How (Not) to Go to Prom

He complained I didn’t get him a corsage. I complained he didn’t at least take his glasses off like the girl in She’s All That. Expecting the customary white limo to pull up outside, my date started to get pissy when I hailed a cab. I brought a miniature bottle of Absolut with me to spike the punch. I don’t know what punch is, but from all the prom films I’ve seen, that’s what the cool kids are always talking about. When I arrived, I realised there’s no drinking age in Egypt and everyone seemed wasted already. I downed the miniature vodka and watched on as the Prom King and Queen were announced. I narrowly missed out and got quite upset about it. Then they announced Prom Cutest. I’d never heard of this category before. I looked towards the stage as people clapped in the winner but I couldn’t see anyone. I tiptoed around the crowd to try and catch a glimpse. No! Oh, no! What the...

I look back at the mini Absolut to make sure it wasn’t some kind of moonshine. I look back at the stage.

Yep. The school just announced a 17-year-old dwarf as Prom Cutest. They put a sashay on him which said ‘Cutest’ and everything. High school kids are so cruel! How demeaning, how emasculating!

I rush through the crowd as the announcement comes to an end, to console the young man and tell him that everything gets better after high school, not to worry about these jerks and that I’d help him try to get him laid that night.

“Hey, man! What’s your name? Come hang out with us…” I muttered, possibly somewhat condescendingly.

He looks at me up and down with an awkward smile that said: What are you doing here, you pervert? He walks off with two hot girls on his arms, while I stood sullenly, as my brother rested his head against my back, slow dancing…

I then went and sat down next to a barely post-pubescent kid who looked lonely. Maybe I could at least pass on some advice while I’m here? He told me he was going to go to a university in London. I told him that universities are designed to spit kids out as pre-programmed cogs of the next generation. They are no-go areas for creativity and free thought, aimed at just getting graduates to amount increasing anxiety and debt so they can be part of The System, just to end up at a desk every morning, in a monkey suit, trying to pay them off while you watch your life fly by. He said he’s going to a university in London so he can party and get white bitches. He doesn’t need a job, his dad owns the university.

Kids these days…

As the prom was coming to an end, a group of youngsters invited me up to a hotel room for an after-party. Finally, I was in with the cool kids! I imagined a room full of bright, young things, reminiscing about their high school days, drinking beers and dreaming about their futures. I get up to the room, look around and realise I know every single one of these people. They’re not high school kids. They’re grown men I’ve seen at every single afteraya I’ve been at for the last two years. The kids that took me up settle down in a corner and start unpacking some narcotics. I turn to a DJ friend of mine.

“What the fuck is this shit?”

“Timmeeeeehhhh. Yalla, hane3mel khabataya!”