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=   F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K.   =
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                            Reverb of the Echoes
                            --------------------

I learned an important lesson today. Its not how experienced you are, its
not who you know or who knows you. Its how well you kiss ass.

So, I've been on the school newspaper since the second semester of my
freshman year, and am now in the first semester of my junior year. I was
on yearbook in eighth grade and have published three zines (one a month,
so each is quarterly) since I was in seventh. I have experience up the 
ass, and this was my year to be editor of the school newspaper.

Now to many of you, this may be nothing. A less then minuscule worthless
title at one of thousand public high schools. Hardly unique in any way.
But publishing and writing is what I want to do for a living. And this
would be the most mainstream thing I've ever been editor of (I *wish* my
zines had a distribution of 2500 like my school newspaper does).

So I go to class the first day and realize that I am the only person who
is not a first year newspaper student. I have two years seniority over all
of them. I stand in front of the class, not knowing where our advisor was,
and state, "Hello everyone. My name is Aaron, and I'm your editor."

I wasn't expecting what I got.
"Why are you editor?"
"What gives you the right to be editor?"
"Why cant I be editor?"

After 10 students gang up on me with their harsh words, I regretfully agree
that we will wait until the advisor arrives and let him decide. I say him
because we have had the same advisor for as long as I have been with the
paper. He knows me well. I dated his daughter for a short period of time.
He likes me, and knows I am the right man for the job. Hmm, I sure do seem
to be contradicting the "not who you know" statement I made above. Feh...

Anywho, there was a snag. Last year we were censored on several stories,
and it seems administration was fed up with our advisor. He had been
replaced. A new advisor....well, she would see my years of experience
and grant me the title.

That's not an exact thought. I didn't just want the title. Sure it looks
good on a college application, and several people jumped to the conclusion
that was why I wanted it. They were mistaken. I wanted it because I had
witnessed the work, the dedication that it takes. I witnessed the pride
in my past editors eyes when the copy came. I had felt that same pride
with every issue of each of my zines. But mainstream could only feel
better. I wanted to make the paper better. I had been on long enough to
witness and learn from others mistakes. I knew what had to be done, and
no one else on the staff could claim the same. 

The new advisor came. She knew several members of the staff, and suggested
we have democratic elections to determine the editor. I was pissed.

I stated my views on the paper to the class and was fairly confident that
they could make the right choice.  I shouldn't have been so damn confidant.
I lost.I lost because I told them I would make it difficult. I told them
that I would require them, to write at least one story per issue. That they 
would have to have their stories in on time or fail. I basically told them
that newspaper wasn't a cake walk. People don't want to hear the truth.
They want to do nothing and succeed. I lost.

Then I pulled the real asslike move. My trump card.

"Hey..." I inquired of my new editor "Who's gonna do the layout? I'm the
only one who knows the program...?"

"Well....I thought maybe you could teach me...." she said. She obviously
thought I would be enthralled to cater to her every whim now that she was
my editor. Like, not quite. 

I didn't respond. I instead turned and walked out of the room. I returned
later to speak privately with the advisor.

"I'm not sure how willing I will be to teach these people the program." I
said. 

"Well That's because you're a Nitzcheian Iconoclast." She responded. If you
don't know what it means, look it up.

I just gave her a funny sideways look. Like dogs do when they don't
understand. Its such a questioning look. I Understood what she was saying,
but didn't want to go along with it..

"Are you quitting the paper then?"

"Oh no..." I said I could feel myself beginning to smile, and tried to push
it away. " I plan to stay on.I will write my allotted stories. I wont help
with layout. That's the editors job."

I Couldn't fight off my wry smile anymore, it grew across my cheeks, and
my de-braceified teeth began to show. She gave me a mean look. I think
she knew what I was going to say because she seemed to have a mad look
ready to attack me.

" But when it fails, and it will fail with them in charge," I continued,
my smile only growing, "I will be among the first to say I told you so. I
will tell you...." Huge smile now. Her eyes were filled with contempt for
me.

"...and laugh."


~Tuxedo Mask
TuxedoMask@cyberdude.com

P.S. Central Echoes it the name of my school newspaper, hence the title.

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