Around Thanksgiving last year, I was writing a dream sequence in my fan fic that spoofed the movie Heathers. I wanted to get the quotes right, but it had been awhile since I had seen an unedited version of the movie. As I didn't have the movie in my possession, I took to the Internet to try to find a YouTube clip or fan site that recited that particular corn nuts scene verbatim. I eventually found the clip, as well as a fan site that claimed that Winona Ryder was open to doing a Heathers 2. Now I'm paraphrasing here, but apparently Winona Ryder said something along the lines of, "It doesn't matter how old you get. There will always be Heathers." Here's my response to that sentiment: ain't that the truth.Recently, I had the privilege, or I guess the more accurate word is misfortune, to have a run-in with what I call "Cyber-Heathers," a group of women who operate a CSI-related chat room. Because I had been posting my fan fic on one of the lead Heather's web sites--let's call her Heather Chandler to keep the analogy going--a couple of the other Heathers--let's call them Heather Duke and McNamara--had been trying to get me to join the chat room. I resisted their pleas for months. I had a bad experience at a message board that the Heathers visited but did not own, and I really didn't feel like reliving that experience again. However, Heather Duke and McNamara kept insisting that they weren't anything like the clique that I had it out with at the message board. Instead, they were nice, accepting, and not the least bit rude.
Sounds too good to be true, right? Well, it was. The first few nights in chat were rather pleasant. I actually felt like I was part of the group, so much so that, to continue with the Heathers' analogy, I was practically ready to invite the Heathers over to play cyber-croquet. Then everything began to change. As time wore on, I started feeling less like Veronica Sawyer and more like Martha Dumptruck. I won't go into all the graphic details of what was said and done, but believe me when I say that it was all very high school. Snide, behind-the-back remarks eventually turned into full-on, instant messaging confrontations. Eventually, Heather Chandler drew a line down the middle of the cyber-cafeteria and told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was too stiff and too blunt to be included in their reindeer games.
I found out later from Heather McNamara, who defected from the Heathers after I was kicked to the other side of the cyber-cafeteria, that I wasn't the first one the Heathers had invited in and then systematically tore apart. Apparently, they had done it to a few others. I wasn't surprised. The Cyber-Heathers weren't my first run-in with "Mean Girls," and I doubt they will be my last. For instance, I used to work with an entire office full of mean girls, grown women who were old enough to be my mother but yet acted like a bunch of Midol-deprived teenagers. Once when I had a migraine, I had to turn off all the lights in my office to keep from throwing up. The mean girls, on their way out the door for a smoke, saw that the lights were off and thought that it was a good time to get a swipe in at me. One mean girl asked the second mean girl, "Why does she have it so dark in there?" The second mean girl answered, "So no one has to see her ugly face in the light." The mean girls were just one of many reasons that I had to finally quit that job.
Having spent my entire life dealing with Heathers, you would think that I would have some kind of internal, mean girl radar. Maybe I do, but I guess that the Veronica Sawyer in me always wants to give people a chance first to prove that they're more like Betty Flynn that Heather Chandler. Too bad the cyber and real world Heathers, in all their alleged perfection, can't do the same.
