Philonoist.net

Operator, oh could you help me place this call You see the number on the matchbook is old and faded She’s livin’ in L.A. With my best old ex-friend Ray A guy she said she knew well and sometimes hated

Chorus: Isn’t that the way they say it goes But let’s forget all that And give me the number if you can find it So I can call just to tell them I’m fine and to show I’ve overcome the blow I’ve learned to take it well I only wish my words could just convince myself But that’s not the way it feels

Operator, oh could you help me place this call ’cause I can’t read the number that you just gave me There’s something in my eyes You know it happens every time I think about the love that I thought would save me

Chorus

Operator, oh let’s forget about this call There’s no one there I really wanted to talk to Thank you for your time Oh you’ve been so much more than kind And you can keep the dime

Chorus -Jim Croce

Sometimes, I wonder about the people I went to high school. The ever present indicator of people I talk to regularly, the buddy list numer, has dwindled from over 20 to just 2. And both of those will probably be deleted the next time I purge the list.

So, what happened? It’s a combination of things. For the most part, I hated the people high school: the faux niceness that people presented to get a look at my AP US History, the emphasis on attacking other people’s faults, the immaturity the vast majority of my class showed. I just wasn’t one of those people who liked drinking, who liked partying, who liked street racing. So sue me.

But it’s not like those thigns isolated me from people in high school. I had a fair number of friends, or at the very least, people I talked to regularly. But most of these relationships centered around school, and once we went to our seperate colleges, that was that.

I think that’s another big factor: I’m so far away from the nearest high school alumnus. Something like 95% of CAT students end up going to Florida schools. I don’t blame them: I’m the first to say that if I didn’t get into Olin, I would have joined them at UF. Scheduling becomes tough. I think there’s a total of three days over lap when I go home at the end of the week.

Some nights, I want to reach out, I want to say to some of them “Remember me? We used to talk, we used to be close.” But I never do. For one, I’m betting it would be awkward as hell for both of us, and I’m sure it wouldn’t really last, like putting down a rope bridge over the Grand Canyon. And really, I think the energy required to try and make a connection far outweighs the benefits derived from that connection. What will I gain from re-connecting with my high school friends? A list of parties I missed out on? A fresh batch of inside jokes I won’t understand? Stories about people I can no longer put a face to?

So, it’s come to this. 2 years removed from CAT, and I talk to no one. It’s really not a big deal: I love the friends I’ve made at Olin. Not having friends at home makes going home tough, but not impossible.

But, occasionally, when a song like Operator comes up in random mode in iTunes, I get just the smallest of lumps in my throat.