From the Chris Files

Some labels seem to follow you around no matter where you go or how old you get.

Take "smart ass" for example.

A few of us at work got bored and started up that classic of conversations, about how work is like a high school, and if that's the case, who would everyone be.

For example, Leigh-Anne, it was decided by general consensus, would be that bad girl who does all the bad things but still is friendly enough to hang out with and be seen in public with. You like her because she's tough yet sensitive and knows where to find the good pot at the last minute.

And so everyone is newsroom was assigned an identity. We had the home coming queen, the nerd, the jock, the jock wanna-be and the fat chick. Everything was scary accurate.

Then they got to me. I know myself pretty well, but I like to think that after 26 years on this planet, that I've changed a little bit, that the character that is me has made some kind of forward movement, personality wise at least, in the epic that I call my life. I asked what role I played in our little Brunswick News high school drama, eagerly awaiting what it would be.

Everyone looked at me as if a joke were told whose punch line I didn't get.

"Dude, you're the smart ass."

I suppose there are worse things to be known for. In fact, I know there are. I could be they guy with oddly colored penis, or the short hairy fella. In the long term, smart ass ain't so bad. Whether they admit it or not, people like having a smart ass around. We keep it real while everyone is else trying hard to fit their role, whether it's in high school, college, the newsroom or prison.

So yeah, I was a little dismayed about being the smart ass again. I guess I was hoping for something that sounded cooler or had more hip overtones about it.

But at least I wasn't dubbed the frustrated closeted homosexual who we all know will come out in college. I really feel bad for that guy.