Future Plans to Join a Hippie Commune

A recent viral story about the sarcastic comments which accompany a senior high school student’s yearbook photo incited a flashback reminiscent of Stick Chick’s own yearbook quote.

Before we go there, it’s worth illustrating how dramatically things have changed in the nearly four decades since. Though there are companies that still produce class rings, it’s safe to say they’ve become passé. For a variety of reasons, students no longer clamor for those expensive mementos.

Stick Chick’s high school…true story…offered two other options in addition to the class rings that she coveted but could ill afford. One of these included the annual high school yearbook. It was the other that offered a more affordable and dare-she-say practical option.

Seniors could choose to purchase a cream-colored, 16-ounce ceramic beer mug with the high school’s official green emblem trimmed in genuine 14-karat gold. For an added fee he or she could have writing, presumably a name, etched on the mug in gold.

Perhaps it was the heat of June in the 50s era buildings which lacked air conditioning or that her particular class was collectively a lot of miscreants who they were pleased to finally be rid of, but Stick Chick never understood how the student government managed to slide beer mugs for teenagers past the faculty advisors and administration. She recalls with great delight that a classmate named Bridget ordered hers which read, “Bird Shit” and got away with it. Stick Chick purchased a mug devoid of customization, filled it once at the senior graduation party, quickly realized its potential and has kept pennies in it since.

Ah, but we’ve digressed from the tale of the yearbook quote.

Feeling trapped as caged animals, Stick Chick and a friend fantasized about the places they’d travel and the things they’d do when they were finally free from the confines of high school and the small town in which they lived. For fun, the two would challenge each other, attempting to out create one another with fictional, fantastical scenarios whereby they would once escape. They wrote notes and kept journals of their plans, some sad, others brave and still others so silly to them that they’d find themselves doubled over with laughter in fit of tears, wheezing and gasping for air. So it was obvious, after one particular fit of giggles that they’d plan to “dye their hair pink, move to California and join a hippie commune.”

The creation made for one of those inside jokes that only friends understand. When graduation approached and the papers for senior yearbook quotes were distributed, it seemed obvious to Stick Chick what she would write when she read the lead:

FUTURE PLANS: ________________________________________________________

Every now and again, chance meetings with high school acquaintances would begin with the comment, “Oh, I thought you moved to California. I must have been mistaken.”

To which Stick Chick would reply, “I wonder where you got that idea.”

 

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