District Rankings can Change a Season

Brady Charles playing lacrosse Photo Courtesty of berecruited.com

By Brady Charles –

The past three years I’ve been a part of the varsity lacrosse team.

In each of these past three years, the district power rankings have screwed us over.

And I’m not getting used to it.

Every year, teams with easier schedules and worse records than us, make the district playoffs over us, or they get a higher rank and a easy road to the state playoffs.

We can’t win. I mean we win games, just can’t win with the district power rankings.

My freshman year, besides having the downright best goalie in the state or possibly in the nation, our team struggled to score goals. We had a mediocre season and finished 9-7. Since we were a part of Section One, we were put in tough position with knowledge that the powerhouses in central Pa lacrosse were in our league (Hempfield, Manheim Township). Our schedule was ranked the toughest schedule in central Pennsylvania.

The 2011 District Three Lacrosse bracket showing the tough road for the comets.

Of course, we had to play both of those teams twice, so scratch down four tallies in the loss column.  Other than losing to those two teams, we held our own against the other district three teams. We were held out of districts this season, which I partially understand due to our mediocre record, but the upsetting thing was the teams we crushed from Berks and York, made the playoffs over us.

It’s all a bunch of bologney.

With no surprise, the district championship ended up being Manheim Township vs Hempfield. Hempfield won this one.

That next summer, it was time for a change. The Lancaster Lebanon league changed their whole scheduling procedure. The league combined all of the sections, therefore we played every team only once, actually giving us a desperate hope for districts.

Maybe things were about to change for us, with the leadership of our eight seniors, and the new schedule changes we felt for the first time we had a chance against the untouched Manheim Township and Hempfield squads.

Our regular season ended and we were 13-1.

Unless you want to count the Hempfield and Township games…

That year, we made the league playoffs for the first time in school history. It was a very successful season for us.

But, we lucked out again in the league playoff scheduling.

You can most likely take a wild guess who we played.

It was our great friends from Neffsville, Manheim Township. It was a special year for that Manheim Township team, they graduated 14 seniors after that season, and 4 of those players were Division one commits, 8 of the other 10 ended up still playing college lacrosse at either the D2 or D3 level.

Although we lost in the league semis, we finally made the district playoffs as a number seven seed. We had home-field advantage and ran through our first round game.

But hey, guess who we played next?

Manheim Township… We lost.


The only thing that’s upsetting about this turnout is, while we were turning in our gear, and saying our good-byes, a team we beat by seven goals, got a higher rank then us in districts, and had an easy road to the district semis and made the state playoffs.

Once again, the district seeding process screwed us.

This season, I was determined to not let the district power ratings ruin our season.

It’s about that time of year again.

It’s the time where my first block computer time, winds up turning into intense browsing of the PIAA District 3 website, calculating what happens if one team wins or one team loses. Or who we will face in the first couple rounds of districts. As of now, we are ranked ninth in the most recent district polls, qualified for the league playoffs for the second consecutive year, and finished our regular season on a nine game win streak and a overall record of 13-4.

Although I cannot predict the future, I wouldn’t be surprised if we get screwed in these upcoming rankings.

I just hope these dreaded district rankings don’t ruin my whole lacrosse career.

With Age Comes Great Responsibility

By Aaron Brown –

Being the oldest of four children has its rewards and penalties.

Your name is the first one out of your dad’s mouth, when the trash needs to be taken out.

Your first job is a chauffeur, driving your brothers and sister to and from practice, and driving to get groceries.

When your younger brother is born, you are the first one to ask, “Mommy, Where do babies come from?” And you get the answer of “Wait until you are older.”

You are the first one to drop your brother. (This did not actually happen.)

My siblings enjoying a fun game of mini golf at the beach. Photo thanks to Aaron Brown.

You are the first one to run to the toilet and say, “Daddy, I didn’t make it.”

As the middle child, you know what to expect on the first day of school. As the oldest, you go to school on the first day not knowing what to expect.

