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Cin · 05-21-2012, 08:46 AM

I’m not sure what was wrong with me but for a good portion of my life I seemed rather clueless and unconcerned about the fragility of human life, especially in regards to my own. As a kid I wasn’t so much a hellion as I was an absent-minded possessor of exceedingly poor judgment. An early indicator of my lack of comprehension concerning the importance of protecting one’s person from harm was my love of playing chicken. Chicken was the name of any game where you either did something really stupid for a longer period of time or something dangerous more dangerously than the other idiots playing with you. I started around 5 and it was a game I always seemed to win, if indeed one could call the end results of many of these endeavors winning.

A minimally popular game I invented, called of course chicken, (don’t worry, what I lacked in imagination I made up for in dimness) when I was around 9 was to take shopping carts from the grocery store and race them down hills. The idea was to push the cart down a sloping, low volume side street, pick up speed, jump in and ride it toward a busy street into oncoming traffic, jumping back out at the last possible second hopefully knocking the cart over in the process so as to avoid it or you getting hit by a car. The object was to go faster than the other guy while also coming as close as you possibly could without actually getting hit by a car. How it usually turned out was whoever had the nerve to stay riding the longest won. I was pretty good at it. And I only lost a couple of carts and once got chased down the street by an irate driver. The guy seemed positively spastic because he had almost hit me with his car, yet was hell bent on getting his hands on me, seemingly with the sole purpose of doing me bodily harm. A puzzler that.

My mother’s favorite (and I use the term loosely) story was the time I got thrown off the Round-up at the amusement park. I met this kid at the park and he was telling me how he could do tricks on the Round-up. He could kneel on the chain and stuff like that. So we went on together and he started doing his tricks and I remember thinking hell, why not bypass this chain stuff all together. I told him let’s walk around. We can start slow and just go from standing station to standing station and then try to walk around the ride. I still remember how hard it was to fight the centrifugal force. Pulling away from the wall was like breaking suction. Walking was really a struggle. Then all of sudden I heard the sound of the hydraulic fluid releasing and the ride got horizontal, slowed down and stopped. I remember thinking that was a short ride, maybe somebody got sick. Then I noticed the ride operator. He was all red in the face and screaming at me to get off. Everyone else was told to stay on. The guy was apoplectic. There was spittle flying from his mouth as he hollered for me to never ever come back on any ride he was operating again. I remember being quite surprised at his reaction. I had no idea my doing a few tricks was going to cause such a problem. As I left the ride, I looked over at the crowd and saw my mother’s horrified face. Shit, where did she come from, I remembered thinking. Then I noticed my father standing next to her and he didn’t look so much horrified as he did very, very pissed. We both moved at the same. He came for me and I ran like hell through the park, over the fence surrounding the merry-go-round, and out the gate. Not sure where I thought I was going. I was only eleven, too young to get an apartment and support myself.

It took me years to figure out what all the fuss was about. I thought people just over reacted to my liking a rush every now and again. Initially, adrenaline was my drug of choice.

05-21-2012, 08:46 AM	#63
Cin Senior Member How Do You Identify?: Butch Preferred Pronoun?: she Relationship Status: Truly Madly Deeply Join Date: Aug 2011 Location: In My Head Posts: 2,814 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 6,333 Thanked 10,436 Times in 2,476 Posts Rep Power: 21474851	I’m not sure what was wrong with me but for a good portion of my life I seemed rather clueless and unconcerned about the fragility of human life, especially in regards to my own. As a kid I wasn’t so much a hellion as I was an absent-minded possessor of exceedingly poor judgment. An early indicator of my lack of comprehension concerning the importance of protecting one’s person from harm was my love of playing chicken. Chicken was the name of any game where you either did something really stupid for a longer period of time or something dangerous more dangerously than the other idiots playing with you. I started around 5 and it was a game I always seemed to win, if indeed one could call the end results of many of these endeavors winning. A minimally popular game I invented, called of course chicken, (don’t worry, what I lacked in imagination I made up for in dimness) when I was around 9 was to take shopping carts from the grocery store and race them down hills. The idea was to push the cart down a sloping, low volume side street, pick up speed, jump in and ride it toward a busy street into oncoming traffic, jumping back out at the last possible second hopefully knocking the cart over in the process so as to avoid it or you getting hit by a car. The object was to go faster than the other guy while also coming as close as you possibly could without actually getting hit by a car. How it usually turned out was whoever had the nerve to stay riding the longest won. I was pretty good at it. And I only lost a couple of carts and once got chased down the street by an irate driver. The guy seemed positively spastic because he had almost hit me with his car, yet was hell bent on getting his hands on me, seemingly with the sole purpose of doing me bodily harm. A puzzler that. My mother’s favorite (and I use the term loosely) story was the time I got thrown off the Round-up at the amusement park. I met this kid at the park and he was telling me how he could do tricks on the Round-up. He could kneel on the chain and stuff like that. So we went on together and he started doing his tricks and I remember thinking hell, why not bypass this chain stuff all together. I told him let’s walk around. We can start slow and just go from standing station to standing station and then try to walk around the ride. I still remember how hard it was to fight the centrifugal force. Pulling away from the wall was like breaking suction. Walking was really a struggle. Then all of sudden I heard the sound of the hydraulic fluid releasing and the ride got horizontal, slowed down and stopped. I remember thinking that was a short ride, maybe somebody got sick. Then I noticed the ride operator. He was all red in the face and screaming at me to get off. Everyone else was told to stay on. The guy was apoplectic. There was spittle flying from his mouth as he hollered for me to never ever come back on any ride he was operating again. I remember being quite surprised at his reaction. I had no idea my doing a few tricks was going to cause such a problem. As I left the ride, I looked over at the crowd and saw my mother’s horrified face. Shit, where did she come from, I remembered thinking. Then I noticed my father standing next to her and he didn’t look so much horrified as he did very, very pissed. We both moved at the same. He came for me and I ran like hell through the park, over the fence surrounding the merry-go-round, and out the gate. Not sure where I thought I was going. I was only eleven, too young to get an apartment and support myself. It took me years to figure out what all the fuss was about. I thought people just over reacted to my liking a rush every now and again. Initially, adrenaline was my drug of choice.