Not My Story - number one

At the end of the first week, the whole Frat House took a trip to the Aquarium. It was something about brotherhood and loyalty and free tickets and lots of weed on the car ride over that had Jesse all excited about the trip. When they got to the Aquarium, they stood around an enormous outdoor tank, full of gorgeous local fish. Someone commented on the annoying children who were all staring into the tank and tapping at it with one finger “fishy fishy fishy”. Jesse, ever the entertainer, took a big drag off his cigarette, pressed his nose on the glass and started yelling “FISHY FISHY FISHY” and slamming the palm of his hand on the glass. A perfect [-ly annoying] imitation of the children. The Frat Brothers laughed, the kids glared.

At precisely the same moment he began to pound on the glass, he was overcome with water. Tens of gallons of salty seawater poured over his head and down across his body. His first instinct was to thrust his arm into the air – thereby protecting the smoldering cigarette. His second thought was to scream : “Aiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee!” The cry was so shrill and so loud and so piercing, that it was thought to belong to a woman.

Jesse flailed around, trying to wipe the salt water from his eyes, blow it from his nose, when he slipped on the wet floor. His arm was still held high in the air, like a Lady Liberty extinguished. The cigarette butt was limp and black. He laid there on a metal grate, flat on his back, the pain still not occurring to him yet.

When he finally opened his eyes, he expected to see fish flopping on the pavement. Seaweed and urchins splayed out across the floor. He thought that he would look like a shipwreck survivor from a cartoon –- torn pantlegs, thread-bare shirt -- but instead he looked like himself. Only wetter. His jeans were drenched and clung to his legs. His grey t-shirt now looked black. His cigarette was nothing more than a dripping butt of black. Through the glazed-over view from his stinging eyes, he could see his Frat Brothers, doubled over with laughter. He saw the small children with big eyes, half-scared, half-amused. Lastly, he saw the sign : wave action every 8 minutes.

the title of these posts refers to the fact that these are true events, although they didn't happen to ME. I have written the stories and used pseudonyms to protect the innocent and idiodic alike.