Unfortunatly, all the stories are rather long. In my opinion, they are rather comical...but I don't have the time to type them all at once. So, I am going to start a little mini series of posts (if you can call in that) on how the juvenile delinquent joke has come to be.
The first occurance happened during the summer quite a few years ago (before freshmen year). Yup, my demise began quite early (I WAS SO YOUNG!)__________________________________________
My Reputation Preceeds Me
Part 1: The Beginning of My Life of a "Juvenile Delinquent"
Summers have never been my favorite time of year. On top of the insane heat in Arizona, my mom would sign me up for the most unheard of summer camps imaginable. Did you know there is even a such thing as “sewing camp”? I do now. At the time, it was an absolute nightmare. Not only was it boring, but I had never been fond of sharp pointy objects. One of the worst things you can do to a person who nearly faints at the sight of a needle is stick them in a room where they are constantly poked with them. And after a week of sheer boredom and bloody finger tips I was fed up. All I wanted was an exciting summer. Was that too much to ask for?
Fortunately, I had the weekend to recuperate. But after that I had to return. On that particular Monday, my mom had to go to work early. So, she asked my grandmother to drive me. Sadly, both of us are directionally challenged. And Mapqwest was absolute genius.
We were almost there when we realized that we had left one of the pages from mapquest behind at the house. Despite the sad truth that I have issues working with a map, my thirteen year old brain believed it could do anything; even get us to reach our destination by sheer memory. I thought I was doing pretty good giving directions. However, with the scenario that followed, I do not ever want to be a backseat driver again.
You would think that the iron gate and sign that said “Authorized Personnel Only” in bold red letters would stand out to me slightly. However, apparently my thirteen – year old brain processed this to mean that the “authorized personnel” were the crazy little children running around with sewing pins. I had been going there for one week already after all. What could possibly go wrong?
But as my grandmother began to pull through the open metal gate I thought to myself, something doesn’t seem quite right. I couldn’t help but notice, as my grandmother turned into the parking lot, that the building seemed a little..."off"... I didn’t remember the windows having iron bars on them (or even the iron gate for that matter). I began to wonder just what kind of re-construction had occurred during the weekend of my absence. It seemed much emptier before. So, I scanned the lawn of dead grass to see if I recognized anyone.
Then I spotted a sign, which to my horror read “Juvenile Detention Center”. A that moment I am pretty sure my brain had shut down and the color left my face. Slowly, I nervously glanced over at my grandmother who sat behind the wheel; hoping she hadn’t seen what I just did. One look at her face and I could tell that it was too late. Was she as disturbed as I was? Of course she wasn’t! She could barely hold in her laughter.
Despite my humiliation, I thought this ordeal was over. But I was wrong. I had forgotten yet another important detail. The sign at the gate had read “Authorized Personnel Only” after all. In fact, it had practically screamed its message. I squirmed nervously as I pondered how to get out of this and erase this chapter of my life entirely from my memory.
Then, ripped out of my world of thought, I saw a dark figure out of the corner of my eye. Grandmother and I were not alone anymore. We had been discovered by none other than the security guard. At the time, I thought my grandmother did the worst thing possible by rolling down the window. This creature that stood outside the metal sanctuary of a car look like he was angry enough to strangle me. He could have too.
And if things couldn’t get any worse, this man that stood before me thought I was a delinquent! Up until that day, I felt lucky that I was, well let’s just say “vertically challenged”; strangers tended to treat me with kindness for the “tiny/cute” factor or something. But that day I realized that my “cute charms” did not work on tall angry security guards. I was in no means prepared to deal with someone who believed me of possessing a criminal record, a tall man with a gun and a tazer no less. I thought to myself Great. Just Great. This is just how I wanted to spend my summer. A big security guard is going to impale me for “trying to break out of a detention center with a senior citizen”. I was appalled when he didn’t seem to buy the story that we were just trying to find the “sewing camp”. Then again, with the metal gate and warning signs everywhere, it wasn’t too surprising.
Luckily, we were able to get the matter resolved eventually. Yet, saying the ordeal was “humiliating” would definitely be an understatement. And explaining why I was late to class made the day even more . . . eventful. I suppose you could say the lesson I learned was to “be careful what you wish for”.
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I actually had to write this for an English assignment. I just though of it as killing two birds with one stone so to speak; I get to write an entry for my blog which I usually don't have time for and in doing so complete my English assignment. My teacher tells me that I have a gift for telling stories. I don't really believe this to be true but I do hope my audience finds some enjoyment in it.
Anyway, that is how it first began. LOL And yes, I do plan on continuing to tell my related stories in this little "series".
