March 2004 Issue - Essay # 7
Into
the Counselor's Office:
Navigating Anti-Guidance
By Josh
Gryniewicz
|
"So
we meet again, Mr. Gryniewicz." Mr. Howzier snarled from behind the
high-back, black chair, as he rotated to face me. The clipped staccato
German accent that he didn't really have, forming an almost physical
presence in the narrow confines of his office. "What
are we going to do with you?" he asked, now glaring at me, his
fingers perched in the form of a steeple that framed his scowl. He had
said this in the German accent that he didn't really have, as though I
was something he had accidentally stepped in on the way to the office
and he needed to determine the most efficient way to scrape me off his
boot. In
the Lifetime special version of this encounter, the doddering,
foul-mannered high school guidance counselor (though these adjectives
and this job description might be a tad redundant) would end this
meeting with a misty-eyed embrace. Choking back tears, he would mutter,
"Son, I've been so hard on you only because I believe in you." "I
know," I'd choke in response, holding back tears of my own.
"Mr. Howzier, you had me at hello." This wasn't the Lifetime
version of this encounter though. In fact, it seemed more likely that
Howzier would affix me to some medieval torture device, firing a high
intensity laser beam at me. Or that he would tie me to a slowly lowering
suspension system, dropping me into a pit of alligators, a den of snakes
or an active volcano. As I would come to find, however, his diabolical
scheme was far worse. Though
we met for only ten sessions over my four years of high school, twice a
year to choose semester courses and two additional occasions, the
guidance counselor and I had become adversaries. Despite the fact that I
had impressive grades documented in a readily available file, he had
determined that I was a lost cause. This attitude was embodied in
classic Howzierisms, like, "Auto mechanics would be good for
someone like you." And "Community college is probably the best
you can hope for." He
oscillated between contrived empathy and outright nastiness, often
attempting to discourage me from enrolling in challenging classes. To
his credit though, I was a punk, a rebel, a renegade, a revolutionary
and a pretty bad standardized tester. By
junior year, students had to log potential career pursuits on a form
that their guidance counselor would then correlate with prospective
college programs. On the day Howzier was to hatch his nefarious scheme,
I had been called into his office. He apparently had no success finding
curriculum matches for my top three choices: 1) International Man of
Mystery, 2) Professional Adventurer, and 3) cowboy or pirate. (I
couldn't make up my mind.) So when Howzier asked, "What are we
going to do with you?" as though I had accidentally been stepped
in, this is what he was speaking about. And
when I responded it came out sounding something like John Cusack's
character, Lloyd Dobler, in 'SayAnything,' "I don't want to sell
anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to
sell anything bought or processed...or buy anything sold or
processed...or process anything sold, bought, or processed...or repair
anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want
to do that." The
truth was that I did have a general idea of what I wanted to do with my
life. A genuine dream that I felt would be best kept from Howzier, a
secret that may have been what Cameron Crowe had in mind when he wrote
Dobler's lines. I wanted to be a writer; an ambition like this was far
too much a treasure to be shared with someone like him. Still, even with
this ace up my sleeve, my Moriarty had the upper hand. In
the absence of lasers, alligators, snakes and active volcanoes, Howzier,
in super-villainous fashion, bound me to a too small desk on loan from a
local grade school. Its restraining arm pinned against my chest,
suffocating me. Bound in place, he then presented me with a sealed
booklet ominously marked "vocational assessment exam." I'd
have taken my chances with any of the other options, because this
vocational assessment was all scenarios rolled into one. It was
serpentine-beast-tightly wrapped around my present, its boa-constricting
body squeezing the air out of me, while its open maw, like that of a
man-eating alligator, poised to consume the whole of my future. It
breathed the incinerating ashen air of a live volcano, with the fierce
intensity of a laser that scorched the edges of my dream sanctuary. My
only defense against this creature: a sharpened #2 pencil clutched in my
sweaty palm. I could scarcely draw a breath, initially thinking I would
resist by filling little smiley faces or patterned rows of B-C-D-B-C-D
on the answer form. In a moment of clarity, I realized this was the trap
he had laid and I was playing right into his hands. I broke the seal
with sudden resolve to seriously tackle the exam, without seriously
accepting the results. Later,
Howzier would study these results as though he were a doctor faced with
relaying a terminal diagnosis to a patient. He released several
"Mmmhmms" and shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly.
Finally, as though he could no longer bear it, he thrust the report in
my hands and stared down at me anticipating an emotional collapse. "Isn't
there something, anything, you can do?" The verdict, "suited
for a career in the creative field with a strong command of written and
verbal communication skills," slowly morphed into affirmation. Howzier
had finally done his job, validating my dream ambition in his own
statistical language. He had given me a direction for my future. How is
that for a Lifetime moment? In
the years that followed, there would be other Howziers of course, but
just like every Bond villain since Blofeld, they paled in comparison.
Despite his intent, my nemesis had taught me how to preserve this dream
treasure. In college, when I was told "major hopping"
indicated an unfocused lack of direction, I interpreted it as
experiential research. When I was struggling through the hardships of
unemployment, I used it as on-the-job training, and every rejection
letter received was viewed as an opportunity for improvement. A
year after I had graduated, Howzier asked my brother, Chris, how I was
doing. He was helping Chris get into tech school at the time. At
that time, I was working on an assembly line installing lubricated
rollers into tract beds in agonizingly monotonous days that stretched
one into the other, punctuated only by calamities that would almost cost
someone an appendage or worse yet, their life. Chris probably didn't
word it exactly like this, but the implication was there. To this
Howzier replied smugly, "At least he's contributing to
society." Then he released a nasty laugh as though he was sharing
an inside joke with Chris. There
was a time when that would have burned me up inside and I would've
wanted to throw all of my accomplishments in his face. Where I would
boil with the desire to show him that writing had also led me closer to
my first three career choices, too, proving to him that I had pounded
Raymond Chandler's "Mean Streets" in search of runaway youth, backpacked
across In
the same tradition as Mark Twain's own boyhood fantasies, I worked as a
deckhand on an old-fashioned paddle wheel boat, and did my part to
swindle booty on board that vessel. The boat housed a casino. They
called this good customer service, but it seemed like piracy to me.
There was a time when I would want to boast all of this to Howzier, but
he had already taught me that lesson. These secret treasures were my
own. Previously
published at
|
|
Author's Biography Josh Gryniewicz is a film reviewer for HBS entertainment, E-Film Critic and www.NightsAndWeekends.com. For the latter he also publishes a monthly column, “Pop Cultist” on the significance of film. He has been featured in Illinois Audubon, Northland’s Storytelling Network, Seven Seas Magazine, Nilas and the Tell-Tale Heartlander. He also co-wrote and directed the play “Waves Under Broken Ice.” He lives with his girlfriend in Chicago and works for a social service agency. E-mail
Josh at jgryn5@hotmail.com |
Essay
Reviews! Site Reviews! We'd
like to know from our readers if they enjoy Seven Seas Magazine! Do
you have praise or complaints? Suggestions or ideas? Get notified! Would you
like to get notified as soon as new Seven Seas issues are published on
the Web? Tell a friend! Do you
enjoy the Seven Seas site?
|
|
Go back to the table
of contents |
