'87 411 911

With equal parts dread and anticipation I read the announcement of my 20th high school reunion, a three-day hoosieriffic extravaganza in July. Except if it were really going to be like the best days of high school, my friends Tina, Sara, and I, along with some Jim Beam purloined from Sara's dad's liquor cabinet, would be in some corner making fun of it all and having a seriously good time. But I think Sara's dad died last year, and even if she'd speak to me, which I don't think she would, she and Tina are on the list of the "missing" along with EIGHTY-EIGHT other people--out of a class of 186! Good grief, committee. It's not much of a reunion if nobody's there except the people you've been drinking Bud Light with down at the Franchise every Friday night since you graduated!

I'm not sure what unflattering aspect of my personality it reveals to admit that I got out the phone book at "found" a couple of those people before I opened the rest of the mail, but I did. And then used 411.com to prove that another guy is right where I knew he was (in this county, not cross country). And then noted that another is the son of a retired teacher who is also in the phone book, not that a member of our class doesn't work in the high school office where they keep track of such things. And that another guy, assuming the online address is bad, though I bet it's not, has enough cousins around here that there's probably not enough room in the V section of the phone book for anyone who's not related to him.

I mean, seriously. For anyone with a genuine high school education, is it really that hard?