I was the first to return to Lamone. Like, literally. I had the whole campus to myself when I arrived at my room in the early morning. The school seemed like a ghost town, yet a really nice one. Over the break, every building and facility had been repainted to look brand new.
However, I remained convinced that a ghost would jump of a corner at any moment, or the floor beneath my feet would start creaking. I was ready to call Ghostbusters if I witnessed any paranormal activity on the strangely quiet campus.
Luckily, no signs of paranormal activity were seen. My oversized pimples that bulged from my face like a frog’s throat did not give me away.
Neither did the bright and shiny metal that reflected off my braces.
The second person did not arrive until four hours later. By then my pimples had already doubled in size from the boredom, and my adolescent-itis was off the charts. And for the record, the boredom was worse than getting repeatedly trampled by an elephant or getting slapped in the face over and over.
Once the second person arrived, they all started coming in, right before the deadline of returning at 8 pm. Everyone arrived around 7:59 pm.
How do I know this?
Because the kids flew right into campus. On their private jets. Almost every one of them. They flew into campus and landed on the big soccer field in front of the gym.
As soon as I heard the first plane arrive, I ran down from Lamone D to see what all the commotion was. I stood on the steps of the gym, with an excellent view of the grass field, where students were disembarking their private planes.
My great view, however, was a small price to pay for what happened next. Another kid’s arriving plane swooped over my head, and the wind force knocked me off my feet. Literally. I fell forward and onto one of the steps.
Oh, the pain was real. I clenched my teeth as my eyes remained shut. I wriggled around in pain, and these were the thoughts going through my damaged head (both physically and mentally): Ow! Who was that! Ow! I am going to get that plane and whoever is on it!
I ran after the plane as it prepared to land. I stood under the plane, stupidly, while I prepared to attack. The plane, though, was unable to land due to me in the way. I did not realize this obvious fact.
The plane and its passengers did not understand what I was doing as I shook my fist and shouted at it, trying to be audible over the annoying loud engine. The force of the wind was strong, but I held my ground. I decided that if I stood there and did not move, the plane could not land. I wanted to make the plane and its passengers wait. And wait.
The plane honked. I remained there, holding my ground. I was performing a peaceful protest, like the March on Washington in 1963.
The problem was, the plane was not interested in my peaceful protest. They did not even know they had knocked me over.
Akin to the March on Washington, the police officers chased after the protesters with sticks and dogs. The plane above my head did the same.
It unleashed its lavatory disposal on me, and it was the most disgusting thing I ever felt.
Then it proceeded to drop every life jacket and oxygen mask onboard onto me. Before finally, unhelpfully, washing me off with the unloading of the sink.
I was soaking wet, covered with emergency materials, and most importantly, covered in poo and pee.
The plane, I was pretty sure, had won this battle. My protest was as futile as trying to grab a wet fish:
Life Lesson #25: Be aware at all times. Always know what you are doing and the potential risks of doing whatever you are doing. (Then, you won’t have to stand in a field in front of myriad people with liquid and solid waste dripping down from your hair.)