The Lunch Bunch
This is my entry for the Sudden Death round of Week 7.
"He doesn't need us anymore," the Jock said, hunching his overbuilt shoulders and pulling his red hoodie over his face.
The Rebel flicked the Jock a bemused look. "Oh, you finally noticed," he said. He whirled the steel-and-hard-plastic cafeteria chair around, then straddled it. "What was your first clue?"
Sinking further into his chair, the Jock answered. "He said that he only sees guys like us in movies. We don't exist in his school." He looked like an overstuffed muscle man who was slowly deflating.
A breathy voice rose from the next table. "Looks like you both finally realized the world doesn't revolve around you," the Goth intoned. She interrupted herself from making an art sculpture of her lunch long enough to lick her fingers ironically.
The Geek wheeled around in his chair and stared openly at the Goth with a look halfway between fascination and repulsion. His mouth gapped open as he failed to come up with anything cogent to say.
Carefully picking up her sushi with hand-engraved chopsticks, the Prom Queen shook her perky red locks and took a delicate bite. Savoring her meal, she realized the Rebel was glaring at her. "Can I please just eat?" she asked.
Slamming his half-gloved right fist into his left palm, the Rebel tried for drama. "Of course you can, sugar. No one's coming for you, yet. You'll always exist," he said with a sneer.
The Prom Queen shrugged and wiped an errant grain of rice off her pink off-the-shoulder crop-top. "Whatever," she said, as if ending the conversation.
Sinking even lower, the Jock croaked. "They don't even say that anymore!"
"Of course they don't," the Geek put in. "They're not even from the same gener--"
The Rebel stood up and pushed the cafeteria chair down with a crash. "Don't even," he warned the Geek. "We're timeless."
Thoughtfully, the Geek put a hand to his unshaven, peach-fuzz chin. "You do have a point. There have been guys like you since at least the time of this kid's grandparents. The look has changed a bit, but usually, there's some leather in there somewhere."
"Yeah, and nerds have existed since the time of Aristotle," the Rebel answered. "What's your point?"
The Jock was nearly on the floor now, deeply into his feelings. "We don't EXIIIIIIST!!!" he wailed.
With a snorting laugh, the Goth crushed up her corn chips and blew them across the table. "From dust to dust," she exclaimed with glee, then waved her arms snakelike over her head in her rendition of a death dance.
"Says you," the Prom Queen said. "I definitely exist." She fixed her gaze on the Geek as if to prove her point.
The Geek was warming up. He sat up straighter in his chair. "Yes, you do. We all do," he assured her. "But we're just not as relevant anymore."
The human puddle formerly known as the Jock moaned.
Standing up and leaning on the table, the Geek looked down at Puddle Jock and asked him, "What did he say, exactly?"
Sniffing loudly, the Jock wobbled, "His mom asked him about his friend who plays a lot of sports, if he's considered a Jock." The Geek nodded supportively. "And -- he said he doesn't know anyone who uses that term at his school."
A clatter as the Rebel kicked another cafeteria chair halfway across the room. The Geek held up a calming hand. "Let's hear him out," he advised.
The Jock continued: "And -- and when she asked him what he meant by that, he said that there were guys who played sports, but nobody treated them as if they were different. They were just -- guys."
Leaning down, the Geek put a hand on the Jock's heaving shoulders. "That's OK, big guy. I'm sure he didn't mean anything negative by that."
Finishing off her sushi, the Prom Queen said delicately, "I'm sure he wasn't being mean or anything. He's a pretty cool guy."
"You think so?" the Geek said, almost hopefully. "Because if he was in our school, he might be considered -- a geek."
"What, just because he's smart?" the Goth spat. She peered out from under her dyed-black bangs. "Jealousy is so yesterday." She finished fingerpainting with her pudding and hung it on the wall behind her.
The Geek rocked back on his feet. "You do have a point there. But what I was about to say was that nobody picks on him because of it."
Wiping off her chopsticks before putting them back into their traveling case, the Prom Queen said, "Good. Maybe his generation is making some progress, then. I always thought it was ridiculous to make fun of people just for getting good grades."
Regaining his bones, the Jock sat up suddenly. "Hey! I never made fun of geeks! I'm a nice guy."
The Geek patted him on the shoulder. "Sure you are," he said.
Gesturing expansively, the Goth said, "But sometimes names themselves are violence."
With a slam of his fist on the table, the Rebel opened his mouth to speak... then thought better of it. "She's right," he said, as if surprised by his own words.
The Goth stood on top of the table, doing an interpretive dance. It went on, and on, and on. Mesmerized, the Geek watched her. The Rebel just shrugged.
Dropping her empty sushi container in the trash, the Prom Queen said, "Catch you all later. I've got to go get my yearbook picture taken."
The Jock wiped his eyes on his sleeve and pulled himself together before following. He paused in the doorway and turned back to face the other three. "Sorry, guys." Then, realizing his words were unclear, he repeated. "No, I'm really sorry. For, like, everything."
His hands falling to his sides, the Rebel said, sotto voce, to the Geek: "I don't know what you just did, but thank you, man."
Puffing up his undersized chest, the Geek responded, "Don't thank me. Thank Generation Z."
~~~
This piece was inspired by a conversation I had with my son, who assured me that no one uses the term "jock" anymore. Upon further discussion, it seems that most of the stereotypical cliques familiar to us Gen X parents no longer exist. In fact, he and his classmates seem entirely capable of viewing each other's strengths and weaknesses in totality, without sticking that person into a category.
I don't know if it's just his school district or if it's something unique to Gen Z, but my son assured me that the only way he and his friends even know those labels is from watching movies and paying attention to pop culture.
I choose to find that hopeful.
I used a Photoshop filter to create this brightly-colored, cartoonish version of one of the schools in my son's school district.
