Many people look forward to attending their high school reunion(s). It’s a time for them to socialize with old friends, network, and see exactly what happened to whom and why.
Then there’s me.
I was never a very social person in high school and quite honestly, I couldn’t care less about going to the reunion. Besides, I never attended any others so I’ve got a hot streak going here. Not only that, there are only a select few that I still keep in touch with—and that’s perfectly fine with me.
While a fantastic effort it being made by the reunion’s organizers to get people to attend (I even cleaned up the reunion Web site for grammar and spelling), the fact that it is being held on a cruise ship really turned me off. I mean a cruise to Mexico is cool in theory…but only if you’re there to chill and do your own thing and if you have the time to explore. Having the added task of dressing up for a reunion while on a cruise ship, however, defeats the purpose.
The fact is that many classmates have moved out-of-state or even country, so choosing a cruise on which to have our reunion seems like a decision that was made only to satisfy a few. I sure don’t remember voting on where it was going to be held.
As such, said potential distant attendees would not only have to fly out here, they’d also have to rent a car or whatever to get to the port and then set sail. Then there’s the trip home. And think about it: the trip to get to California is literally a commute to the ship. And that’s perfectly fine if they want to do that.
But I have to ask: Was a hotel too low-class? My God, it couldn’t have been worse than our so-called Grad Night; nothing more than an on-campus event that featured a hypnotist, video games, and VHS copy of Footloose on a big screen. Wait, I think there was pool table, too.
For my money, I would rather go and do my own thing. I’d want time to explore territories I’ve never seen, take pictures I’ll remember forever, and get lost—figuratively, of course—in a strange land. In short, getting caught up in the romanticism of it all, not getting drunk off my ass in Acapulco with fair-weather strangers. Besides, I don’t drink so just imagine how much fun that would have been with a roomful of people I haven’t seen in 20 years.
So it’s official. I’m not going. Ann and I have other plans anyhow. By the time May rolls around, I’ll have at least 40 hours in PTO and we should have enough saved to take a nice cruise—on our time, at our pace, and with no restrictions.