Being the oldest does have its benefits.

Your younger brother gets yelled at for getting bad grades in classes that you got an ‘A’ in last year.

Your parents sometimes show favoritism towards you because you are the oldest, just ask my brothers.

Also, you are the one that gets to teach your brothers and sisters how to ride a bike. “Sit down on the seat, use one foot to push off the ground, and…” CRASH. Then your parents come out and scream at you and put the training wheels on.

You are the one that can go over to your friend’s house every weekend because you have your LICENSE.

You are the one that your siblings look up to, until they are taller than you.

But, the best thing about being the oldest is no matter if your brother is taller than you, you call still beat him at everything. He might think differently, but he is wrong.

Being the oldest of four does have its rewards and penalties, but I am glad I am the oldest because I like the responsibility and maturity that comes with being the oldest. I would not like being the middle or youngest child in a family because then I would not have all these benefits and penalties.




Moving on but Thinking back

By Alex Lombardo

I used to be a child. Now I’m just immature. And society is to blame.

Does turning 18 really make you an adult? I can’t even grow a mustache yet I’m expected to know how to file my tax returns and balance my checkbook but I don’t know the first thing about it.  I’ve never taken care of a child but I have to take care of myself in college and I’m not sure it’s going to be that easy.  Maybe my childhood went by too quickly or maybe I just wish it wasn’t over. Whatever the reason, I don’t want to grow up – plain and simple.

I think back to the days when I couldn’t wait to have more than one teacher in a day and I now wonder if the pressure of high school is worth the responsibility.  It’s easy for someone to say they want to live on their own and be independent and free but when it comes down to it, when you finally realize the free ride is over, it gets way too serious.

Alex Lombardo

I like having mommy and daddy buy my clothing. I like spending all my money on barbeque sunflower seeds and cherry Mountain Dew Slushies rather than the bills that pay to heat a house or provide it with running water.

Now all I hear is, “apply to college. Stop spending your money, start saving your paychecks, apply for student loans.”   These are all sentences I hate hearing because with each one comes a new source of stress in my life. I mean don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait to get out and start my own life where I’m free and independent but under a certain light it doesn’t seem to be everything I thought it would.  Why is adulthood so full of responsibilities and so lacking in fun?

Whoever said the days of running barefoot through the yard catching fireflies under the florescent summer moon has to end when you graduate high school? Those memories of complete relaxation and comfort are the definition of living in the moment. And don’t adults tell each other all the time to do just that. I loved when I was a child and I didn’t have a worry in my concentrated head. I just went where I wanted and did what I felt like.

As for now I can’t say for sure where I will end up or what the future has planned, but I can say for sure that wherever I do go and how old I become I will never completely let go of the child that still lives inside of me.





Neighbor’s Dog Makes Mine Bite the Dust

By Ryan Flexman-

The terrible day when my puff ball of a dog was used as a chew toy by a canine bully is the day I realized I wasn’t a little kid anymore.

Max was no longer than a foot and covered with vanilla-colored cottony fur. He was quite the cutie.

Ok, maybe not everyone liked him. Maybe even no one did. But leaving us for good right in front of our eyes wasn’t what we wanted for Max.

I’ll never forget it, July 17, 2011, the day we were SUPPOSED to watch the Women’s World Cup final in my house.

But the neighbors’ pit bull had much different plans for us, specifically Max.

Waking up to the gruesome cries from my mom and sister was terrifying. They were yelling for me to help my Dad catch the dog who happened to have our little Max lodged in his throat.

I quickly leaped out of bed and raced to the neighbor’s yard in nothing but my underwear. Something I would have never done before.

But that was the least of my concerns.

I found myself chasing a crazed dog that was hurting my Max. I’ve never run that fast in my entire life, but I’ve also never chased a pit bull that was trying to have my dog for his breakfast.

Finally, after the two minutes or two hours, I couldn’t tell which, was over, he let go of Max.

