Beat Her To The Punch

I walk alone through the paint chipped doors of my high school gym. He said he'd meet me at the entrance thirty minutes ago. What monkey says, monkey doesn't do. Whatever. I'm here so I might as well make the best of it. Oh yeah, that's easy. A freshman at her first high school dance all alone. Sure, no problem. I'll just make friends with the punch bowl. I'm thirsty anyways.

Just my luck. The refreshments are on the other side of the dance floor. That's okay though, I just used my super telekinesis to clear a path through these raving teens and now I'm getting myself a cup of punch. Too bad that doesn't really happen. Why did Carrie get powers and I don't? Maybe if I get pig's blood poured on me I really could get powers. I'll look into that later. My goal right now is to safely get through these people.

Success! I made it though with only a few elbows to the sides and just one jock stepping on my toe. Well hello punch bowl. I shall name you Barbara. Just because I never hear of anyone named Barbara anymore except for the lady on the news. So Barbara, how is your night going? Oh really? No way. You got stood up too? Wow. I have something in common with a punch bowl. Well, not really, since bowls can't communicate verbally. But if they could, Barbara would be telling me how she got stood up too. Bowls can only communicate with other bowls telepathically. Since I am not used to contain food and other things, I am not a bowl and cannot tell what Barbara is thinking.

So I try to send telepathic messages to Barbara telling her that I can't receive messages from her. Maybe she can understand me. Next time I'll disguise my self as a bowl.

My concentration is broken when someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn around and look up at the school's star football player. I only know of this because he's wearing a shirt that says "Star Football Player." Well, not really but he might as well. I shall make him one.

While I'm deciding on what shade of pink to create his shirt with, he interrupts my thinking process again. Only this time with words. Actually, one word. The word loathed by so many of us gullible freshman. "Move" said he. I moved...

At least he was polite. He wasn't polite to Barbara though. Poor thing. Football players are so rough with their punch scooping utensils. He just threw the big spoon into the bowl, almost chipping Barbara's beautiful crystal-like glass body. What evil is this?

The football beast quickly leaves but not without another act of violence towards my new friend. He bumped the table allowing some of Barbara's fruit juice to spill out. This is absolutely horrifying. Barbara must be rescued from this abuse! Yes, that's what I shall do!

Quickly I leap into action and get a firm hold on the overgrown cereal bowl. Carefully I pick her up off the table and head towards the exit. Someone spot me saving this sad bowl and yells for everyone to make a path for me to get through. The people stop dancing and back away, clearing the floor for me. I easily make it through the doors and out to safety.

Only thing wrong with that is that it doesn't exactly happen like that. You see, someone does spot me, although his words were more on the lines of calling someone a retard and asking what I was doing. This gains the attention of a few more people and they look over at me and stop dancing.

While these kids are staring at me dumbfounded, I find this as the perfect opportunity to carry on with my mission. The cycle continues. They stop, stare, and I just keep on walking with Barbara in my hands.

Half way through the dance floor, my arms begin to fatigue. Barbara is a very large bowl you see. She could have lost a few pounds for the dance or tried the Atkins diet. I guess bowls don't really think about physical appearances as much as we humans do. I wish I was a bowl.

She is slipping just a little bit from my grasp but I'm almost to the exit. Just a few more steps and Barbara will be free. Well... She would have been free if a certain short, Hispanic lady with a smock on who is known as "The Mean, Short, Hispanic Lunch Lady With a Smock on" didn't suddenly step into my escape path.

I Just stood there looking at her. What is she doing? This isn't the kitchen. Get out of my way lady! Sadly, she can't read my mind telepathically like Barbara can and she just stands there with her arms folded looking right back at me.

I take a step to my right and try to walk by her but that's not happening. She just takes a step to her left and blocks me again. Blast! She's smarter than she looks! What's wrong with this lady, can't she see that I'm on a rescue mission to save a young bowl? Obviously not, because she yells something but I just stand there and blink. She realizes that I cannot understand her native tongue and in her little Spanish accent asks me what the hell I think I'm doing. I know perfectly well what I'm doing!

I tell her that I'm saving Barbara. She just raises an eyebrow and asks who Barbara is. I'm beginning to grow impatient. Who does she think Barbara is, the punchbowl? Well it is! And that's what I tell her.

The lady furrows her brows and squints her eyes at me. Why is she all squinty? And why is she still in my way? This is what I ask her but she just tilts her head and gives me a look like I'm insane.

That's it! This lady is getting on my last nerve. Loudly, I blurt out the most notorious four letter word so demanding that I could make a first Sergeant shiver in his boots. "Move!" I command. To my surprise, she does move and I find myself casually walking out of the gym then out of the school with Barbara in hand. Thanks to me, she is now safe to roam the town doing whatever punch bowls do.