Feelin’ Fireworks

In high school I worked for the wrestling team as the Stat Manager. (aka Stat-Girl, Mat Maid, and other, more degrading, nick-names) It was not a glorious job. In fact, it was most accurately a lame and mock-tastic kind of after school activity. But to be clear, if I had been allowed to wrestle, that’s what I would have been doing instead. I did wrestle in my freshman year but was soon kicked off the team for having a vagina. (Thanks a lot, Title 9)  Since I couldn’t wrestle anymore I did what I could to still be involved with the sport: clean up blood, carry heavy bags, and take stats.

But I digress.

Every summer the team would sell fireworks to raise money for the upcoming year. We rented a huge tent, set it up in the parking lot of the local grocery store, and loaded it with fireworks. Naturally every member of the team was required to do a shift (or two or twelve).

One Saturday all of the “Stat-Girls” did a shift together. (Probably more for giggling that anything. There were plenty of boys to do the actual ‘work’ part.) While the ladies manned the register, ringing and wrapping, a flock of high-school boys sauntered in looking mighty appealing… I guess… I had a boyfriend at the time so I was wearing my commitment goggles.

After laboriously making their selection, passing back and forth to give the girls plenty of oggling time, they headed to the register. While I rang them up the other girls worked not-so-discretely on writing their names and phone number on the boys’ receipt.

After the guys left we ladies had a great laugh about how clever we were.

It wasn’t more than a half-hour later when the lads returned, sending the girls into a fit of swooning. Much make-up checking and hair fluffing was done. The dudes lingered in the corner of the parking lot waiting to make their move, you know, until they could get one of us alone because god damn do girls ALWAYS have to be in a pack??

Finally, the liaison for the group was chosen and made his way towards me. The girls broke away so that I could liais for our side.

The tallish, attractivish fella walked up to me and held up the lengthy receipt. Oh god, I thought to myself, they drew hearts and doodles on it? Teenage girls. Like, what even are they thinking?

“Which one of these is yours?” He asks while thrusting the receipt at me.

“Oh, none. I have a boyfriend.”

He mumbled a something about it being too bad. Then he went back to the car where his friends were waiting. AND THEY ALL LEFT. All of them!

If you want to find a way to lose all of your friends in one day without doing ANYTHING wrong, here it is. As if I had told the car-full of boys to turn around and go home because we weren’t interested, my friends iced me out.


So, while the actual wrestling part of being on the team didn’t pan out (I’m a little bitter about that) I still received many benefits from my association with the sport. Mostly in the ego department. Thanks High School!

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