Sometimes, I think my life is a big, horrible remake of The Truman Show with a smaller budget and
a producer who probably enjoyed burning ants with a magnifying glass as a child.
On Monday, I had a competition for FBLA, a club I’m in at my
high school. It required us to take a bus to a college a few hours away. The
day started off miserably; we had to ride down with the high school in the town
over, our mortal enemies, in a bus with no heat. One of the rival girls was
glaring at me the entire time, as if I was legitimately the reason we were
freezing to death at 5 in the morning on a bus to somewhere she didn’t want to
be.
When we finally got there, things didn’t turn up much. To
make matters worse, I was stuck walking around in these ridiculous heels all
day because we were supposed to dress formally. I had always been one of the
taller girls, and never actually owned a pair of heels in my life. They were my
mom’s heels, and two sizes too small. I didn’t know how to walk in them, so I
mostly spent the day perfecting my awkward hop-walk.
The whole day pretty much
went miserably, with few bright spots in between. I stayed cheerful the entire
day, though, for one reason only: ice cream.
We were promised one free
scoop of ice cream at the end of the day if we had competed. They had a special
brand of ice cream at their college that they were famous for, and everyone who
had ever had it was crazy for it. I love ice cream in general, and the thought of
this magical, greenish gift from Heaven kept me going all day.
They forgot to mention that the ice cream store was at least
a mile away from the competition center. The temperature outside had stabilized
at a hearty 10 degrees, and the ground was frozen over with a thin sheet of
ice. My teammates glanced at me sympathetically and murmured their apologies
about the fact that I’d have to miss out on the ice cream as I obviously wasn’t
going to make it all the way over there.
They vastly underestimated my love for ice cream.
I was the last one there, but eventually I made it. I waited
in line for 45 minutes and then finally- FINALLY- I had it in my hands. An actual,
physical piece of Heaven was seconds away from my taste buds.
Right before I could take a bite, I
received a text message that told me I had ten minutes to make it back to the
competition center and catch the bus home. I was horrified. Ten minutes?! I got
a firm grip on my ice cream cup, reasoning that I could wolf it down on the
bus, and bolted out of there. The snow had stopped by then; it had to be safe
now, didn’t it?
Obviously, I didn’t really think that one through.
Although I should have been more concerned with the fact
that my ankle was turning in a direction ankles are definitely not supposed to
go, I was hysterical over my ice cream. I never even got to TASTE it, and I got
the very last scoop. It was my only shot and I blew it.
While I sat on the concrete and wailed over the ice cream
that never was, it became increasingly apparent that something was wrong with
my leg; Not that I really cared. My ice cream was covered in grass and dirt,
and that’s all I could think about.
Eventually, someone helped me up and we hobbled over to the
bus. She tried to comfort me, because she assumed I was sobbing over the pain.
It wasn’t until I wailed, “THEY SAID IT WAS THE BEST ICE CREAM EVER, HOW WILL I
EVER KNOW?” that she lost most sympathy for me.
Don’t judge me, guys. It had been a really long day, okay?
I tried my hardest to get over it, but on the bus ride home
all I could do was cry over my lost dessert.
And that’s how I badly sprained my
ankle over free ice cream that I never even got to eat.
:(
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