Reading Orwell's "Shooting An Elephant" helped me to remember about many decisions I
have made, including a decision I made on a warm senior day of high school during lunch.
"Shooting An Elephant" is ingeniously linked to everyday life. Orwell writes about his
experiences as a political intruder in a western country, how it affected his life, and
how these people influenced him to kill an elephant. My decisions are often based on
the same subliminal whispers Orwell heard when he was marching to keep the peace. More
times than not, for good or bad, my decisions are frequently made with the same forces
acting upon me.
During my last year of high school I had a most interesting and distasteful incident
relating to Orwell's "Shooting an Elephant," which started as much as a year before
graduation. Every day my friends and I sat at the same table during our lunch break,
which was nothing unusual. It was not extraordinary for extraordinary things to happen
in our part of the campus, wherever that may be. The table we sat at happened to be
smack in the middle of the lunch area, oftentimes becoming entertainment or speculation
for fellow students. My friends might do anything from standing on top of the table and
striping their clothes off to jumping in a near-by garbage can. None-the-less I tried to
stay away from such oddities and keep an observatory posture, which in turn happens to be
what Orwell would have preferred. All of these maniacal actions undoubtedly spawned from
good old peer pressure, or the natives watching us, expecting such activities.
In the center of our table was a hole, no one knows for sure why, maybe it was for a big
umbrella to keep the sun and rain out, but now there was a whole a little bigger than a
quarter. I don't know who started it or when, but for at least a whole school year
people sitting at the table would put any biodegradable substance they could find in the
hole. Everything from mayonnaise, to scabs, to bugs was shoved down that hole. Finally
one day the hole filled up and we didn't have anything to do with the mixture, so someone
suggesting taking a bite of it. This suggestion came up more often over the next few
weeks, peer pressure rose, and so did the money involved with carrying out the act. So
finally I decided to partake in this noxious mixture. For twenty bucks, and more
importantly the glory of it all, I took a bite. I tried but I couldn't swallow, in fact
I didn't even have the chance because gages overruled everything except for spewing a
liquid cloud of juice. I "shot the elephant," and regretted it, but the money helped to
justify what I did.
"Should I do it or should I not? I could blow it if I do what I think. What would
people think? What do I get out of this?" These are all questions I ask when making my
decision's. Orwell asked himself these same questions, but being strong turned out to be
his biggest weakness, as it did mine. It's almost like masculine pride. Orwell's was
explained by imperialism, and mine, foolishness.
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