Prom Fiasco

"Prom Fiasco"

Saturday, April 6, 2002, 8 a.m.: I am startled out of sleep by the constant, irritating buzz of my alarm clock. Why on earth is my alarm going off at this hour on a Saturday? As my eyes adjust to the white light filtering through my window, I swing my pajama clad legs out of bed and stand up. Mid-stretch, I remember. It is the first Saturday in April.

Prom Season has officially begun.

I can think of no event more prominent in a girl’s high school career than her Senior Prom. It is the end all and be all of high school. We spend weeks making sure we have the perfect dress, shoes, tan, jewelry, hairstyle, nails, makeup, accessories, and oh yeah… the perfect date.

My senior year was textbook quality; everything was done by the book. I was captain of the soccer team, vice-president of student government, and a straight A student. More importantly, I had a super cute boyfriend who just happened to be friends with all of my friend’s boyfriends - I know what you are thinking: S-H-A-L-L-O-W, and believe me I look back and realize it too, but remember back to how important all that was in high school. I didn’t have to scrounge around for a date, I would go with my boyfriend and all of my friends and everything would be perfect…or so I thought.

Problem #1: The Limo

Oh! How cool are we? We get to rent our very own limo and show up to prom in style. It is so cool being a senior. But what kind if limo do we want? Do we want a stretch, a hummer stretch, a limo bus, or a limo van? How many people can this one hold? Who goes with whom? These may appear to be minor details, but to us you would have thought they meant the difference between life and death. The arguments over this got so bad, that kids who had been friends for years were no longer speaking to one another. The fact of the matter was that we had too many people to accommodate, and we needed to rent two limos. I couldn’t believe that we were beginning to act so selfish and juvenile. So far, prom was a bust.

Problem #2: The Dinner Table

Each table at prom can sit eight people. We needed to decide which four couples would sit together. In a mature, grown up world this is a simple task. In prom world however, it was a nightmare. Once again emphasis was placed on who would sit with who. In our minds, we thought that if we didn’t sit with exactly who we wanted, prom would be ruined. If only we knew that at prom you are never at your assigned table, and all those four couples do together is take a picture. For the second time in a span of about two weeks, friendships were being ruined, and people were becoming very nasty.

Expectations never live up

There was a wait at the hair salon, I was late for my nail appointment, and my boyfriend misplaced his tie. I do not look like the smiling girl from the cover of Seventeen’s special prom edition. I snapped at my mother, my friends were annoyed because I was late, and don’t even get me started on the words I had for my boyfriend. What is going on? Prom is supposed to be the best day of high school.

My boyfriend and I finally arrived to the designated meeting place for pictures. Naturally, being a girl I basked in the glory of all the cameras. I utilized ten different poses in each spot we stood. “One more!” I begged. I couldn’t leave the oak tree with just a picture taken from my left side, how terrible. One hour and 3,000 pictures later we arrived.

To be honest, when we walked in, we were less than impressed. We were tired, our feet hurt from our cute, but impractical shoes, and we were hungry. To sum up the prom in a nutshell: the food was terrible, the music horrible, and the dancing…well that I will just leave to your imagination.

We dragged our tired bodies into the limo bus and settled in for our 45 minute ride home. Some of us passed out, others started drinking, and some were just chatting and gossiping. As the bus putted down the highway, it is safe to say we were all thinking the same thing: This was definitely not the night we’d dreamed of.

Post Prom

My high school principal was notorious for breaking up post prom parties. We called him Hitler because he would actually drive down to places like Wildwood, or, Seaside, and instruct motel owners to call the police on us as soon as we rented a room. If you got caught drinking after prom, the policy at my high school was that you couldn’t walk at graduation. We decided to do the smart and responsible thing and NOT drink after Prom.

We were going down to Ocean City, a dry town, to spend a few nights down at the beach. At 3 a.m., we arrived at our hotel, which had been inspected and guaranteed as suitable by my friend Kelly. We were greeted at the front desk by an old man with a huge mole on his cheek, and hair coming out of his ears by the bushel. I looked around the lobby and started to get nervous. There seemed to have been a lot of construction and remodeling going on. I also couldn’t help but notice the strange characters that were coming in and out of the hotel. If I had to be totally honest, they looked like they were hookers.

We took our keys, which were the old fashioned kind made from metal, not the new plastic ones that scan, from the old man and headed up the stairs. We turned the corner and nearly dropped dead. The hallway looked like it was straight out of a scene from a horror movie. The carpet was torn, the paint was chipped, and there were moths flying around! We were scared to turn the key to our rooms and go in.

We mustered up the courage and turned the doorknob. The image we saw will never be forgotten. The bed had stains on the sheets and collapsed to the floor when you sat on it, there was a huge hole in the floor, there was no T.V., and there were no lampshades on the lights. There was a joint bathroom that you shared with another room with no doors! We were disgusted. The girls were hysterical; we couldn’t believe this was our prom night. While the boys fought with the hairy mole man in the lobby, the girls fired questions at Kelly as to how she could have possibly checked this place out and thought it was okay.

Prom is like New Year’s Eve, your sweet sixteen, and your 21st birthday. Your expectations for the event will never quite live up to reality. You can spend weeks, months, or even years planning; but the truth is life isn’t about dealing with the expected, but that of the unexpected. Don’t waste your last days of high school arguing over prom specifics. Enjoy your time together, make memories, and just let life happen.