Folding chairs don't solve problems

Pop music regrettably overtook my life in middle school. I was certain that something within me would magnetize some sort of musical talent and allow me to step forth in my dreams of performing. Unfortunately no such luck occurred and I was stuck with this lifeless dream. Although I could not carry a tune, not even a half of one, I still was up for any opportunity to sing in front of a crowd. I played saxophone (tried) and one day our “band” was singing in front of grades K-8, I was thrilled at any chance to release melodic vocals instead of brass honks.

In 6th grade I was pulled out of public school and placed into a private Catholic place of education and musically this was quite the culture shock. In my previous public establishment we sang such tunes as “I’ll Be There For You” by the Rembrandts and “Bitch" by Meredith Brooks, so you can imagine my confusion when I was more mature singing less mature songs such as “Down On The Mountain” and “Glory To God In The Highest.

The morning of the performance my twelve-year-old body was feeling less than stellar. I opted out from my daily bowl of cereal and glass of OJ and went right to school to prepare, I was not missing this. We entered the gymnasium and boy was it hot. My itchy multi-wool-blend sweater was not helping and God help you if you took it off, (I learned this equaled a fast pass to detention). The singing began and I was giving it my all when I quickly was at a loss for fresh air. Trying to lean against the wall behind me for stability the glares of the five year olds were becoming much too blurry for me to bear. For presumably ten seconds I passed out during the chorus “Glory to God in the highest and peace to his people on earth” and by the time they reached the next verse a long stream of vomit exited my mouth without cover. The midgets in the front section freaked out shouting “EW’s” and "GROSS’s" but magically my talented chorus associates kept on with the beat and I was ushered off stage. I turned around, completely confused, embarrassed and baffled by what had just happened and noticed my music teacher covering the pile of barf with a folding chair. I’m sure that would deplete the gut wrenching smell. I was sent off with a fellow student to walk me to the bathroom when here it came again, “I don’t feel goo…”. Again a lava like flow exited my mouth, shockingly considering the lack of sustenance in my belly. The aroma was so tremendous that the poor tween soul aiding me, threw up in her cupped hands. What a shit show. We both v-lined it to the bathroom. A few moments later an old nun found us in our own stalls and she rushed (well shuffled) us to the nurse’s office where our mother’s were called. On the most embarrassing day of my life thus far I was more than happy to have a fellow puking partner.

The anticipation of the next school day was brutal, I wanted to wear a disguise to avoid the teases and jokes. Luck was on my side when this day arrived, by 11AM a fellow classmate slipped in the bathroom, hit his head and shattered his glasses. Success.