Like your average American kid growing up in the ’90s, I was glued to the idiot box. Thanks to shows that convinced me high school was as easy as having a burger and a plate of fries at The Max or necking with the hunk everyone wanted but only I had, I was anxious to grow the hell up already.
High school was an age of raging hormones, out-of-control pimplage, short attention spans, awkwardness — you remember, you were there. It was a culture of segregation where best friends broke up at the drop of a dime. Only in Saved By The Bell, a melting pot of buddy-buddy goodness, could Zack sabotage his friends repeatedly and still live to call them besties? How often did he punk Slater, Screech — even his precious Kelly? Try doing that in real life and you’d end up sitting at the losers’ lunch table with zero “K.I.T.s” in your yearbook and a nasty rumor written on the walls of the girls’ bathroom. And as much as you might have wanted to, yelling “Time out!” didn’t freeze the world around you. I tried it, Zack.
Saved By The Bell
High school was an age of raging hormones, out-of-control pimplage, short attention spans, awkwardness — you remember, you were there. It was a culture of segregation where best friends broke up at the drop of a dime. Only in Saved By The Bell, a melting pot of buddy-buddy goodness, could Zack sabotage his friends repeatedly and still live to call them besties? How often did he punk Slater, Screech — even his precious Kelly? Try doing that in real life and you’d end up sitting at the losers’ lunch table with zero “K.I.T.s” in your yearbook and a nasty rumor written on the walls of the girls’ bathroom. And as much as you might have wanted to, yelling “Time out!” didn’t freeze the world around you. I tried it, Zack.
Dawson’s Creek
Felicity
A Different World
The Real World