Makeout Alley is Closed, Please Find Another Place to Park

What is it about being a teenager that makes everything such a life-altering event? Your best friend and you are having a fight, so you come to my class in hysterics, and the mere sight of the other girl on a bathroom trip reverts you to sullenness and red eyes? Or you don’t feel good, so you must be dying and need to go to the hospital. If you’re having a bad day, rather than tough it out through my online class that requires absolutely no effort other than clicking on a computer and occasionally having to read something, but a class you can basically do what you want as long as you’re working, you request to be sent to the office. Granted, these situations are all in my self-contained computer class for students who need additional support, therefore appealing to students typically diagnosed with emotional disabilities, but the immediacy and intensity of a teenager is pretty standard fare.

One major example is the hordes of couples lining the hallways in between classes. There’s one corner dubbed “Makeout Alley” that is particularly popular. One of my colleagues had the idea this morning of blocking it off with a giant sign stating it was Closed. These couples park their sides against the walls, shortening the width of the already small hallway to one lane for all other traffic. They stand there, holding one another, staring into each other’s eyes or the girls rest their heads on the chests of their still short boyfriends.

They do this in between every class.

At our school, we use block scheduling, which means classes are 90 minutes long and you only have them every other day. While 90 minutes may seem like a lifetime to a hormonal teenager, it’s only two episodes of “Jersey Shore” without commercials. And these couples act like he’s going off to war.

Honey, you’re going to see him in an hour and a half. There is no need to grab his face like you never want to let go, playing with the stubble that he’s been growing for 2 months and matches up to what my boy looks like at the end of the day (which is still not much at all). Give it a rest, young lovers. I don’t want to see your tongues mashing together like that.

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