Conor’s Complaints: Hit ’em with the ‘Suh Dude?’


Clarion photo Eva Bryner

Great Scott!

By Conor Bergin, Editor-in-Chief

Calling Shotgun

I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t get the memo, but I thought we all unanimously decided to stop “calling shotgun.” I thought it was the sort of childish thing that we grew out of, just like we did with rituals such as saying “doorknob” after somebody passed gas, pressing all of the buttons for fun on an elevator, or only listening to Eminem when first figuring out about rap music. For those of you who live under a rock and don’t know how the game of “shotgun” is played, let a quote from the Office’s great Michael Scott explain. “The rules of shotgun are very simple and very clear. The first person to shout ‘shotgun’ when you’re within sight of the car gets the front seat. That’s how the game’s played. There are no exceptions for someone with a concussion.” Now if you didn’t believe me that shotgun is an immature game, I think it says something that Michael Scott, a character who in that same episode managed to burn his foot on a George Foreman grill, is a serious defendant of the game. I assumed at this age we stopped being concerned with petty desires such as the front seat and just got into the car. But if you are going to be a little selfish and truly want that spot, just make a point to slyly get to the car first. Because sometimes I get it, nobody likes being crammed in the middle seat. With this strategy I just recommended, you get what you want without exposing your selfishness. Still though, doing that every time is a weenie move. Great Scott! Just sit in the car!

Why So Serious?!

Forgive me everybody, but I have been known to spaz out in class. There are reasons for this and no, I don’t have ADD, so don’t blame it on that. The truth is, sometimes I get a little bored and antsy listening to lectures about organic chemistry and economic modernization all day. Can you really blame me? So in order to entertain myself and make sure I don’t lose my mind, I act out in a wacky way. Other times, I’m just feeling pretty good on a Wednesday so I express it with some liveliness. You know what the reactions I get from this behavior are? They sound a lot like this, “Conor, are you high?” Just because I am showing a little enthusiasm or animation does not mean that I am stoned out of my mind. Why so serious everybody? Let your hair down and poke some fun at life. If we have to be in high school for four years stuck in classes that most days we don’t want to be in, we should at least make it interesting. On top of that, we’re all going to die of arsenic poisoning so it’s really important we have a good time while we’re still here. And you don’t have to wait to be high as an excuse to act this way. Last week I saw two five-year olds having the time of their lives with an empty shoebox. A shoebox. Let’s learn from our former elementary school selves. Did we point out people’s imperfections because we did not know that was socially unacceptable yet? Sure. Those same two five year-olds laughed at the acne on my face and insulted my glasses. But at that age we knew how to have a pretty good time not dependent on drugs and alcohol and I think that is pretty cool. So in the future, if you want to ask me if I am high in class, I hope this column answered your question. Nope. I’m just a weirdo. Or maybe it’s just all of the arsenic and cadmium poisoning going to my head. Who really knows?


The Saturday after Finals Week, I had the treat of waking up the next morning at 6:30 a.m. and driving out to Lake Oswego to take the SAT for the first time. As I walked in carrying only one poorly sharpened pencil that was missing an eraser, I quickly felt out of place. I kid you not, the four people sitting in chairs around me all had SEVEN perfectly sharpened Ticonderogas sitting perfectly straightened on their desk. I was surprised one of them didn’t place a salad fork in with the ensemble. Did I miss something? I was so confused. Why on earth would you need six spare pencils? You have more of a chance of winning the Powerball than breaking seven pencil leads in a three hour timespan. Could you imagine hearing somebody say, “Oops I broke my pencil” seven times? The craziest part was that it wasn’t just like one super smart, OCD girl had the absurd amount of pencils on her desk. That would’ve made sense. But no, literally it was like everybody had a minimum of four pencils on their desk. I was kind of ticked off. I got the feeling that these people thought they were better than me just because they had an unnecessary number of pencils. I guess this is just what life is like at a Suburban high school: They are six pencils better than we’ll ever be and their water fountains work. Yuck. Who needs that lifestyle?