Welcome to the High School Reunion Scam
What you paid for and spent enough money on this high school reunion can buy a small car.
If you counted all the facial packages you signed up for over 40 years!
Luckily she did that! Imagine if she didn’t.
Instead, here you are.
Dressed in Spanx. Nervous.
Wondering why anyone thought seeing people who gave you wedgies in 10th grade would be life-affirming.
Spoiler alert: it isn’t.
This is a Social Audit.
The most expensive, judgment-heavy, competitive pity-fueled event of your adult life.
You’re not here to remember the good old days.
You’re here to see who succeeded, who failed, and who peaked in middle school and never recovered.
High School Reunion Dress Code
Just pretend you tried.
Pre-event prep is mandatory.
Hair. Nails. Shoes. Jewelry. New outfits.
A diet that may or may not include actual food.
All designed to whisper, Look at me. I’m slightly better than you expected.
Meanwhile, Dave still thinks socks with sandals paired with shorts are a bold statement. Bless him.
Some people never get it.
Sequins where sequins don’t belong.
Perfume strong enough to knock out a small animal. But points for commitment.
The Walk-In Body Scan
Step through the door. Brace yourself.
Everyone is judging.
Hairline? Checked.
Waistline? Measured.
Ring finger sparkle? Noted.
Shoes new? Polished with a hint of desperation? Observed.
Missed the gym for six months?
Congratulations.
You’re the Blow-Up Champion.
The living cautionary tale.
The kind of person everyone uses to feel slightly better about their own Netflix-and-pizza weekends.
The Glow-Up Champion glides in.
Radiating menace.
Proof that effort sometimes pays off.
Everyone else gulps wine nervously and wonders if they should have gone to Pilates.
The Strategic Lie Challenge
Next comes the verbal interrogation.
“So, what are you doing now?”
This is not a sincere question.
Say, “Still figuring it out,” and watch your social stock plummet.
Correct move; exaggerate without lying too obviously.
“I’m leading a multi-platform disruptive synergy initiative while managing several equity ventures,” you declare.
Secretly, you’re filing expense reports and dreaming of a nap.
Bonus points if you can smile while saying it.
Even better if you sprinkle in words like “equity” or “platform”.
Everyone nods politely, secretly impressed, secretly confused.
The Offspring & Property Decathlon
Children are no longer children. They are trophies.
Photos are mandatory.
Omit crying or failed algebra. Omit human imperfection.
Vacations are no longer holidays. They are multi-week immersive cultural exchanges in slightly disappointing villas.
Every possession you mention is a jab.
Even the garage, once a laundry storage room, now doubles as a home office.
You mention it casually. The audience suffers.
People whisper about your kitchen gadgets.
The espresso machine gets more applause than some actual kids.
Nostalgia Sprint
Then comes the nostalgia segment.
Three minutes with someone you barely tolerated in geometry.
“Remember that time in the hallway…?”
No. I do not. No. I never will. Smile. Nod.
Escape mentally. Everyone counts ceiling tiles and plots exits.
Nostalgia is less about remembering.
It’s about pretending old friendships matter now.
Your former lab partner has not aged well.
You pretend it doesn’t disturb you.
Glow-Up/Blow-Up Relay
Finally, the unspoken competition begins.
Someone looks ten years younger.
Someone hasn’t left their recliner since 2005.
Eyes widen.
Mental recalculations occur.
Points awarded for effort.
Deceit. Subtle social manipulation.
Ability to make others feel slightly inferior or slightly better.
The Social Audit hits peak absurdity.
The crowd exhales. Scores are tallied silently.
Reputations quietly shift.
Everyone leaves with mental notes for next time.
Closing Ceremony
You survived.
You judged.
Lied strategically.
Pretended to care.
Maybe checked your wrinkles in a mirror.
You’ve been roasted by life, roasted by old friends, roasted by the passage of time.
Congratulations.
You’ve earned a mental gold medal.
The high school reunion is a scam, a farce, and the most entertaining Social Audit you’ll ever attend.
You’ll tell your stories, laugh at the absurdity, and secretly hope the Blow-Up Champion stays put in the corner next year.
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