Apparently I'm an Idiot

After having one of the most stressful weeks of my entire school year, I dragged myself into the house hoping that I would find some relief by going upstairs and falling asleep. However I noted a large white envelope patiently waiting on the kitchen counter, partially opened. “Hmm that’s a big envelope, I wonder what it is.” I thought to myself. I walked up to the counter and saw that it was addressed to my parents and myself. Of course I got a knife and opened that baby right up. Sadly the contents of this large white envelope were my PSAT scores from the October session. “Oh $*&%!” rattled through my head like the sound of a cannon in the Civil War. Little did I know, that sound would signify my hopes of a decent life exploding into splinters.
I unfolded the piece of paper with my test results in it, and well lets just say these scores are very similar to David Sedaris’ IQ results. My “Writing Skills” score equaled the amount of money somebody pays for a decent steak at a mediocre restaurant in Wyoming. These scores would also explain the failed attempts at decent writing in this essay. Anyway, I looked at these results horrified. Hoping that if I stared long enough the scores would suddenly reverse and I would have a near average score. But no, these scores stared right back in my face snickering, “Hey sucker, you know what this means? That’s right… janitor at the local McDonalds. Have fun.” It was then that my future-life flashed before my eyes. I was to be one of those 45 year-old, virgin men, who lived in the basement of Mommy and Daddy’s house, waiting for Grandma’s oxygen to finally run out so I wouldn’t have to listen to the monotonous spits of air it made. But at that point I would have to get off the couch that I had been sitting on, watching the 28-year-old taped episodes of “The Real World Denver” reminiscing of the days when I almost had a life, and go and replace Grandma’s oxygen.
My mom came up to me and asked what I was looking at. I looked at her and simply stated, “my lack of brain capacity, is what I’m lookin at.” She looked a bit confused by what I said, but then shifted to see the page of my scores. “Oh… wow.” She said. Obviously she hadn’t read the non-existent manual of what not to say after your son has received his PSAT scores that suggest he will be a janitor for the rest of his life, and if he is lucky, he might flip the occasional burger. “‘Oh..wow’ is what you have to say?!” I said, “even a little fake support would help. How about ‘oh its ok Jakers, they’re only numbers that have no reflection of who you really are.’” Of course, I knew that nothing she could have said would have helped me, because these scores showed me that, apparently I’m an idiot.
Quietly I packed my scores back into the large white envelope, and set them back on the table. I walked to my room thinking that I most likely would be doing this for the next 30+ years of my life. My dreams of being a doctor or big-shot lawyer poured out of me like the water being squeezed out of the mop, which I was soon to be holding at the McDonalds just down the street. And with that my days as a janitor began, given that the next day I filled out a job application at the McDonalds down the street.