I have always liked the idea of belonging to a clique, but, truth be told, I don’t think it’s the life for me. I can’t really explain why, except to say that any time I have belonged to a clique, or tried to belong to a clique, it hasn’t worked out.
Here is an ongoing series about cliques I have belonged to and how they went wrong. Maybe it’s kind of gimmicky, but it’s fun for me at least.
Part One: Stoners
Hub: The Green Room
Routine: Getting stoned; taping ourselves getting stoned; lying on the Green Room couches until they kicked us out
Admission standards for this clique were pretty lax, possibly too lax. You could be the worst person in the world who killed small animals for fun, and if you sidled up during pot smoking time, you were in.
At least a couple of people we hung out with seemed to be seriously psychotic. One guy, who I think was homeless, talked gibberish all the time and had a really intense stare. There was a guy who sold pot out of the Green Room (which was a bar, not someone’s bedroom) and got kicked out one night after he flipped his lid and started throwing chairs around. After that, he told us he didn’t sell pot anymore because he had become a bassist.
But mostly, we were just stoners. It’s amazing how uniform high school stoners are. We were pretty much exactly like the Freaks in Freaks and Geeks, except that The Doors existed for us, and most of us weren’t terribly good-looking at the time.
It was fun while it lasted, but eventually people started doing acid all the time and getting loopy. It got to the point where every time I smoked pot I sat and ruminated about how my life was going down the toilet. So I stopped.
Lesson Learned: The Wall is a piece of shit.