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High School Memories #72

I’ve been a nerd all my life. I even performed in the high school marching band. My instrument of choice: the trumpet. It was such a beautiful horn, silver with pearl inlays. And from what I understand, it also sounded amazing—when somebody else played it.

Me, I tended to just go through the motions. I’d move my fingers to the melody and expand my cheeks like I was actually playing. But I hardly ever blew. Mostly because I sucked. They say “practice makes perfect.” Well, not practicing apparently has the exact opposite effect. Still, I stuck with it. Not because I was planning on getting any better, but because it got me out of taking Physical Education.

Anyhow, one evening, during my senior year, we were quickly making our way towards the football field to play our half-time show. As we marched up the cement pathway and across the blacktop, I heard some freshmen behind me chattering away. I let out a “Shhhhhh!” to quiet them down. But they continued their talking, so I did what any senior band geek would do: I turned around and told them to shut up.

You should’ve seen their stupid little freshman faces, all full of fear. I turned back around with a big smirk on my face, just in time to see the pole. A large pole, permanently embedded into the blacktop, a fucking volleyball-net pole. I walked straight into it. Fortunately, I was holding my horn in front of me, so it absorbed most of the impact. But the DING the collision made caused everyone in the band to turn around to investigate. Yeah, I was drowning in a pool of laughter all the way to the football field.

As you might’ve guessed, for the remainder of my senior year, I was known as the guy who walked into the pole. Every time we’d make our way across that blacktop, someone would blurt out, “Hey, Smivey, pole!” And then they’d laugh and laugh and laugh. Ha. Those crazy high school kids. I sure as hell don’t miss them.

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