Pressure Mounts on Normal Kids to Get Personality Disorder

FLORISSANT, Mo.  Amy Ratcliffe is a high school junior who says she’s “on the bubble” for her first college choice, Vanderbilt University.  “I bombed the math part of my SAT test,” she says ruefully, “and I don’t have any trips to Costa Rica to build water purification plants on my resume,” as do many children from more affluent families.

Secretary-Treasurer, Narcissists Club

So at the urging of her mother, last night Amy attended the Personality Disorder Fair at her high school cafeteria, along with her friend Melinda Sothern, in the hope of finding a resume-enhancing mental problem that will make her college applications more attractive.

“Hmm–maybe someday I can be a paranoid-schizophrenic.”

“So many of our students just need that extra little something to distinguish themselves,” says guidance counselor Norbert Branson.  “The top twenty percent of students at elite college have personality disorders,” he notes, referring to a recent study sponsored by the New York Psychiatric Institute, “and our kids are going to have to suck it up and become obsessive-compulsive or something if they want to get into a top school.”

“You kids can be anything you want to be–neurotic, psychotic–go for it!”

Amy and Melinda stop first at the Narcissists Club table, where they interrupt Linda Smiley, an attractive senior, as she examines her eye makeup in a compact mirror.

“Excuse me,” Amy says politely in deference to the upperclassman’s senior status.  “Could we get some literature or information about this club?”

Smiley ignores the two at first and then also at second, until Amy says “Hello?” with a hint of irritation.

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Smiley says, “or not.  I’m the president of the Narcissists Club, so it tends to be all about me.”

“Is there an initiation ceremony?” Melinda asks, somewhat nervous about the tales she’s heard of students forced to eat raw onions, wear funny clothing to school or have intimate relations with biology lab frogs in order to be accepted by some clubs.

“If we gave a damn about you, we could come up with something I suppose,” Smiley says as she applies lip gloss.  “Frankly, I don’t have time.”

The girls say thanks and move on to the Paranoid Society, a group whose membership is predominantly male, with a sprinkling of high-performing girls who were cut from the Pep Squad for being too anti-social.

Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme

“Hi,” Amy says cheerfully as she approaches the folding table on which a papier-mache diorama of the unsuccessful assassination attempt upon President Gerald Ford by Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme is displayed, above a banner reading “When Will the Truth Be Known?”

“What do you want?” says Tommy Racuniz, a slight boy from one of her classes who tends to avoid eye contact.

“Well, like, just some literature,” says Melinda.

“Never write when you can speak,” Racuniz says ominously, “and never speak when you can nod.”

“Are there any club dues?” Amy asks, and the boy shakes his head from side to side.

Melinda poses the question “Do you get student activity credit for meetings and stuff?” and Racuniz explodes at her, yelling “You people–why do you torment me?  What have I done?  Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Thanks,” Amy says.  “See you in Current Events.”

Baron von Munchhausen

The girls move on to the Munchhausen Syndrome Club table, where the school nurse is examining Sergeant-at-Arms Terry Phillipson, a senior who plans to become a doctor.

“Where does it hurt?” the nurse asks him.

“All over,” the boy says.  “It’s like a knife running through my stomach and a bowling ball on my foot at the same time!”

The girls hesitate while the nurse puts a thermometer in the boy’s mouth, but they turn when they hear snickers from behind them.

“Those guys are depressing losers!”

They turn around to see the four members of the school’s pom-pom squad.  “What’s so funny about human suffering?” Amy asks with genuine umbrage.

“Don’t you know?” snickers captain Marci Young.  “You have to be sick to join that club!”