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The summer I was 11, all the bored neighborhood kids decided to play a game of chicken with our bikes. We raced down a narrow ramp that ended at a huge concrete wall, to see who could speed the farthest without braking.
When it was my turn, I hopped on my hot pink Stingray with the banana seat and pedaled for all I was worth. I accidentally hit the wall at full speed, the rear tire flew up behind me and I was smashed flat against the wall like a bug. When the rear tire came back down and I could breathe again, I looked up to all the horrified faces and grunted “I won”, then got back on my bike and casually pedaled away until nobody could see me crying and bleeding all the way home.
Anyone who ate hot lunch had to eat everything on their tray, and we weren’t allowed to pass on any part of the meal because children in other countries were starving or something. Lunch ladies checked our trays before we were allowed to leave the cafeteria.
On the days when sauerkraut was served, we’d take turns being the sauerkraut smuggler, cramming that dank crap from about a dozen 8 year old kids’ trays into an empty milk carton, so we could toss it all without the lunch lady catching it. One day when I was the kraut smuggler, lunch nazi grabbed my carton and marched me back to the table. She said I had to eat every strand of the milky garbage we’d all stowed before I could leave.
I tried, but kept gagging and retching. I sat huddled with the collective slop at the table, crying for about 3 hours before my teacher found me and released me from lunch jail.