Since middle school, I’ve been listening to the band Bowling For Soup, and one of my favorite songs of theirs is called “High School Never Ends”. You might have heard of it, but if you haven’t, I recommend you check it out. When I was younger, I found this song quite amusing because of the comedic lyrics and overall message, but I never understood the idea that high school didn’t end. Of course it did. You go to class, graduate, get your diploma, and move on. At least, that's what I believed up until this past summer.
I graduated from high school in 2015, and while I was never directly involved in the never-ending rumors poisoning the minds of my classmates, for some strange reason, it never failed to reach my ears. One way or another, I would learn of the drama occurring at school whether it be by mouth, social media, or any other form of communication. It was clear to me that for some students, the drama was a source of energy to get through the day. So imagine my enthusiasm when graduation came and gone, and I was finally free from the overbearing, drama-infused prison.
However, this past week, after nearly a year and a half after graduating, I soon learned a daunting truth: the real world is no better than high school. I began working at my first job about seven weeks ago now and have become acquainted with most, if not all, of my coworkers. Due to my naïveté, I assumed all was well between all the operators on first shift.
But that illusion was shattered this past week when I began working alongside a group of particular ladies who didn’t seem to quite get along. While they smiled to each other's faces, they also glared behind each other’s backs. And as I worked alongside them, each woman would have something to say about another, they were often times complaints or judgments. One would make a comment about another taking lack of work, questioning how she plans to take care of her son if she doesn’t put in the hours. One would complain about another’s clothing, claiming to see parts of her body she had no desire to see. One would make a fuss about another always leaving their station and running off to flirt with male workers. The criticism never ended, and once again, I found myself in the middle, listening to all of the drama while trying to keep the peace. But despite my efforts, tension between some of the ladies will not dissipate as they did not get along before I arrived, and I am certain they will not get along after I leave.
Since this realization, I listened to Bowling For Soup’s song once more, paying close attention to the lyrics, and they ranged truer than ever. Indeed, nothing changes except the names, the faces, and the trends.
