At the end of my freshman year, my high school held a vote as to whether they should open up the cheer group to boys, and as a separate question, whether they should keep the “traditional” skirted leotard uniform or switch to a uniform with shorts.

Perhaps predictably, our school voted to allow boys to cheer and also to keep the skirted bodysuit uniform.

Amazingly, the school actually followed through, and for two years, we had both boys and girls in the skirted body skirts in cheer before the complaints from certain busybodies in the PTA got it shut down. 

They had us vote again about the uniform my sophomore year, and despite the skirted leotards winning the vote by more than 80%, my senior year, both boys and girls were switched to a skirtless uniform.

I still have my skirted cheerleader uniform in my closet, though it no longer fits. As a cisgender heterosexual man, I also still miss wearing skirts.

It’s the first day of school and our teacher has not met most of us before.

Teacher: “I’d like everyone to tell me their names so I can get to know you.”

Me: “My name is Dani.”

Classmate #1: “I’m Dannie.”

Classmate #2: “And I’m Daniel.”

Teacher: “Um…”

I already feel sorry for him, and I’m wondering what the odds are of having three people in the same class with similar names, since we are a very small school. And then:

Classmate #3: “Hey, my name is Darrell.”

The poor guy never did manage to get our names right, though he tried his best.

I was doing undergraduate research in a lab, working toward my thesis. The other people were a hard-working, tightly-knit, mutually supportive group, with a few notable exceptions. One of these exceptions was a girl who did not absolutely care one jot beyond her own immediate needs, and a few things she did still stick out in my memory, years later.

One of the postgrads, who was supposed to mentor this girl, vanished during the weekend; he left on Friday afternoon with a curt “bye” and did not show up on Monday… or Tuesday… or Wednesday. We did ask around whether he was ill or inconvenienced, but she did not volunteer any information. Then, the head of the lab, who was not in any way involved with the post-grad, asked [Girl] if she was going to be able to cope doing the project without assistance.

Girl: “Yes, I can manage. [Postgrad] left me all the instructions and notes.”

Head Of Lab: “Oh, so he knew in advance that he was going to be away?”

Girl: “Yes, he’s quit. He told me a week ago that he had found a proper job.”

And we were wondering whether he was in hospital!

We also had to move because the prefab building where the lab was located was literally losing bits of roof. The movers took care of the large stuff but we had to pack the smaller equipment ourselves. [Girl] and I were in charge of wrapping glassware and putting it into boxes. At one point, I saw the corner of a familiar-looking aluminium plate poking out of a black bag. Because it was just the two of us, and I would never throw that away, there could be only one culprit.

Me: “[Girl], that would not be the aluminium plate from [piece of machinery that I used and she did not], would it?”

Girl: “How would I know?! It’s just some garbage.”

Me: “It’s not garbage! It’s important for spreading the heat evenly across the electrophoresis gel. [Girl], just ask before throwing away techware that you don’t know about. We are already on a tight budget without having to replace lost equipment.”

She just shrugged. I took out the aluminium plate, checked whether anything else of value had been chucked out — it had: clamps, gaskets, stirring magnets, and several other bits and bobs of a chemistry lab — and resumed packing.

During the lunch break, [Girl] told everyone who would listen the story of how I was salvaging garbage from the black bags, a thing she found hilarious.

A few years ago, the former lab group had a reunion. I was invited; she wasn’t.

I’m a university student, and I’m currently doing a group project with three others. [Groupmate] and I are looking over what the other two have submitted.

Groupmate: “Well, those two numbskulls really half-a**ed the work.” 

Me: *Irritably* “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

Groupmate: “My middle name is Prosperity.”

I blink.

Me: “Really?”

Groupmate: “Really.”

Me: “You’re not fooling around, right?”

Groupmate: “Nope. I’ve got two names: one in English, one in Chinese. My Chinese one is legally my middle name, and when translated, it means Ascend-To-Prosperity, so yes, Prosperity really is my middle name.”

Me: “Is this common?”

Groupmate: *Shrugs* “Back home in Singapore, yes. For example, my friend [English Name]’s full name is [English Name] [Surname] [Chinese Name]. Most of us follow that format, as well.”

Me: “And [Chinese Name] is her middle name?”

Groupmate: *Wriggles palm* “Legally speaking. Even though it’s behind her surname.”

Me: “That’s weird.”

Groupmate: *Shrugs* “That’s just what happens when you grow up in a place that speaks both English and Chinese.”

Me: “Fair enough, but let’s get back on topic.”

We got back to work, but I was a lot calmer and light-hearted now. 

This basically evolved into our usual working relationship. I’d get angry over something, [Groupmate] would distract me with some interesting trivia, we’d get sidetracked for a bit, and I’d forget my anger, and then, we’d get back to work with a clear head.

I graduated from the Swedish equivalent of high school in 2001. Graduation prom has been a tradition for many years in my school and it’s always been a fun event, but this year, the girls in charge of organising the event seem to have watched a few too many American high school rom-coms, because they have a very firm idea about how it’s supposed to go.

They release the tickets and I go to buy one. I’m female and I don’t have a boyfriend, but I’m planning to go with my two best (female) friends.

Me: “One ticket, please.”

Girl: “Who are you going with?”

Me: “Oh, [Friend #1] and [Friend #2]. Were we supposed to buy our tickets together?”

Girl: “No, I meant, who is going to be your date?”

Me: “Um… no one? I’m going with my friends.”

Girl: “You need to have a date for prom; we want everyone to come in pairs. It doesn’t matter if you don’t have a boyfriend. You can just pick someone.”

Me: “I don’t really have a lot of guy friends and no one I’d like to go to prom with.”

Girl: “Never mind, we’ll just pick someone from the list.”

Me: “Sorry, what list?”

Girl: “The list of single guys who got tickets. How about [Boy #1]?” 

Me: “[Boy #1] bullied me for three years in middle school and we barely speak to each other. No, thank you.”

Girl: “Okay? What about [Boy #2]?”

Me: “I don’t even know who [Boy #2] is. Why can’t I go with my friends?”

Girl: “Because you need to have a date for prom! You’re going to screw up the pictures!”

Me: “You know what? I think I’m going to skip prom.”

My friends and I ended up having “alternative prom” — just us, our fancy clothes, a lot of very good food, and not a date in sight.

Was I bitter about missing out on the experience? Yes, a little. Did I really want to go to prom with someone I didn’t want to spend time with just so [Girl] could get pretty pictures in the local newspaper? No, not at all.

The same girl yelled at me at graduation for wearing a blue dress, because the tradition for graduates in Sweden is to wear white and, once again, I was screwing up her pictures. I picked blue because I don’t like white, my family had a tight budget, and I wanted a dress I could keep wearing even after graduation. 

Yes, I’m aware that prom probably doesn’t work that way in the US either, but [Girl] was convinced that it was the only right way to do it and the rest of us had to suffer for it.