Memoirs of a Time Well Wasted

When I was in junior high and high school I had a friend who always had the most ridiculous things happen to her. In retrospect, they were pretty normal things, but she was just such a great story teller that they seemed ridiculous and hilarious and story-worthy. We always joked that we would pen a memoir one day to be titled

I Was a Teenaged Teenager

Memoirs of a Time Well-Wasted

Now she is a mom and a teacher and we don't see each other (circumstance, not any "thing") and I am certain our memoir will never be. But I hope large groups of people are still benefitting from her ridiculous knack with a story. 

An imaginary excerpt: 

SO there was this time when my best friend and I had a crush on almost the same boy. I say almost because they were brothers and not the same boy at all, but looked remarkably alike and existed as one unit in our heads, but we liked separate ones so there was no friend conflict. Not that there really would have been, because we were NEVER going to do anything about it (not ever. ever. never.).

So we nursed our collective crush. We knew their phone number. Screen names. Sports schedules. Knew how to play the cards games they liked to play (and how to cheat most effectively). Knew the best route to walk to totally accidentally run into them. I'm sure we were completely subtle. 

One day, in spite of our careful planning, there was an accidental, non-scheduled encounter in the library. He came in to the library, where Friend was working as a library assistant. She saw him coming and froze completely in anticipation of this unplanned rendez-vous. 

Will he talk to me? Should I talk to him? Where is he coming from? Where's K when I need her? What am I even wearing today? Does my hair look ok? Why is he here, he's not supposed to be here now. I wonder where he's going. Is he on an errand for the teacher? Is he leaving school early? I can't wait to tell K about this. His hair is amazing. Ohmigod he's coming up to me. Do I acknowledge him? Do I pretend to not see him? Was I staring?

All this in about 3 seconds (it was a small library). 

He strolls up and says with perfect nonchalance and a desire to waste time, "Whatcha' doing?"

And in that moment, form the vast array of options of responses to such an easy opener, she replied "Filing books," blushed, and turned back to the shelf. And that was that. 

When I found her 10 minutes later, melted into a puddle of shame and self-loathing, I asked her what happened. All she could say was "I carried a watermelon."