First Day As An Average Proletariat Proves Difficult For Max.

As Max made his way from the lunch line to the main section of the
cafeteria, he was unaware of the decision he would have to make in such
a short amount of time. Having joined the high school during the middle
of the school year, and this being his first day, he had struggled in
sparking up a conversation with his fellow classmates. He wondered to
himself why earlier that day during the break his colleagues had looked
at him differently. Was it because of his wearing an oxford shirt and a
sports jacket to a school with no dress code? Or was it simply the fact
that no one had ever seen such a respectable young man at such a
mediocre institution? Nevertheless, he stood in front of the whole
school, with coleslaw and a chicken side on his maroon tray; pondering.
He put his foods down on a nearby chair and took his trusty wiping
cloth out in order to facilitate his viewing through his
bifocals.

The cheap air conditioning system during his English period had given
him sincere physical feelings of nausea; which went hand in hand with a
longing for alimentation. Now he had his food, but his nausea had once
again returned to him, as he realized that his decision of where to sit
would have a deep impact on the rest of the school year. He remembered
earlier in the day when his mother had kissed him farewell and always
loved the fact that she would make him feel like hot property (even
though he knew even she was mistaken).

He tried to remember positive thoughts of his father, but ever since he
was laid off as a professor from a distinguished university (for
stealing materials of no importance), he only remembered him as an
obese, balding man flipping through incongruent channels of
mind-numbing ignorance on the television. He was angry that his
family's financial troubles had caused him to move away from his
upper-class friends to move and into a large city, and an even larger
school.

Regardless, he swore to his mother that he would make the best of it
and try hard not to complain. As he stood there in the cafeteria, he
quickly realized that there were different cliques that had formed
between the students. Each table had its corresponding members. Each
table was a stereotype that he had never before believed or
experienced.

"Either way" he thought, "I better sit down quick before my options are
quickly eliminated."

So he decided to sit at a nearby table, and he did. The blue side bench
connected to the head of the table sprang back and forth as he sat
down. He began picking at his food as he wondered what would become of
him in his new role as an average proletariat.