The Girl at the Pool - Part 5

My parents gave me their take on things: from what I had told them, the judging sounded horribly biased, and I was right to raise awareness. My dad however, did suggest that I do it in a more civilized way next time. Thanks for standing by me guys! That was the end of that day and night. After having a late-night snack, to compensate for my sixth place shortcoming (as individual speaker) I was in a dream state. In many cases, I dream about debates, and really good speeches after I attend them. However, the debates of that day were so horrid, so bad, that I couldn't dream of anything.

This whole day had felt like one short film. The outburst, the lone child agreeing with me, the laying alone in a desolate school gymnasium, the tears, my friend calming me in the halls, the snazzy dude stopping me at the door, the look of utter shock on the faces of all these people, the undeserved apology I gave, the final goodbye from my partner, the cold, wet walk to Mr. Forman's car, the drive back, the bright, distorted lights, the crossing of the Burrard Bridge with my imaginary music playing, the ride up to my apartment in the elevator, the soothing by my parents, and my eventual sleeping.

I woke up in the morning, refreshed and feeling better. I was sick with some sort of stomach ache, so I didn't attend school. I stayed home, in bed, for I was both mentally and physically sick. I tried to busy myself with catching up on homework and other things of that nature, but was unsuccessful. All that my mind was capable of bearing was the events of the night prior. Call me unforgiving, call me Miss Grudger, call me spoiled, but I couldn't wrap my head around that night, or the apology. Being the kind person that he is, my partner had provided me with the password to his email. Being the cunning person that I am, I figured that this ass-a-holic lady would most likely send an email of disdain to my partner, for she did not have my email account. So I logged onto my partner's account. I knew that even if an email had been sent, he wouldn't let me know for some time. Why? Because Regionals were coming up the next day, and I'm assuming that he'd want me to have a clear mind, so that I could kick some Lower Mainland West booty.

Regardless, I logged onto the account, and found myself to be right. This tournament director -who had preached professional behaviour to me the previous night- had written an extremely accusing and hatred filled letter to my poor, polite partner. She is 55-ish years old. My partner is 15. Is it okay for a woman, who runs a website/company on communication skills, I might add, to send a terrible letter to a teenager? I don't think so. I mean, look, if you are really unable to overcome that outburst by this adolescent, then you probably aren't fit to be working with adolescents. If you can't take "the high road", then why wouldn't contact the child's teacher, or their coach, instead of the child himself? I don't know, maybe hormones screw up after menopause.