"He doesn't need us anymore," the Jock said, hunching his overbuilt shoulders and pulling his red hoodie over his face.
The Rebel flicked the Jock a bemused look. "Oh, you finally noticed," he said. He whirled the steel-and-hard-plastic cafeteria chair around, then straddled it. "What was your first clue?"
Sinking further into his chair, the Jock answered. "He said that he only sees guys like us in movies. We don't exist in his school." He looked like an overstuffed muscle man who was slowly deflating.
A breathy voice rose from the next table. "Looks like you both finally realized the world doesn't revolve around you," the Goth intoned. She interrupted herself from making an art sculpture of her lunch long enough to lick her fingers ironically.
The Geek wheeled around in his chair and stared openly at the Goth with a look halfway between fascination and repulsion. His mouth gapped open as he failed to come up with anything cogent to say.
Carefully picking up her sushi with hand-engraved chopsticks, the Prom Queen shook her perky red locks and took a delicate bite. Savoring her meal, she realized the Rebel was glaring at her. "Can I please just eat?" she asked.
Slamming his half-gloved right fist into his left palm, the Rebel tried for drama. "Of course you can, sugar. No one's coming for you, yet. You'll always exist," he said with a sneer.
The Prom Queen shrugged and wiped an errant grain of rice off her pink off-the-shoulder crop-top. "Whatever," she said, as if ending the conversation.
Sinking even lower, the Jock croaked. "They don't even say that anymore!"
"Of course they don't," the Geek put in. "They're not even from the same gener--"
The Rebel stood up and pushed the cafeteria chair down with a crash. "Don't even," he warned the Geek. "We're timeless."
Thoughtfully, the Geek put a hand to his unshaven, peach-fuzz chin. "You do have a point. There have been guys like you since at least the time of this kid's grandparents. The look has changed a bit, but usually, there's some leather in there somewhere."
"Yeah, and nerds have existed since the time of Aristotle," the Rebel answered. "What's your point?"
The Jock was nearly on the floor now, deeply into his feelings. "We don't EXIIIIIIST!!!" he wailed.
With a snorting laugh, the Goth crushed up her corn chips and blew them across the table. "From dust to dust," she exclaimed with glee, then waved her arms snakelike over her head in her rendition of a death dance.
"Says you," the Prom Queen said. "I definitely exist." She fixed her gaze on the Geek as if to prove her point.
The Geek was warming up. He sat up straighter in his chair. "Yes, you do. We all do," he assured her. "But we're just not as relevant anymore."
The human puddle formerly known as the Jock moaned.
Standing up and leaning on the table, the Geek looked down at Puddle Jock and asked him, "What did he say, exactly?"
Sniffing loudly, the Jock wobbled, "His mom asked him about his friend who plays a lot of sports, if he's considered a Jock." The Geek nodded supportively. "And -- he said he doesn't know anyone who uses that term at his school."
A clatter as the Rebel kicked another cafeteria chair halfway across the room. The Geek held up a calming hand. "Let's hear him out," he advised.
The Jock continued: "And -- and when she asked him what he meant by that, he said that there were guys who played sports, but nobody treated them as if they were different. They were just -- guys."
Leaning down, the Geek put a hand on the Jock's heaving shoulders. "That's OK, big guy. I'm sure he didn't mean anything negative by that."
Finishing off her sushi, the Prom Queen said delicately, "I'm sure he wasn't being mean or anything. He's a pretty cool guy."
"You think so?" the Geek said, almost hopefully. "Because if he was in our school, he might be considered -- a geek."
"What, just because he's smart?" the Goth spat. She peered out from under her dyed-black bangs. "Jealousy is so yesterday." She finished fingerpainting with her pudding and hung it on the wall behind her.
The Geek rocked back on his feet. "You do have a point there. But what I was about to say was that nobody picks on him because of it."
Wiping off her chopsticks before putting them back into their traveling case, the Prom Queen said, "Good. Maybe his generation is making some progress, then. I always thought it was ridiculous to make fun of people just for getting good grades."
Regaining his bones, the Jock sat up suddenly. "Hey! I never made fun of geeks! I'm a nice guy."
The Geek patted him on the shoulder. "Sure you are," he said.
Gesturing expansively, the Goth said, "But sometimes names themselves are violence."
With a slam of his fist on the table, the Rebel opened his mouth to speak... then thought better of it. "She's right," he said, as if surprised by his own words.
The Goth stood on top of the table, doing an interpretive dance. It went on, and on, and on. Mesmerized, the Geek watched her. The Rebel just shrugged.
Dropping her empty sushi container in the trash, the Prom Queen said, "Catch you all later. I've got to go get my yearbook picture taken."
The Jock wiped his eyes on his sleeve and pulled himself together before following. He paused in the doorway and turned back to face the other three. "Sorry, guys." Then, realizing his words were unclear, he repeated. "No, I'm really sorry. For, like, everything."
His hands falling to his sides, the Rebel said, sotto voce, to the Geek: "I don't know what you just did, but thank you, man."
Puffing up his undersized chest, the Geek responded, "Don't thank me. Thank Generation Z."
~~~
This piece was inspired by a conversation I had with my son, who assured me that no one uses the term "jock" anymore. Upon further discussion, it seems that most of the stereotypical cliques familiar to us Gen X parents no longer exist. In fact, he and his classmates seem entirely capable of viewing each other's strengths and weaknesses in totality, without sticking that person into a category.
I don't know if it's just his school district or if it's something unique to Gen Z, but my son assured me that the only way he and his friends even know those labels is from watching movies and paying attention to pop culture.
I choose to find that hopeful.
I used a Photoshop filter to create this brightly-colored, cartoonish version of one of the schools in my son's school district.
