The title speaks the truth. Why, you may ask, is the title "New York Hobo"? Am I on vacation to the Big Apple and just happening to want to blog about I hobo I met? Ha-Ha....WRONG. This is a blog, so I have no shame. If I did, I wouldn't have started this thing in the first place for two reasons.
1. I really don't have any secrets to be worried about, anyway.
2. It's embarrassing enough to admit that I actually have a blog in the first place.
So, today, I fought my way through the legions of eighth graders in the hallway to get to the guidance counselor's office. No, I don't have problems that need to be talked about with a counselor. Although, I will admit that I do have some...less severe problems.
Anyway, upon arrival, my eyes widened to see the large group of other eighth graders huddled around her desk bearing their four-year plan and registration forms. It seemed that a large amount of procrastinating, soon-to-be Houston High...what's the offical name of the mascot? Oh, who cares? It's a horse.
I gazed down at my registration form, ready to put it directly in her hand, overjoyed to not be one of the losers that would have to have their forms placed in the late pile, considering that today was the last day and there were only about fifteen minutes left before dismissal.
Only then did I notice that the most important part was left blank. I remember the counselor distinctly saying, "If you don't have the -----, I can't do anything with your form." I mentally cursed at myself and navigated my way around the circumference of the crowd. There, and only there, was a pencil. It was in the hand of another girl, but I had to get to it anyway.
I waited for her to finish, and snapped up the pencil at my first opportunity, making my way over to the round, gray table to finish filling out my form. I found a few blanks that I hadn't filled out either, and finished that job. I realized that in order to complete the most important part of the form, I would need a pen.
Directly across from me, in the hand of the same girl who had given me the pencil was a red pen. A glorious, glorious red pen. It turned out that she needed the pencil, so we swapped out and I thought that all was intact. That's right-- I haven't told you what the most important blank was. It's kind of obvious, so for the rest of you brainiacs who haven't figured it out yet, think. What's the most important thing that any student would need on any kind of form?
Their parent's signature.
So here I was, standing in the guidance counselor's office in the last few minutes of the deadline day with a blank parent signature line and a red pen. Common sense will tell you what happens next. I lightly sketched a small R. Albright on the edge of the line. Then I wrote the date 2/10/11. I shouldn't have done it, I knew. I just didn't want to be in the late pile. I might not get all of the classes I want.
I bet you're wondering, "When do we get to the part about the New York hobo?". Either that, or you're so engaged in my story that you don't care anymore. Truth is, this story has nothing to do with the hobo thing. I'm just leading up to it in chronological order.
Anyway, I handed the paper to the counselor, nervous that she would see the falsity of my forged signature. She looked it over, and I was incredibly relieved when she approved it. I let out a sigh of relief, and with my pride, prepared to walk back to homeroom, registered for my possible high school.
That's when the counselor stopped me and said, "Okay, honey, I just need a signature right there. Bring it back on Monday.". WHAT?! I turned around, not quite sure of my work enough to counter that the signature was as broad as daylight on the page, but to suggest that she might've made a mistake. When I saw the papers being held out to me, I stopped and realized what she meant.
My four-year plan also lacked a signature.
I solemnly took the papers and truged back to homeroom. I was going into the late pile, for sure. And I even wasted forging the signature in the first place. All for nothing. In homeroom, sulking in my misery, I happened to key in on some of the kids that I had seen in the office's discussion.
FORMS TURNED IN ON MONDAY DIDN'T GO INTO THE LATE PILE!
Okay, I'll spare you and not describe the joy that I felt at that moment. Let's fast forward to right now. My house has no food in it that I would like to eat. None. My neighbor Nikki brought me a strawberry Pop-Tart from her house, but that was gone quickly. Soon, I was left to scour my pantry looking for something that didn't expire last year. Eventually, I stumbled upon a small bag of chips that I could ration until my mom got home. (still not home).
Then, I decided to put my brace on. Lucky for me, that once I had stripped down, I couldn't find the special shirt I have to wear with it. I'm a lazy procrastinator, as we have established many times, and therefore, I was too lazy to but my shirt back on no matter how cold it was.
So here I am now; hungry, cold, shirtless, and blogging. Perfect description of a New York Hobo. My mom said she'd be calling me back soon, so I don't want to call her. But still, I---
...
That was my mom. She called and said that my shirt was in the laundry room. The one place I forbid myself to ever go to. So there you have it. My hobo lifestyle come to an end. Alright, well, check out the videos section, comment, subscribe...wait, that the heck? This isn't YouTube. Speaking of YouTube, I'm going to go play the interactive video, "Homophobic Batman". See 'ya.
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