All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Don't Throw Me Something, Mister!
“Laissez les bon temps rouler,” French for, “let the good times roll!” I bet the first thing that came to your mind, when you read those words were: Mardi Gras! Who doesn’t love Mardi Gras? You know; parades, parties, and lots of king cake! I guess you can say Mardi Gras is my favorite time of the year.
…Or at least it was. I can thank the old dirt-bag for that.
You see; when I was in 7th grade, I had a bad experience with Mardi Gras.
It was a Sunday, the day of the Port Allen Parade. I woke up early to get dressed in my green, purple, and gold. This was my favorite parade, and I wasn’t going to let anyone stop me from going. My friends were in this parade; and I had dibs on a bunch of toy spears and stuffed animals. Plus, I look pretty cool; walking around with all of the beads.
“Wheeeoooowheeeoooowheeeoooo.” I closed my ears as the policemen slowly drove by in their police cars, sounding their sirens to prepare everyone for the parade. Minutes later, the music began and floats began to roll. “THROW ME SOMETHING, MISTER!” I screamed at the top of my lungs as the floats, filled with colorful beads, passed by. I danced as “Mardi Gras Mambo” blasted through the speakers on the floats. I saw my friends as they passed, bombing me with Mardi Gras cargo.
I didn’t know she was spying on me.
Beads were flying at me from all angles. In fact, I had so many Mardi Gras beads around my neck; you wouldn’t know I had one. My right arm couldn’t hold another toy spear; my left was full of footballs and frisbees. Suddenly, my friend Jacob, on a float with an economic downfall theme, threw me an enormous bead. I watched as it sailed through the air. Caught it!
Just as I put it around my neck, I felt a sudden pull.
“Give me that damn bead,” she said as she yanked, again.
Initially, I was in shock. I asked myself, “Who is this person? Why are they strangling me?” As I turned around, I saw an old lady. Her hair was as white; like snow. Her skin was wrinkled; like a crumbled piece of paper. This lady was really old. For a minute, I thought I’d seen her in yesterday’s obituary section, of the Advocate. Surely this was a mistake!
She yanked again. This time, I saw her. I’ve got to admit, she had really tight grip. Where was this strength coming from?
“I’m sorry ma’am, there must be a misunderstanding,” I said, in a respectful tone. But, what I wanted to say was: “Look lady, shouldn’t you be in a 6 foot hole, somewhere? You know, I feel bad for wanting to say that; especially, since she died the next day. Just kidding! I can only imagine the look on your face, as you read that sentence.
“No. We don’t have a misunderstanding,” she said. “Who told you, you could catch all of the beads?”
“No, you don’t understand, my friends thr-” She yanked again.
“Give me that bead,” she said as she held onto the one Jacob gave me. It was getting ugly. Hey, I was defending myself. She started it. That’s what I’d tell the police, when they showed up.
The bead broke and I was glad.
“Look, lady, my friend gave me this bead. You know, friends? You’d have friends too, but they’re DEAD!,” I screamed. “Why are old people so bitter?,” I asked with frustration.
That’s when my grandma walked up. I guess she was watching, the whole time.
“You leave my grandson alone!,” my grandma said. “He caught this bead, and he will keep this bead” Too bad it was broken.
It was hilarious to watch two old ladies argue. Put it this way, I felt like I was watching a WWE Wrestling Match. Geezer Edition!
“I will drop-kick you in the jaw,” is what the old fart told my grandma. Yeah, right. Who are you, Jackie Chan?
Enough words. It was time to get physical (as Olivia Newton’s Let’s Get Physical plays in the background). Boy, that would’ve been a sight to see. Stupid dad; having to come in and break it up.
Yeah, it got ugly, but that old lady had it coming. Since a toddler, I was taught to respect my elders. Somehow, I believe that rule becomes invalid when you’re being strangled with a Mardi Gras bead. I could’ve died.
So maybe, I wouldn’t have died; but that lady was crazy. Are beads that serious?
Since then, I’ve tried to stay away from two things: Mardi Gras parades, and old people!
…More importantly, old people at Mardi Gras Parades.