about my best friend, Oprah, American Idol, Fight Club, burning witches, and crack cocaine. As the old person, you can also mouth off to the proctor. One girl who was timing all of the sections incorrectly got a mouthful from me; this actually made me enemy numero uno for the rest of the class though, because this proctor was giving everyone 5 extra minutes on each section. Oops! But baby, I wanted to go home and 5 minutes extra on 10 sections is an extra hour. So, I spoke up and afterwards spent that hour of saved time, plucking gum from my hair and a bullet from my back.
It's my job and a pride-swallowing one at that. Nothing makes you feel worse than standing in the teenage girl's bathroom, surrounded by 17 yr-olds, who are talking about someone losing her virginity, noticing your first grey hairs.
On these Saturday mornings, I will rise from the shelter of my deluxe duvet cover and mock the sun with a knowing chuckle. I will walk to the window wearing nothing but a miniature kimono and stare from my second floor window into the trash shaft below. "It is time," I say aloud.
After a quick shower and a tooth brushing session, I will don my costume: juicy couture sweatpants, puffy coat, large hoop earrings, "Mario Forever" fake tattoo, and Timberlands. I then put together my survival kit: one identification card, a registration certificate, a calculator, and, not one, but two #2 pencils. That's right sweet children, almost once a month I pretend to be seventeen, walk into a Brooklyn public high school, and take my SAT.
Some of you are probably wondering why I would do this and if I have a fake ID. No, I do not have a fake. How weird would that be to be 25 with a fake 18 year-old ID? How ironic. The truth is that you don't have to be in high school to take your SAT. Think of all of the people who go back to school later on in life. You also don't have to use your social security number. So, it is not on my "human" record that I do this.
The reason: because sitting for a 4 hour test at 8 AM on a Saturday, when you probably were drinking until 4:30 AM the night before, is tons of fun?!! No. Because I have multiple personality disorder and Yvette, my 17 year-old personality, wants to get into a good school? No. Because I'm just up at that time and don't have anything better to do? Yes and no. Because I work for a test prep company that needs research since the SAT doesn't publish most of its tests? There you go.
This is actually a pretty standard practice by test prep companies -- sending out researchers to take the test so that the company knows what kind of questions show up and, thusly, can make $$ off of test prep materials that resemble the actual test.
Regardless, though, remember when you walked out of the test at age 17 or 18 and said to yourself, "Thank God, I never have to do that again." Well, welcome to my Hades. I might as well be rolling a huge boulder up a mountain only to have it roll down the other side.
There are some perks to not actually caring what your score is, though. For instance, I slept through an entire Verbal section once. I have also written essays (there's an essay now, for those of you who were not aware) about my best friend, Oprah, American Idol, Fight Club, burning witches, and crack cocaine. As the old person, you can also mouth off to the proctor. One girl who was timing all of the sections incorrectly got a mouthful from me; this actually made me enemy numero uno for the rest of the class though, because this proctor was giving everyone 5 extra minutes on each section. Oops! But baby, I wanted to go home and 5 minutes extra on 10 sections is an extra hour. So, I spoke up and afterwards spent that hour of saved time, plucking gum from my hair and a bullet from my back.
It's my job and a pride-swallowing one at that. Nothing makes you feel worse than standing in the teenage girl's bathroom, surrounded by 17 yr-olds, who are talking about someone losing her virginity, noticing your first grey hairs.
posted by Lang @ 2:39 PM
3 Comments:
At 7:26 AM,
east side girl said…
Wow. I feel icky about the SAT all over again just from reading this!
You must hear some pretty interesting things while you're there. You could do an expose--the secret lives of high schoolers.
At 6:31 PM,
john said…
i'm having a pretty sad/shitty week, and this just made me laugh out loud.
thank you so much. i needed it. :)
At 6:35 PM,
Carolyn said…
Dude - Jen Dziura does that too - she wrote a hilarious piece of fiction about it that she read at Teacher's Pet. I'm surprised you guys haven't run into each other in the cafeteria of PS 83. She's scored a perfect 1600, btw. That's sick.
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