You just crossed the finish line after completing the dreaded mile run for P.E. You were completely exhausted during the final lap, suffering what felt like a mild asthma attack, but now that the whole thing is over, you muster up a jolt of energy to sprint over to the water fountain to be the first in line.
You gather yourself and your breath, then step up to the plate. Instantly a line forms behind you.
You give the fountain button a good firm Scout’s Honor as you take one huge breath… you want to make this one count!
The kids behind you begin the counting chorus, but you block them out. You can’t get enough of that deliciously warm H20.
You’ve gone over the generally accepted 5-10 Mississippi water allowance, but the kid immediately behind you (which makes him the temporary spokesman for your line) is smaller than you, so he doesn’t dare push you out of the way. Instead, unknown to him at the time, he sows the seeds for how he will deal with confrontational situations in his adult life, (like when someone will cut him in line at Walgreens) by using a passive-aggressive approach that is highly annoying and minimally successful.
Without a word from you, he negotiates on your behalf:
“OK! Fine! I’m going to start counting again. One one-thousand, two one-thousand…”
You’re still lost in the blissful world of dirty, metallic, state water, happier than when Pooh finally got his head stuck inside that unending flow of honey. (If only honey had the color and had the slightly liquefied taffy-like texture just like Pooh’s honey. God that would be amazing!)
“One-Mississippi, two Mississippi. Come onnnn…. your time is up! SOME of us are in LINE and want to drink too!
You’re still going strong, sinking deeper and deeper into an addiction as the kids drinking in the line next to you come and go. As a new drinking partner begins, your stream instantly disappears, barely flowing out of the spout. You’re left basically sucking at it until he finishes, catching you off guard with the sudden change in water pressure. If you’ve been sucking away at it, you nearly choke, and if you happened to be taking a quick gasp for air during the changing of the guards, you got shot in the eye. It’s the way of the universe.
You’ve definitely had your fill. You can feel your belly start to expand abnormally large, like a poor swollen bellied African child that needs your sponsorship.
The In Living Color take:
OK. Time to call it quits!
Coincidentally, your decision to stop times perfectly with the line spokesman’s “final warning,” giving him the boost of confidence he needs to last one day without hiding from bullies and playing handball like a normal kid instead of being stuck playing Connect 4 in the library.
You on the other hand, are starting to feel the pain. It’s the same pain you’ll feel six years later when you decide to pound a whole ghetto gallon of water after running Suicides during basketball practice.
Your stomach expands to the point where it’s more painful to sit than to stand. So you stumble over towards the wall of baskets lining up against the chain linked fence. You and your 2nd trimester water baby pick up your Egg Baby named Grant and start walking back to class.