Costa Rica is So Clique-y
Remember that one common area in high school where everyone would hang out in the morning before the first bell?
Remember that feeling you’d get walking through that gauntlet as a Freshman? Feeling the heat of a thousand beady upper-classman eyes boring into you, mercilessly dissecting your merchandise and fashion choices?
No matter who you were or how confident and carefree you felt before you entered that high school, you suddenly became the thin-skinned, self-conscious, shaky Chihuahua of Social Inadequacy.
Your JanSport backpack felt immediately uncool. Your Sketchers, beyond lame. Your cuffed jeans were now a crime against humanity. And your scrunchy…
Dear God, your scrunchy.
That’s what it feels like, every single day I walk to work. Instantly, I’m transported back to that horrible moment where all eyes are on you. Watching you.
I mean, they don’t even try to act polite about it.
I know they’re whispering about how I wore the exact same outfit last week. And the week before that.
And the week before that.
Seriously. What are you looking at, freakshow?