But Max just laid there.

Puff ball Max before he was taken

There was blood in his fur and he was making some heavy attempts at breathing. But that was all he could do to stay with us.

Before I knew it, my brother and dad were in the car racing to the vet to see if there was any hope for the mangled puffball.

I ended up waiting for any news sitting on my sister’s bed, with the two most important girls in my life crying on my shoulder. It was my 9-year-old sister Emily’s room, decorated with princesses, slathered in flowers and shades of pink. What seemed like hundreds of stuffed animals were staring at me from her bed, expecting me to man up and take care of mom and Emily.

But I had never done that before. The most I had ever done to take care of my mom was to make her breakfast in bed on Mother’s Day. I think I made lunch for Emily once.

This felt completely different, foreign to my young self. I felt like I was dreaming.

I had to be the man of the house and keep my sister and mom from completely breaking down. It’s harder than you think.
I kept telling them that everything was going to be OK when really I had no idea if it was or not.

The sound of the house phone ringing hit me like a freight train. All I wanted to hear was my dad’s voice saying that Max was going to be OK.

But I didn’t happen.

My brother was holding him in his hands, sitting in the front seat while my dad was driving to the vet.

That’s where he died and Nathan knew it right away.

There’s no other feeling that compares to the strength I needed when I told my mom and sister that Max didn’t make it. Tears and sobs filled my sisters’ princessy room, leaving me to be the one to comfort them.

I didn’t miss much from the Womens’ World Cup that day, considering the U.S. lost.

But that was easily not the most eye-opening event of the day.

Not even close, after the trauma of innocent, little Max going to the great beyond, and me realizing that from now on, I was no longer a kid.


The Best and Last Time at Wrestling Camp

By Alex Sorce –

Getting in trouble at wrestling camp is pretty much a tradition for us. Or if not trouble, pranking each other’s rooms, at least. It usually ends up with the team running sprints at 6 a.m. in the morning or staying after sessions to mop mats but every year it proves worth the while.

It was my senior year last summer and the season’s annual trouble was caused by a small, innocent, round orange. You know- the fruit.

As soon as the team arrives at camp we get about an hour to go buy food and snacks for the week. We always went to a quick mart store to get snacks: chips, Oreos, soda, and even a wiffle ball bat.

Photo of Alex Sorce

The camp has rules of course: no hazing, the curfew at 11 p.m., no girls in the dorms, keeps quiet at night, pretty self-explanatory.

Well…most of the rules we followed.

Night time was the time for fun and innocent tricks.  While kids left their room for a wrestling session or in the middle of the night, or sometimes if they would be dumb enough to let their door unlocked, which is pretty much asking for it to get messed with, was the best times to strike.

The usual attacks would be shaving cream beds, or people if they were in there sleeping, taking snacks from each other, spraying axe deodorant spray to the point where breathing is nearly impossible, or trapping people in the bathroom which is in the middle of two dorms, by locking each door behind them.

But we found “lights out at 11” was the easiest thing to avoid, the classic towel under the door to block the light from the hallway when night checks were going on, and shutting the window blinds so light couldn’t be seen from outside. Then absolute quiet for a couple minutes while the counselors patrolled the hallway for extra precaution. This was done every night; nobody actually went to sleep by curfew.

A few years ago I was there with the team and a couple of us had to run sprints around 6 a.m. for a prank we actually didn’t do.

It was after midnight and I admit I shaving-creamed a buddy of mine who fell asleep before everyone else. He was covered and it was hilarious. Right about the same time there was a knock on the door, of course it was a counselor.  I hid the shaving cream can under the bed. The counselor came in and took me to the hallway to find out who had covered it in shaving cream.

“It wasn’t me,” I told him innocently, because I was.  At that exact moment my friend decided to wake up and make an appearance in the hallway soaked in shaving cream. That did not help my cause.   Yes, we were framed and we had to run sprints in the morning for punishment but that was not the end of my troubles.

It was our last night, our last day actually since it was about 3 a.m. We had made the mature decision to stay up all night. At first it was a lot of fun, just playing cards and talking, but then we started to get tired. My friend was twirling a bat in his hands and I looked at the orange from the cafeteria sitting on the desk.  Who would not think it was a good idea to play baseball in a 12′ x 12′ dorm room.  Certainly not the 10 people who were there.  Suddenly no one was thinking about sleep.

The counselors already had to warn us to stay quiet for being too loud and with our reputation there, we weren’t the favorite team with them. Alright, so we thought it would be loud when the orange would be hit, but it ending up sounding like a cannon. The orange hitting the bat was loud, but when it hit the wall it exploded with a BANG that surely woke up everyone around us, which was the most satisfying thing that had happened at wrestling camp the whole week. There were orange shredded remains on the beds under where it hit and juice streaming down the wall.  It was amazing. Almost even louder than the explosion of the orange was the laughter coming and shrieks.

I knew that there would be a knock on the door. I was trying to calm everyone down.. Yeah right. I told one of the other kids to shut off the light so it wouldn’t be seen from the hallway. He shut it off successfully and people were finally starting to calm down. It was actually completely silent for a few seconds. Until the poor sucker who had turned off the lights ran into the huge metal trash can in the center of our room. The sound of the trash can hitting the hard floor was shattering. Again, the room filled with laughter. This time it was way too loud and not a chance of calming anyone down.

The dreaded knock on the door came less than a minute later.

“Why didn’t I didn’t just eat that orange?” I asked myself.

Of course, I was the one answering the door along with my one  true friend who didn’t leave me all alone.  It was was very hard to keep a straight face.

To say the counselor was mad that he was woken at 3:00 a.m. to pranks and destruction.  He must have thought we were just fooling around, laughing and joking.  The telltale sign was on the wall behind me but he didn’t make it that far.  My friend sweet-talked him down from his angry cloud while we promised were would get everyone quiet and back to their appropriate rooms.

He must have been in a good mood, or too tired to fight with us or even having a memory of his own high school wrestling camp experience but somehow we got out of major trouble.

I learned that even an innocent object like an orange can cause a lot of trouble.  I learned that my idea of fun and adult’s idea can be completely separate.  But most of all I learned that making memories with your friends can happen anywhere even inside the concrete walls of tiny, bare room.

A Perfect Night

By Daulton Parmer –

Alone. By myself. In the dark. Chryst Field.

I love it.

There’s no better feeling than putting on that football helmet being in your own little world.
Everything else cut off.

All other thoughts eliminated.

I alter to my dark side.

Unable to hear the fans in the crowd, the cheerleaders, anything, but the trash talking from the opposing team and the quarterback’s cadence.

Just focusing on how I’m going to embarrass the guy across from me.


Butterflies overwhelming me inside.

Waiting for that first hit to calm me down.

My blockers demolishing anyone who gets in their way, one more guy to beat. Whoops! Side-stepped the last guy and left him laying on the turf, his left ankle twisted a bit and his right shoe non-existent.

Where the?! He got my shoe string, that kid came out of nowhere.

Looks like I’ll just have to score next play.

Lining up wide, a little eye contact with the qb, and we both know what the other is thinking.

Looking for the soft spot in the defense, the quarterback and I link up in the middle of the end-zone.


Daulton Parmer celebrates touchdown with Joe Bucek photo by Dean Parmer

Time to celebrate with my boys. Different handshakes memorized with each and every player. Double clap side bump with my quarterback.

Now time for defense, my favorite.

Lining up against the other team’s best player. First play on defense, giving him a little shot that tells him  “it will be coming all night,”

Reading the receiver’s feet, I can tell what he’s about to do.

Meeting him there at the exact moment he touches the ball.

BOOM! Rocked him, the ball goes flying from his grip. He gets up, not even knowing where he is. Stumbling around like a first time drinker trying to impress his friends.

It makes me feel powerful, crazy, like a monster.

I like it.

After the war, sacrificing my body for 48 minutes straight. Taking beatings and giving them as well.

Everything aches, no other athlete will ever understand how much a single football game takes out of you. That’s why there’s only one every week.

It’s so worth it after all the glory we receive by the rowdy fans and the loyal parents. Not to mention all of the little kids that look up to you.

I don’t want this night to end.

Through The Eyes of The Oldest

By Taylor Skelly

I don’t like beating up my little brother, but it’s in my job description.

Like when he is constantly badgering me, just to get a reaction and just to be annoying, I think a little shove is necessary.  Or when he beats one in a million odds and some how manages to beat me in an intense game of FIFA, he needs a push. Or, when we play soccer in the backyard and he scores on me despite of my eighty-pound weight and foot in a half height advantage, I just have to give him a knock on the arm. It’s something that just has to be done.

What my brother Aaron, and all younger siblings around the world don’t understand, is that just as much as it is in the oldest sibling’s job description to demonstrate some tough love, it is just as much in their job description to be okay with it.

Taylor Skelly(left) next to his brother Aaron Skelly(right). Photo courtesy of Taylor Skelly.

After all, the older sibling is always right, right?

I mean, it’s not like he doesn’t have it coming to him anyway, after he has reaped the benefits of later bed times, more social freedom and the ability to see greater amounts of explicit movies, all of which I had to fight for with our parents every second of my 17-year life. All of which he so nonchalantly takes for granted.

But despite all the chastising, and so-called “abuse” as he would call it, that I dish out, I actually do care about him.

This became evident one winter day at the local neighborhood sledding spot. One thing led to another and before long, all 50 or so of the kids who were there broke out into a snowball fight. But this wasn’t just your average, everyday snowball fight. This was nothing short of snow war.

As I peeked out behind my makeshift wall to scan the “battlefield,” I saw my kid brother, only 9 or 10 at the time, getting pelted with snow balls and trapped by a group of kids older than him, who were holding him hostage for their own personal amusement.

Without even thinking of my own safety, I took off toward the altercation, spouting off a barrage of expletives at the punks as I traversed the snowy hillside. Upon arrival I pushed one of them to the ground and gave the others a stern warning. The posse, which just ten seconds before consisted of a bunch of self proclaimed tough guys, backed away, cowering in embarrassment.

I helped Aaron up off the ground, asked him if he was okay and walked him out of there. With out even saying anything, something became immediately clear between us.

I had his back.

A Fork in the Road not Taken

By Alexa Stewart –

Sometimes family members can be an inspiration, leading by example.  Sometimes they can inspire someone on how not to live.  I realized before I was even a teenager that I wanted to be active, motivated and independent  – exactly how many of my family members were not.  Funny thing happens with plans I make, sometimes they have a will of their own.

In high school, shortly after I turned 16, when I would usually be finishing up my spring dance season, I ended up living the life I promised myself I never would. I woke up one morning and could barely even walk. I turned into a couch potato in the matter of a week because I had no other choice.

I was rushed to the E.R where I was told I had a Pilonidal Cyst the size of a quarter growing on my spine. I had no idea what that even was and was too out of it to care. I just wanted to not feel the pain I felt anymore. The doctor told us it evolves from a birth defect called Spina Bifida and is inherited. Mine didn’t show up until later in life and I was told I was very blessed actually that I wasn’t born with it because I would have had a shortened spine.

All I really caught was heredity? My mom explained she’s never heard of it and called up my grandma who said, “Nope, not our side of the family.” Hmm, had to be my Dad’s side. Great! When my mom called my dad’s mom she explained mostly everyone on that side of the family has shown signs of it. Well nice to know now after the fact. Better late than never I guess?

Penn Points staff member Alexa Stewart

I practically lived on the couch for three months and it killed me. Each month I had surgery, but it just felt like it added to the pain. I couldn’t participate in basketball or dance, which were practically my life. I continued to be mad at myself for something I couldn’t help.

After those three months of surgery and a couple months of recovery I was ready to get back into basketball and dance. As soon as I stepped on the floor, I knew I was out of shape and just couldn’t get into the rhythm like everyone else. After of few weeks of practice, I knew that was the end of my sports career, I just didn’t feel it any more.  I found a job right away at the mall because I wasn’t going to sit home and just do nothing. That changed my life.

Getting that job was the best thing that’s happened to me. Some people may be thinking it’s just a job. It’s not. It made me learn a lot about myself, like that I didn’t really want to be an athlete as much as I made myself think I did, and that I was planning my future for someone but it wasn’t the real me. A simple job did this, because it showed me so much more about myself, the job and the people.

Now I work practically everyday with my best friends at the best job ever. I live my life so differently than two years ago and I love it! I’m more independent and motivated for something totally different. I’m so excited for my future because my past showed me the way to a different way of life.

Some May Call It “Brotherly Love”, I Call It Survival

By Ian Noll-

My brother left for college back in 2009, it probably saved my life.

Take the time I was in the garage thinking about skateboarding when the crack of the screen door being kicked in alerted me to the danger lurking behind me. It was my then 12-year-old brother, Sean, with his brand new fully automatic airsoft rifle pointed at my back.

Well heck, that hurt. Guess I deserved that one.

Sean was nonchalant about it. I was just a kill in his day.

When Sean first said he would be heading to Virginia to attend a military college, it came as no shock. The guy knew what he wanted to be before he even knew how to walk. My brother and I were surrounded by military life and talk all the way from the beginning, with my Dad and Uncle being in the Air Force, and grandfather in the Merchant Marines.

Sean and Author Ian Noll. Photo from Ian Noll

So I guess it was in our history but for Sean, it was in every cell of his body.

Growing up with him became a personal living hell, especially since the varsity football and basketball player thought I resembled a mixture of Hitler and Saddam Hussein. So most of his anger, frustrations and pre-military training was directed toward me.  For the sake of saving a few words, I’ll say it wasn’t fun. He even claimed to other people that I was an adopted terrorist, all in an effort to prepare for his military life.

Now I’m not saying I didn’t have my own share of moments with my own joy coming from his pain, but let’s not go into how I broke his toe or chased him with a metal baseball bat around the neighborhood.

Well I shouldn’t lie, having him as my brother wasn’t all that bad. It was pleasant for the most part, I mean I got to hang with him and his older friends, was chauffeured around and most importantly, had someone to save me from my parents wrath. Somehow for some reason I would still get in trouble, even for his problems.

The most memorable fight that I am able to remember would have to be the reason I have a nice visible scar above my right eye. Coming into this fight I knew it was time for redemption. All the times he had stolen my G.I. Joe’s, shot me with an air soft gun, or just straight up socked me, it was time to get even.

It was my version of Muhammed Ali vs. Joe Frazier.

It started as a typical wrestling/boxing match on the bed, involving the typical trash talk, and the typical 7-year-old me trying to mimic the moves the WWE wrestlers did on TV. Honestly I can’t even remember what sparked the fight between us that day, but I do know that by the end of the day I would end up with my skull being glued together in the E.R. The way it happened was I decided I would try and tackle and take him to the ground. Okay, I lied, I had no idea what I was trying to do. I just threw my body at him hoping some part of me would connect with a solid hit on him. After I dove at him and he used what he called his “juke”, but in reality it was a desperate flop to the side of the bed to dodge me, resulted in me becoming best friends with the corner of a door.

Funny thing is, my parents blamed him for me getting hurt. The satisfaction of him getting in trouble overcame the pain from having my skull split.

Now that the summer is almost here, I can start to barricade my door and prepare myself for whatever “fun” he has in store for me now.

