Second Semester Senior

by Liam W.

With this week being the first of the second semester, I have decided to write a bit about the phenomenon known as “second-semester seniors”, or SSS’s for those who have already even gotten too lazy to speak in full words.

Since the notion started becoming a real idea to the senior class, it has become custom that anytime anybody says the words “second-semester senior” or something of that order, a large fraction of our grade instinctively lets out primal cheers and about 68% of our class will raise either their right or left hand for a high-five to whoever is sitting or standing near them (polls have shown that most of us are, in-fact, righties, however, with all of the free-time on our hands this semester, perhaps some of us will take up the other hand as well).

I mean, this reaction is happening in all settings imaginable; gathering, libraries, chapels, altars, movie theatres, synagogues; you name it and we’ve probably high-fived in it.

This term, “second-semester senior” has gained worldwide acclaim from seniors everywhere. Below are a couple scenarios; the first is how I imagined each day of second-semester senior year to be, and the second is how each day of second-semester senior year has really been in my experience so far this week.

My imagination:

My alarm clock goes off in the morning, I tell it to shut up and it listens because it knows I’m a second-semester senior.

I roll out of bed at noon already wearing sunglasses and casually throw on my leather jacket (no shirt underneath it to show off the Lynrd Skynrd tattoo across my chest) and cut-off denim shorts with embroidered skulls on the back-pockets.

I drink a Red Bull in the morning and throw the can out on the street somewhere on my way to school, somebody else will pick it up for me. I walk into school with a boombox over my shoulder.

Asher Roth’s anthem “I Love College” is blasting through the speakers of the boombox and I chuckle as suddenly a skateboard appears under my feet and I proceed to ride it through the Great Hall.

By now, school is almost over, but I walk into the first classroom I see on the first floor; I don’t walk up stairs anymore, that type of stuff is for first-semester seniors.

I am not even enrolled in the class I walk into, but when I walk in the whole classroom cheers and chants my name. I give the people what they want and do a little dance for them, my boombox still blasting over the teacher’s voice telling me to please leave their class. I proceed to sit in the back of the class, no backpack or notebooks or anything, and shout wrong answers until class ends.

My reality so far:

My alarm clock goes off in the morning at 6:37 sharp and I calmly turn it off. I dress in a pair of khakis and a plain collared shirt. My breakfast consists of a bowl of Kix Cereal, that average low-budget Cocoa Puffs knockoff cereal.

I think it might even say somewhere on the box that this cereal is made for kids aged 6 years and younger, however, I still sit there and stare blankly into the boring arithmetic problems they put on the back of their box in an effort to educate our generation while I eat it slowly.

I get into our family minivan and we head over to school. I arrive to school a few minutes early and head to my first period class. All of my homework is done and I try my best to engage in class discussions for the rest of the day.

I’m not sure if this is how everyone’s first week of second semester has gone, but I suppose all we can hope for is that we all slowly turn into the person in my first scenario and move away from the guy in my real scenario.

But until that happens, our class will continue to cheer and high-five each-other any time we hear someone, under any circumstances, mutter the words “second-semester senior,” because those are just our instincts.

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