Curb Your Enthusiasm

This story is about three minutes of innocent driving in 1980.

I couldn’t wait to burn rubber out of the parking lot at Washington Township High School following graduation ceremonies. Goodbyes have never been my forte. I couldn’t even stick around for all that cheeky yearbook signing and impractical plans to always keep in touch. Despite good intentions, I realized that diametrically opposed circumstances were going to prevent seeing most of these people ever again. I hopped in my car ahead of most graduates. I defiantly threw my cap across the front seat, cranked the radio, and set sail for destination parts unknown.

Washington Township was a growing metropolis. Our graduating class alone had over four hundred seniors. The steady influx of transplants made it next to impossible to know all of your classmates. With that being said, a strange thing happened when I went to leave the parking lot. Everyone and I mean everyone waved goodbye to me. Friends, classmates I barely knew, and some people whom I never met all waved bon voyage to me. It is hard to put into words their heartwarming send off. Maybe they were just being polite but I was loving it. I waved passionately back to my suddenly friendly classmates. What a whirlwind day! The last minute attention surprised this recipient. I had my own friendship click but never before have I been so popular. The car moved along. I waved to admiring frock like the grand marshal of a parade. A curvaceous classmate walking single file gave me a look. She waved wildly at me. I made kissy poo to the wide-eyed girl, who never gave me the time of day before. My exodus through the parking lot had so much love. I returned the favor by pointing, winking, nodding, smiling, and waving. With all of the grandstanding going on, it was taking my attention away from the road. Ah, I felt a sense of triumph leaving the high school for the last time. No good at reading lips, I imagined what the onlookers were saying.

“There goes cool cat Joe Tornatore. Let me say hi. My, what a guy!”

I arrived home. I realized the miserable wretched source of my soaring popularity curbside. I actually closed the car door without reeling in my long graduation gown. My classmates were enthusiastically trying to alert me that I was dragging my gown on the road. I rubbed my hand over my depleted gown hoping that I could make the whole incident go away. In my embarrassment, the irony did not escape me. I was a high school graduate entering the real world. If this freaking folly was any indication on probability of success in life, the world was going to chew me up much like my gown. My mind raced. The faces of the onlookers returned in picture quality playback.

“There goes that idiot Joe Tornatore. He thinks we’re saying hi. Laugh until you cry.”