All I wanted was a Pepsi

So I was hanging out by the vending machines between classes today, kicking at them and craving a Pepsi. You see, my school has this exclusive deal with Coca-Cola, where they sell themselves out for a few extra bucks if they only sell Coke. And really, they're both evil corporations that poison the groundwater in India, and only robots care about brand loyalty, but I wanted a Pepsi on principle: no one can tell me what to drink!

So there I am, kicking at the machines, little robots in their own right, and this hall monitor, this teacher's pet in Coke-bottle frames, comes up to me and tells me that the guidance counselor wants to speak to me. And his glasses--man, his lenses were so thick they looked like a robot's vision sensors, and I swear to god that if he was wearing horned rims I would have slammed his face into the hallway tile there and then. I just get twitchy sometimes, you know?

But I just go down to the office, and the guidance counselor is looking at me all serious and tells me to sit down. "West," she says, "we've been reading your blog entries, and we're concerned about you."

And I start fuming, "You can't censor me! My thoughts are what make me unique! And what about Debbie? You tolerated all those drunken MySpace pictures of hers until she finally got busted on school grounds!"

But does she pay attention? No! She just shoves some colored pencils and a sheet of scratch paper in my face and says, "Draw me what you feel."

I look at her, incredulous. "What am I, twelve?"

And like a robot, she responds, "I could have you suspended for insubordination."

So I grab the pencils and start drawing. Now, I'm no Isaac Mendez, but I think I'm okay. And the guidance counselor looks at me with her brow furrowed, and she says, "West, I recognize that you are a very gifted young man, but you also seem very disturbed. Maybe you should find something to occupy your time and keep you out of trouble, like a part-time job. I hear that Copy Kingdom is hiring."

And I'm thinking, Seriously? Copy Kingdom? I hear the manager there is a total fascist, and that mustache makes him look like a pedophile. No way!

But all I say is, "No thank you."

And she just sighs and rubs her eyelids like she has this major headache coming on, and I finally appreciate just what a sucky job she has, seeing all these robots move in and out every day, and I cave. "Is there something I could volunteer to do?"

So now I'm stuck with the worst possible task: tutoring all the robotic jocks and cheerleaders to make sure that they stay eligible to participate in extracurriculars. Like I care.

Anyway, in case you were wondering, here's the picture that I drew for the guidance counselor: