Anyways, way back down memory lane in the years of early elementary school, I remember having those super amazing days when it had just recently rained, but then the sky cleared and the sun came out just in time for recess not to be canceled. These days were probably my favorite out of any back in the day just because they meant one very amazing and incredibly important thing…
Mud. Lots and lots and lots of mud.
I can remember many a time that my mom had to come to school to bring me a change of clothes, because, like many young children (and animals), I very much enjoyed rolling around in the mud, something that the teachers apparently didn’t like me doing too much. Around the point at which I was so muddy, you couldn’t tell what race—or probably even species I was, they typically wouldn’t let me back into the classroom anymore. At some point in the elementary school portion of my life, I began to grow more intelligent and soon realized… instead of playing in the mud and the wet sand around the jungle gym, I could actually build something out of it! And, to what I attribute as being the beginnings of my future as an engineer and perfectionist, I wanted it to be the best damn structure I could possibly build. So I set to work.
There was a large elevated metal platform with ladders and slides on it, surrounded by what was akin to a giant sandbox. I had often sat beneath it with friends and tried to dig a hole to China, only to dig to a semi-hard hard layer of clay, and beneath that an almost impenetrable layer of some sort of black material. We normally gave up around this point, but my little engineering brain had hatched a plan from this experience…
One muddy day, I decided to dig a hole again, but this time, I kept all the wet sand and clay I collected from the hole and transported it to another sand box—one that was slightly less traversed than the one I had collected my building materials from. I began to firmly pack a layer of wet sand down into a solid flat base. Once completed, I took the large amount of wet sand I had collected and fashioned a highly compacted dome of sand. This was to be the interior of my structure. The outer layer was to be made of a layer of highly compacted clay, smoothed out until it made the perfect dome structure—the perfect shape for withstanding pressure. I passionately guarded my structure from any and all children who walked by with the intention of smashing it(children like to smash things almost as much as they like rolling in the mud, so I can only imagine smashing my dome would be some sort of cocaine-like combination of the two to a little kid), and I eventually left it at the end of recess very proud of my accomplishment, knowing full well that the heat of the sun would soon harden it into the ultimate sand dome.
The next day I returned to my accomplishment to see that it was completely dry, and so I cautiously pressed a hand lightly against the top…
It stood firm.
...I pushed harder.
It didn’t break.
I stood on top of it and jumped up and down.
It was like it was made out of fricking steel.
I was so overjoyed at my creation that I made sure to dare each and every child on the playground to just try and break it, and no matter how many children threw their tiny bodies against my dome in a futile attempt to break it, nobody even left a scratch. This structure stood tall for weeks, a timeless creation, sturdy and enduring, as permanent and majestic as the Great Pyramids and Chuck E. Cheese’s. I couldn’t begin to fathom the sheer amazingness of what I had created, until… it broke.
I can only imagine a group of horribly obese fat children had tried to make some sort of cheerleading pyramid over my sand dome while I wasn’t looking, as I reasoned that was the only way it could have possibly broken. Regardless, I sat there and stared at the shattered remains of my once proud and dominating product of sweat and knowledge. And mud. I realized that nothing was permanent. Everything created has a beginning an end, nothing could withstand the testament of time. So, I sighed, promptly forgot about it, and went back to digging for China, my only concern being how to keep gravity from pulling me into space once I got to the other side.
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You know, I’ve always had a bit of an appetite… especially when I was younger. I could eat an entire pizza or a triple meat cheeseburger and still be going for more—my parents always told me my legs were hollow, and that’s where I put it all, but personally, I just think one of my ancestors may have been a garbage disposal.
Anyways, one day when I was out and about (which was odd for me, considering that I was basically an asocial hermit for most of high school), my parents decided to go pick up some Whataburger (pronounced “Water”burger if you've ever lived in the South) and it had gone just a little too cold by the time I came back home to eat it. So, naturally, like so many other food things, I stuck it in the microwave. Of course, impatient me, I didn’t even bother to take off the wrapper, which just so happened to be made of tin foil.
…And so it burst into flames.
To my shock and horror, my little cheeseburger, the thing I both loved and revered, was suddenly struck by a miniature lightning bolt that spawned from the roof of the microwave. It ignited the metallic casing that surrounded my burger and the thing was enveloped in flames faster than Michael Jackson’s hairdo. With a choice explicative or two, I immediately punched the button to open the microwave door and flung my burning baby into the floor, flailing my arms in some sort of crazed and desperate attempt to pat out the flames before they managed to irreparably damage my cheeseburger.
And somehow it worked.
Smoky and triumphant, I peeled the blackened, charred remains of the wrapper off my cheeseburger, and ate every last bit of it, quickly… as if I was afraid it was going to try and escape me again. My parents had heard the cacophony of my burger flailing from upstairs and called down to make sure everything was alright, so in between the frenzied inhaling my semi-scorched burger, I meekly responded ‘Yes’. And so, due to my incredible sneakiness/ninja-y-ness, nobody ever knew. Except you. So you should feel extra special right now.
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