Sarcasm: A Tool For Life’s Language

By Maggie Dubbs –

I love sarcasm, I mean come on, who doesn’t. Oh wait, maybe some people actually don’t. Oh well. There’s not a day I go without making some kind of idiotic joke to a student, teacher or even my parents.

Maggie Dubbs

It’s not meant to personally attack that individual, though unfortunately it does happen that way sometimes, but I find it to be amusing. The best part about being able to understand and speak the sarcastic language is that you know you have a sense of humor. Life would be nothing without a couple laughs here and there. With that being said, certain people go about it a different way. Mine is to make fun of and mock things that appear funny to me.

I’m not cocky, but I have been told I am funny. And a part of that humor is mostly from being sarcastic. Some people would consider it mean.  I have no problem ripping off a phrase such as “No, you don’t say” and “Oh really? I would have never known” when something is completely obvious. It might frustrate people, but I always seem to get a chuckle out of it.

I also have no problem ripping people’s heads off and being bluntly honest.

Since people know me to be sarcastic, I used it to express my honesty without them even knowing. They take it as sarcasm and laugh about it, when I’m really trying to just get a message across about how I don’t like them or they need to go away, yet they don’t take it like that.

I remember one time in class Ian Noll asked me if I had any gum my response was “Yeah, I do. But not for you” which then followed with a bunch of “Oh shoot-s” from people at my table, and a fist bump from one. After the fact I did give Ian a piece of gum, but it was the fact that a little comment like that made me have the slightest grin on my face that would last the rest of my day to remind myself of what I thought was funny.

I found a picture one time with a guy with that certain sarcastic grin, the kind that doesn’t show your teeth, and one corner of your lips are turned slightly upward towards your eye so that your cheek muscle rises, but not to an extended amount. The picture had this guy and a saying that said “I’m not a sarcastic person, I’m just a funny person surrounded by idiots.”  I agree with this because it honestly just means we have our own types of humor. Some being that like sarcasm.

One of my good friends mentioned to me the other day that he hates sarcasm, and my response was, “How are we even friends, because you know that’s all I am,” and he agreed. But it didn’t bother him because  the sarcasm I use around him was not directed at him. Also because I wasn’t trying to be funny, it just kind of rolled off my tongue like a natural flow of words.

It just bothers me so much when people fail to realize the simple things in life.

For example, at the grocery store when your cart is full and it seems as if you never will have enough room on that black conveyor belt that probably has some water spots from the last person who used it. The cashier asks you “Oh would you like a bag for this?” like “No actually I’ll just put it all in my pocket” I mean really. Can’t you have some common sense?

I had a neighbor walk by one time when I was washing my car in the middle of July on a hot day. He said to me “Oh, you’re washing your car today I see,” my response to that was then “Nah, I’m just watering it to see if it will grow into a bus.”

My dad got a good laugh out of that one as well.

Going into restaurants is also interesting. When going up to the wooden, probably slightly chipped greeters station, and they ask you if you would like a table for your party of four. Like, “No, actually I’ll have a carpet. Carpet for four please.” Obviously we went there to eat dinner at table. Don’t ask me a  question like that.

Sarcasm. Probably .5 percent say “Oh, I see what you did there,” the other 99.5 think, “Are you really that stupid?”

While driving around deep windy roads with trees that top your view of anything else, I found myself behind a white panel van tracing the outline of its doors and license plate because it was going incredibly slow and I was bored. Going around a curve, with no other way to go on the road, this van put its turn signal on. I thought to myself, “Oh really, you’re turning? Oh good, me too.”

Everyday common sense things that people seem to miss.

When standing at an elevator and someone continually presses the button as if that will make it go faster, you say to them “Look at you go, you broke the elevator code, if you press the elevator button three times after the first hit, it goes into ‘hurry’ mode.” Like no, just wait like the rest of the average people waiting for the elevator to come down.

All in all, if there weren’t so many idiotic people in the world, I wouldn’t have a problem. But unfortunately I can’t change their way of thinking…or speaking. So I’ll continue my sarcasm and honesty forever.