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story time (even though I’m sure I’ve told this story before)

so one day when I was in grade 12, we had an assembly during 5th period which usually means early dismissal but the assembly ended too early so we had to “go back to class” (which even the principal knew meant hang out until we can reasonably sneak out or until buses came) so everyone who didn’t immediately fuck off is hanging out at their lockers.

my friends and I were in a short, dead end hallway (across from the Outer Limits room for those of you familiar with THS) filled with about 50 students and one of the english teachers walked past and said “Amber, go to class please.” none of us reacted because none of us are called Amber. she walked down to the end, turns around and comes back.

"Amber, go to class."

at this point, one of my friends says “who the hell is Amber?”

"I don’t know, maybe one of those girls there?" I guessed, pointing at a group of girls across the hall from us.

the teacher comes back and stands in front of me. “Amber, I told you to go to class.”

I just stared at her for about a minute, utterly confused. “Who’s Amber?”
"Aren’t you Ellyn’s sister?" She asked.
"Yes. But who is Amber?" (I also wrote Tiger Tales for her two years prior, but I was too confused to point that out).
"You."
"Nope. My name is Robyn."
"Well then, Robyn, go to class."

I don’t understand why she told me to go to class and not any of the other students in the hallway, but I grabbed my bag anyway and went to class, too confused to argue. When I got to my class, I found out my teacher had already left for the day (there were still 20 minutes until the end of the day).

I had her for a class the following semester. She was the only teacher I never got a free pass on my name. With other teachers, they would call me “Ellyn” on the first day and I would answer and they would apologize, the second time I would raise an eyebrow and they would apologize. there was rarely a third time but if there was, I would politely remind them that if they were speaking to me, they should use my name not my sister’s.

This was in 2005 and I still have no fucking clue how she was able to make the connection between me and my sister but not get my name right. If she had called me by my sister’s name, I would have at least known she was talking to me.

I completely forgot about the whole pyjamas-as-street-clothes thing back home. everyone I see on a daily basis (the extremely attractive huggers) are all very well-dressed.

one of my profs only wears Armani and D&G. another looks like a Tommy Hilfiger model. then there are some very well dressed young men on the cusp of hipsterism. it’s just a very attractive, huggable, fashionable hallway.

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